Well, That Was Quick

Fall appears to be over for now, and winter has arrived. It hasn't gotten out of the 30s in the last couple of days, and there was even a skiff of snow on the ground when I woke up Thursday. The first few days I have to admit I was bitter. This is an unusually early cold snap, and I'm not really emotionally or physically prepared for it. Winter isn't that bad. It's just . . . I didn't think I'd still be here. I thought I would have found a real job by now, but that's not working out. (I know, I'm not exactly shocked either.) And I'm finally flat broke and busted. Remember how I was cold all last winter because I didn't get all the wood I ordered and had to be uber conscious of how much I used? Well, this winter, I didn't even order as much as I received last winter. So. I will be putting to good use all those wool socks I packed away in July. Which, you know, whatever. I still have my little spa job and that nets me enough to cover the essentials, like my Tivo and Netflix subscriptions and plenty of dried legumes and cat food. (The latter is for the cats, I promise!) This is all my own fault for being self indulgent and, let's be honest, lazy.

But before you think I'm feeling sorry for myself, I'm really not. Truth be told, it's all kind of exciting. The world economy is getting stripped down, and so is mine. I was talking to Zach about it the other day, about how I feel like I should be depressed, or anxious, but I'm not. He said he wasn't surprised, that my D.C. malaise made perfect sense, and this almost thrill in my currently reduced circumstances does as well. It's true. This is an opportunity to revel in my essential nordic-ness. To exercise frugality and simplicity and to make-do. I've got tea and books. I hand sewed a draft stopper using this fabulous and insanely cheap green houndstooth upholstery fabric I've had socked away forever. I'm embroidering gingham that I'll turn into an apron eventually. I'm poring over my expenditures, seeing where I can save. I'm looking forward to taking a thermos of tea and my snowshoes and spending hours wandering the hills around my house when winter really comes. I'm living like it's 1932. (Except for the Tivo and internet and Netflix - some of which should probably go away.) And it's all deeply pleasurable.

I've never really been able to accomplish anything until I was pushed to the wall and simply had to or the consequences would be too dire to live with. That is not an admirable trait by any means, and it's one I wish I didn't have. But, it's there. It's one of my strongest and least likely to be overcome personality traits. And it, along with my truly remarkable powers of denial and selective memory have gotten me this far in life relatively unscathed. I'm really, honestly, curious to see what happens next.

Just Busy-ish

Here's the short version of the past month during which I apparently decided I no longer loved my blog enough to write. Which is stupid, because I've missed it:

The spa owners spent three weeks rafting the grand canyon, leaving me nominally "in charge", which meant at one point I worked 11 days straight. For me, that was brutal.

I then started applying for real jobs. Yes. Really. I sent out letters of interest and resumes and everything. There is a causal connection between this activity and being left "in charge" of the spa. While they were gone, something just clicked and I realized that "No. I will not be happy working a mindless customer service job for the rest of my life. I have very little ambition, but what I have is not going to be satisfied by this for much longer." I only applied for two real jobs, but was quickly rejected (one post had already been filled, the other I just never heard back from). So then I was a bit depressed/discouraged. I'm hoping to apply for a few more jobs this week. I'm serious about it now, so if anyone has any leads for jobs in Idaho, let me know. My pay requirements are minimal. (I actually found the perfect job (the one that was already filled, damn it) and determined that I could actually live, just barely, on the low low sum of $35,000/year. So now I at least have a floor of what I need to survive. Good to know I guess.)

And then, last week, I had a bit of a home invasion. On Monday my mom, stepdad, and their two large dogs showed up. On Wednesday, a dear old friend of the family (Howdy) arrived to remove about 500 pounds of horseshoes and a couple of forges that he'd been storing in the chicken coop for about twenty years. Also on Wednesday, fabulously skilled Uncle George arrived to finish a few more projects. These four people have done a HUGE amount of work. Totally makes me embarrassed for all the work I have not been doing. Stepdad and Howdy split and stacked two cords of wood between them. Stepdad bushwacked all the weeds I'd let take over the property and cut down two dead trees. Mom cleaned and planted the flower beds, killed about a million yellow jacket and wasp nests, put insulation in the scary space beneath my dining room floor, and buttressed the woodshed so it will survive another winter. George built a funny little deck off my dining room so he could take out these horrible old windows and install new french doors! (They're doors to nowhere for now since there's a five foot drop from them to the ground, but eventually, someday, there will be a real deck.) Oh, and the neighbors totally regraded my driveway. Yeah. It's been quite a week.

Howdy left on Friday, Mom, Stepdad and the dogs headed out this morning, so now it's just me, George, and the cats. The house seems really empty. As much as I'd kind of been dreading having such a full house, (have I mentioned lately what a hermit I am?) I miss them already.

Intermission

I got a plea from a relative to post again, but I just don't feel like I have much to say.

My grocery budget has doubled as I gorge myself on cherries and nectarines and blueberries and any other fresh, reasonably local, fruit I can get my hands on. It's one of the greatest joys of summer. Although, sadly, it's not all good. Today I spent $13 on inferior cherries and I'm very bitter about it.

The weather has been fabulous, much cooler than last summer (in a good way), and significantly less smoky (in an even better way). I've gone for three hikes since Saturday, and one yoga class. I've seen twin spotted fauns and an enormous five point buck crashing through the underbrush. I've watched several really big birds (osprey? some kind of hawks?) circling above the pines, riding the drafts. I read half of Friday Night Lights sitting by the river on a particularly hot, Summer-2007-style day. I just kept dipping my feet in the icy water and splashing my arms and applying sunscreen because I didn't feel like being inside.

I think I might be a little depressed. I'm sleeping a lot. I still haven't looked for a job that pays more than $10/hour. I do have a complete cover letter, edited by a real lawyer and everything, but I can't bring myself to send it out. I just can't see an upside. The first option is that someone will want to hire me and I'll have to go back to real work, and work scares me. I don't want to go back to crying all the time. Alternatively, maybe no one will want to hire me and I will be destitute with no prospects. And . . . that doesn't sound so great either. So things are on pause right now. I'm reading books and eating strawberries and sitting on warm rocks. I'm listening to the wind in the trees and smelling the scents of an Idaho summer, old pine needles and newish mountains and the very faint sweetness of huckleberries. And I'm generally OK. Just not quite OK enough to think more than a day or two ahead. I've pushed pause, because this, right here, is good. Thanks for understanding. And not worrying.

Mercury Is No Longer in Retrograde. . . I hope.

I've got my fingers crossed that I didn't just jinx myself by writing that. The new battery charger/grass hog appears to be working so far. I've managed to plant a little herb garden for myself before the plants died in their pots. Which is huge because usually? I get excited and buy plants, get distracted, forget to water them, and they die before they're even in the ground. I also bought an old-fashioned rotary lawn mower, which I'm not sure will even work on my lawn/prairie what with all the weeds, but I hate relying on my neighbors so . . . worth a try. Despite my broke-ass brokeness. I've got to start looking for a real job. I started a cover letter to the law firm I worked for in Boise after my 1L year. And by started I mean I saved a file, found their address and the name of their hiring partner, and wrote a single sentence. A week ago. It's a start. But summer is so fun! I'm actually enjoying working outside, planting, watering, and grasshogging. I love drinking iced tea in my new vintage lawn chair while birds I can't identify dive bomb for bugs on my prairie/lawn. And walking down by the river is just fabulous.

Things I'm Preoccupied By Before Dawn Today

(1) It rained last night. It's still dark so I can't yet see what the rain has wrought. Yesterday was warm, in the upper 40's, and I came home to a largish pond in the low spot in my driveway. I think spring is going to be harder than winter. The snow is getting black and rotten, and I can already see glimpses of the sour sucking mud to come. I told my mother about the pond, and about the feel of my tires ripping up the road as I drove through it . . . and she told me to go dig a tunnel into the snow bank on the side of the driveway to give it a chance to seep away. I looked blankly at the phone and started wishing myself . . . somewhere else. I'm too lazy for this. I might just have to start parking in the cemetery and avoid the worst of the driveway until either everything freezes and I can drive on lovely solid ice (Seriously, other than bare pavement, and fresh packed snow, ice is the best possible surface for driving right now. Can you believe it?) or . . . June and nice sold dirt returns. In the meantime, I think I might actually need a pair of galoshes.

(2) I'm worried about Sugar. She has a nasty spot on one of her back legs. She was at the vet recently being treated for a UTI, and they wanted me to bring her back when she was through with her antibiotics to take a closer look. I'd thought it was just some wound, possibly inflicted by Freckles, that was taking a while to heal. They thought it was a growth. Which could be cancerous. And last night I noticed that she was limping. She's finished the antibiotics, but I won't be able to get her into the vet for another week. And, this is horrible, but my savings is really running low, and I can't afford cancer.

(3) Speaking of not being able to afford cancer. I need to be able to afford cancer. It's time for me to stop living in lalalalalaiamgoingtowinthelotteryanydaynow land and find a way to take care of myself and my kitties. The last few days? I've felt really tired of being poor. Which is RIDICULOUS and slightly embarassing because I have not exactly lived the life of a poor person this past year. I've traveled a lot, I've eaten fancy cheeses, I bought a brand new car for heaven's sake! But still . . . I wandered into Anthropologie a few times this week between sessions of the bar exam, and I coveted things. Cute spring jackets and absurd camel-shaped creamers and over-priced kicky little flats. New things. Things. And my covetousnous was visceral and made me feel ashamed. But it's not this urge for new things that is causing me to worry about my bank balance. I can make-do without new things. I have lots of pretty, cool old things. But . . . as my savings shrink, so do my options. I need money for necessities. I need money to pay for Sugar's biopsy, and if she has cancer I need to be able to pay for whatever treatments the vet recommends. I need to stop fantasizing about living this life of luxury and ease forever. I need to pull out that old excel spreadsheet and figure out just what income level will make me feel safe, and I need to find a way to earn it. In the meantime, I've agreed to work another day a week. This third work day will be at the owners' other spa, the one at the fancy new ski resort across the valley.

(4) Should I take up embroidery like I kind of feel like I want to?

(5) Sugar and Freckles might just kill each other tonight. Tomorrow I'm driving over to the Oregon coast and I'm taking both cats with me. Tonight, all three of us will be spending the night in a bedroom at my grandparents' house in Caldwell. I will be drugging them with kitty valium, but still. I'm not expecting much sleep.

Moving On

The bar is over. I won't know for sure that I failed until sometime in April. I finished about an hour early yesterday (I don't spend much time dithering in an exam - if I don't know the answer right away, staring at it won't magically make me remember the proper rule) and walked out of that convention center positively giddy. I'm free! I can do whatever I want without feeling guilty because I'm not studying! It feels like it's been ages since that has been true. Probably because it has. Of course, now I get to feel guilty about not doing more to find an income stream . . . but that's not quite as bad.

Another Mini Breakdown

Last night, as I was driving home after my second straight 9.5 hour day, I slammed on my brakes to narrowly avoid running down a beautiful red fox who'd decided to dart in front of my car and I was barely able to hold back the tears. It's not like there's anything horrible happening, and the good news is I did NOT kill a fox last night, but I'm tired and a little overwhelmed. And more than the feelings of exhaustion and stress, what really made feel that panicky flutter in the depths of my chest was this fear: If two long(ish) days of work, an upcoming bar exam, one sick cat, two cats who hate each other, and the prospect of a job interview are enough to make me feel like throwing both cats into a snow bank and crawling under the comforter for a few (many) days, how the HELL am I going to go back to working 50+ hour weeks? Can I really do that and not lose my mind? In stronger moments, I think of course I can. People do it all the time. Most of my friends do it and sure, they complain, but they're still mentally intact. They enjoy their lives if not their jobs. But last night I wasn't so sure I could. Or more accurately, if I can do it without chemical support. Not that there's anything wrong with that of course. It's been so nice to be happy without them, but I'm not clever enough to come up with an alternative that doesn't involve defaulting on my student loans.

Big City Adventures

So, after the rude awakening with the mouse, the rest of the weekend was really lovely. I drove (slowly, it was icy) down to Boise and then flew to Seattle for a very short visit with my mom. We stayed at a hotel downtown and I got to satisfy my only four goals for Seattle: (1) I bought snowshoes (I'm sure there will be an update soon on how that turned out) at the flagship REI store; (2) I ate sushi . . . twice in two days (omg do I miss sushi); (3) I bought far too many 1930s mystery novels at Seattle's awesome bookshops and antique stores; and, most importantly, (4) I ate crumpets and drank mugs of strong tea at The Crumpet Shop . . . also twice. Because really, does Seattle mean anything other than books, crumpets, fancy sporting goods, and sushi? I mean sure, there is, allegedly, an amazing art museum, and some people rave about all the excellent coffee, and there are those glorious flower and fruit selllers in Pike Place, and there's something about a needle reaching toward space, but give me a soft and crunchy ricotta and nutella crumpet, a vat of strong tea, and a novel with an opening paragraph like this:

I had dark forebodings. I had evil premonitions. Naturally, Adam Oakman being the high type of man he was, and his visitors being his relatives, mannerly and well educated, I didn't predict anything so uncouth as murders and dead boties disappearing like the morning dew all over the place. But I had forebodings, just the same.

And that adds up to an excellent weekend in Seattle to me.

But now that I'm home, I have to try on my suits and hope that one still fits, re-pack my bag, and head back to the airport tomorrow for an even shorter trip to Chicago for my job interview. There's another winter storm warning tonight, so even though I've been home less than 24 hours, I might head down to the valley this afternoon just in case. Wish me luck. I think I'd really like to get this job. I think. Maybe.

Not Much to Say

I've been in hibernation mode this last week. My mom sent me a full Tivo and it's now almost empty as I've been bingeing. (Let's not talk about BarBri, shall we?)

The cats are driving me insane. Right now they're having a stareoff: Sugar is sitting in a cardboard box full of wood scraps, and Freckles has wrapped herself in the living room rug, and it's the quietest they've been since I woke up. They've been chasing each other and growling, which wouldn't be such a big deal if their well-established chasing route didn't run right over my body, wherever my body happens to be relaxing at that moment.

I'm tentatively scheduled to go to Chicago next week for a job interview. Part of me is really excited and can't stop obsessively looking at apartments on Craigslist. Part of me is very disappointed in myself and feels that at 30 years-old, I should really just settle in somewhere and not keep moving every 1-3 years. That's what this move to Idaho was supposed to be. But I'm already getting antsy.

Mild Panic Creeping In

I'm still not studying. I've started feeling that little fluttery tightness in my chest that means the procrastination has gone on too long, that if I don't suit up and start working this mild panic will turn into a major freakout and I'll be mired in self-loathing and dread and completely unable to function.

And I'm really cold. When I poked my nose out of bed this morning it was to find that the indoor temperature had fallen to 38 degrees while I slept in my very warm down cocoon. I've had the fire roaring for about three hours which has gotten the temperature up to . . . 45. Not exactly balmy. Temps like these make me really miss the snow. When it's snowing, it's not this FUCKING COLD. (Have you noticed the patterns of my posts? I have: weather, weather, ohmyfreakinggodwhatamigoingtodowithmylife, weather, weather, procrastination, procrastination, weather, ohmyfreakinggodwhatamigoingtodowithmylife. Sorry I'm so boring. At least this post will hit the trifecta.)

I was google chatting with a friend this morning who suggested I send her my resume and she could try and get me a job with her employer in [a suburb of] Chicago. And I'm thinking about it. Yes, I said I wanted to stay in Idaho, and yes, I'm about to take the Idaho bar. But . . . I LOVE Chicago, and I love my friend who lives in Chicago, and I'm really fucking COLD and I'm weak, and I haven't gone skiing once this winter, and I went hiking about twice this summer so who the hell am I kidding with this mountain girl shit, and the thought of looking for a job sends me into a blind panic, and a year after leaving DC I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up (since lady of leisure is not looking to be a viable long-term option) so why the hell not commute from city to suburb to work in-house for a huge corporation? I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have to keep track of billable hours.

Maybe this is a sign I really should give up on that whole law thing after all

I am now on my THIRD iPod of BarBri lectures (the second one they sent me, to replace a few incorrect lectures on the first iPod, was completely wrong and had lectures for like Louisiana or something) and I just discovered that the most recent iPod, the one that allegedly corrects all the errors of iPods past, doesn't contain a CivPro lecture. Why are they fucking with me? WHY!?!?!

One Year

December 22 was the anniversary of my last day as a lawyer, and even though I haven't written about it, I've been thinking about it a lot. I really thought more would have changed in this year. I thought I would have found a purpose. I thought I would have a plan by now. But I don't. After a really lovely, lazy year, I'm still me. Lazy and purposeless and floating through the days in a haze of denial. My hair has more gray. I have two cats instead of one. Distressingly, I think both my pores and my thighs have gotten larger. I've been to SE Asia and read a lot of books and learned how to put mud on drywall. But shouldn't I have done something, learned something, well, grander? Wasn't I supposed to be working on myself? Designing a life?

The bottom line of my savings account is getting very close to the number I told myself would mark the end of this lark, the signal to get serious and get a real job. I know I want to stay in Idaho. I guess that's progress. I'm studying for the Idaho bar, but I still don't really want to be a lawyer, and I honestly don't know if I'll be able to find a job as one. Or any job that pays more than $10/hour when it comes to that. It's not like I'm going out into a great economy. And now I have a big old gap in my resume. It's Christmas Eve and my year is over, but I'm still holding on to it. I'm not ready to let it go. I've loved it too much. Even if it wasn't quite what I imagined.

Before and After

My very expensive collection of study materials for the bar exam arrived yesterday. Life was different before I heard the UPS guy drop that very heavy box on the porch. I was sitting on the floor, making some simple earrings to try and sell through the store my mom manages, feeling content, creative, the sun shining through the windows, Freckles being amazingly good about not batting around the pearls and iolite rondelles I'd scattered right at cat level. And then I heard that thump. And now everything feels a little more real, my year of easy living feels dangerously close to over, and I've started thinking about all the many many things I kind of thought I wanted to do with this time off that I haven't done. Like learn to sew. And write a book. And figure out what I want out of life.

Because now there's a large pile of study guidees sitting in the corner, by the door, reminding me of what I was, and that if I don't get my act together soon, what I'll have to go back to. Procrastination isn't just for household chores.

As soon as it came, I pulled the box apart searching for the schedule - that list of assignments and lectures that will rule my life until the end of February. When I studied for the California bar I treated the BarBri schedule like a bible, and for once in my life I acted like a fundamentalist. But this time, I have more time, so it will be a little different. BarBri condenses the entire formal study schedule into a 6 week program. So if I followed the program exactly, I wouldn't have to start until sometime around New Year's eve. But since I have the time to do so, I'm going to start a little earlier, stretch it out a little longer, so that those first two months of 2008 aren't quite as all consumingly all law all the time. Because . . . to be honest, I don't do all law all the time. That's kind of why my last job didn't work out so well.

Yesterday afternoon, all I was consciously avoiding was delivering a gift basket to a neighbor and scrubbing my bathroom. Now I've got a stack of books reminding me of all the other things I've been avoiding all year, and will probably continue to avoid, knowing me, until they refuse to be ignored any more.

Another Reason To Stay in Idaho, or One Less Reason to Leave

I just found out that an Anthropologie store will be opening in downtown Boise sometime soon! I'm doomed. I wonder if there's any way I could survive splitting my time between working at Anthropologie and a spa? I'd be dirt poor, but I'd have adorable clothes and home accessories and my skin would be fabulous.

The facial was excellent by the way. I adore the woman who gave it to me, and she's phenomenal at her job. I came out feeling slightly drunk with relaxation, the way I've seen people look after they get a hot stone massage or one of the spa's detox wraps. And my skin looks great. I think this might have to become a regular indulgence.

Not Very Green

I'm doing my damndest to speed global warming and not feeling very good about it. Since I bought my new car in May, I've driven almost 14,000 miles. In FIVE YEARS I only put 28,000 miles on my last car. This is . . . not good. But I can't help myself. I want to go places! This week I drove to Newport for a very very short visit. I left on Sunday and returned on Tuesday for an almost 700 mile roundtrip. Ridiculous. The weather was perfect, I had some stuff I needed to retrieve from my old bedroom, I wanted to see my mom and play scrabble with Zach before winter sets in and the roads get bad and I'm too nervous to do more than drive to work or the grocery store and I don't see anyone on the days that I'm not working. Anyway, I needed to confess that ridiculous extravagance. It was a lovely trip, really perfect, but . . . I feel bad.

***

In other news, my BarBri materials are on their way. Can you feel my terror and dread through your computer?

Weak

I've spent the last 40 minutes addressing and stamping envelopes to send to the kind people who've agreed to provide references for the Idaho Bar. It's a bad sign that now I want to cry, isn't it? Maybe, maybe not. I've been on the edge of tears almost constantly since I got back from Belize. But I haven't cried. There are plenty of silly, inane reasons, stupid insecurities, petty inconveniences, small frustrations triggering the chemicals that lead to a low-grade depression that makes the back of my throat clench and my eyes ache. I can't indulge because I have company once again. My uncle is back. Installing a new storm door as I type. I want to wail, feel small and hurt and weak and disappointed with myself and my life and my choices so that in the idiocy of my tears, the sheer melodrama of it all, I can get over it. Get my perspective back. But I have to wait until I'm alone. I have a process for dealing with this depression, honed over many many years, and the process requires space, and solitude, and lots of sugar. And for now I only have the last ingredient. Which isn't all bad I suppose.

Vacation

It's been a pretty gray day. This is as sunny as it's been. Not that I'm complaining. It's beautiful. I woke up this morning after a long night in bed, making up a little sleep deficit I'd built up on my lovely trips to Portland and Alabama and the annoying early morning flights and drives that they'd entailed. I dressed, headed down to the dining room and had myself some fresh creole bread and a cup of tea. I'm not a paying guest at my parents' bed & breakfast, but I do get some of the perks. Maid service, someone to wash the dishes and clear away the crumbs . . .

After breakfast I read for awhile. Then I changed into my bathing suit and swam a few lazy, slow laps under the gray skies. Some online chatting out on the balcony (I brought my laptop and the place has wireless . . . god I love it here) rounded out my morning. The afternoon: more reading, a nap, and a quick perusal of the job boards at the resort across the valley from my Idaho home. I'm broke. I hate it. I think I need to do something part-time, answer phones, make coffee, book appointments, greet guests . . . something to pay for more plane tickets to Alabama. To make it possible to stay in Idaho, my beautiful ridiculous cabin, for as long as I'd hoped. To postpone the need for a full-time job, a real job, a real life. I like this fake life a lot. I'm not ready to give it up.

Right now, I'm sitting on the balcony again, this is my view, listening to the rustle of the palms and banana trees, listening to the grave digger (really a crypt builder, but grave digger sounds better) in the cemetary next door singing "Goodnight Irene". Who would want reality when their fantasies look like this, even in gray?

Starting Over

I've spent the last few days with a good friend who's about to start law school. In fact, he should be preparing to be oriented right about now, reading his first cases, underlining issues and rules and holdings. Scribbling in margins and wondering why the hell legal writing has to be so . . . bad. He's my age, 30, and we're both starting over. And as happy as I am in the mountains, as much as I love the peace and the quiet, and the nothing I have to do all day but help my uncle put up siding and medicate the five kittens now living in my laundry room, and as much as I enjoy chatting with my neigbors about county politics, and reading mysteries and eating cinnamon rolls bought from the local bakery where they're starting to recognize me, I can't help but feel truly, deeply, greenly, envious of him.

Because he has a plan. And a purpose. For the next three years he'll have texts to read and outlines to write, exams to prepare for and take. He'll have syllabuses to follow and scheduled vacations. And at the end of it he'll have accomplished something. And as much as he may not know now where he'll want to go when those three years are up, for now, in the longish short term, he's on track. And I'm not. I'm adrift. And pretty soon, in a few hours, my month of constant houseguests will end and I'll have my house to myself. I'll be alone. It will be quiet. And maybe I'll start thinking about what I'm drifting toward. And whether it's time to pick a paddle, and a current. Maybe not. Maybe I'll be able to find enough distractions to keep me from thinking those scary, lonely thoughts. Maybe I'll play with the cats, and stack firewood, and finally (FINALLY) unpack, and I'll be able to keep enjoying the quiet and the nothing to do for awhile longer. But now, right this minute, I'm envious. Because he's starting, and really, despite the title of this post, I'm idling.