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kip_w.
So many things I missed putting down here. One day I left for work and it was drizzling a bit, and all these skinny red worms were crawling up onto the porch. I tried to pick one up to put it off, and it commenced flipping about frantically. "Okay, stupid, die up here then," I told it. And all of them. That evening, I saw that they had, indeed, followed my suggestion.
The next day, it was snowing. The weather's yo-yoing up here, just like my work-related emotions. A relatively good day is followed by another day of quicksand jobs that suck me down, down, down. Confidence gives way to dull dread. Armies run from left to right, then from right to left. Sarah runs to hug me when I come home. Time vanishes into some form of plumbing fixture.
Progress occurs. I write down stuff I've learned in a steno pad (thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
galacticvoyeur for the tip!). I called the rest home I played at and found that I have been given a good report and might get some gigs next budget year. I asked my boss if he was thinking of hiring me, and he said as far as he's concerned, I'm hired. Today I got a key to the place. I hope they aren't wanting me to work this weekend, as we have family in for the weekend.
Guys have been up on the roof all week at work, raking the asphalt. One day, we had other guys in the ceilings, crawling around putting cables through and cursing the concrete bulkheads they had to drill through. I heard a crash, and turned to see one of them sitting on the floor next to his ladder, looking a bit dazed. "Are you okay?" "I'm not sure." But he seemed to be all right.
I seem to be all right too. Yesterday was a good day. Today wasn't so bad, except for the two to four slot, when I was wrestling with an intractable business card. Just as I declared victory and printed one side, remarks were made about the color balance and I had to go back to the tedious round of making a correction and seeing on paper if it worked. And being chided for spending too much time on low-priority jobs at that. When I left at 5:30, I was just a little disappointed that the front door wasn't locked.
I've been talking to my sister about my folks. Dad is finally ready to find a rest home for Mom, which is an unimaginably huge step for him to take, but he's getting old too, and would like to sleep at night and have a life. Mom's not well, and hasn't been for years, unfortunately. Dad wants to move from Texas to Michigan, close to my oldest sister, and find a place for Mom nearby. They'll be about a million miles closer to me when that happens.
My sister was down helping to sort and de-junk the house, and take the first steps in dispatching "keep" material to us four kids. Being a violinist, she will get the horn violin. This is entirely proper, and her good hubby will make an appropriate display case for it. She's putting Mom's slides aside for me. I plan to start scanning when they arrive. Many more decisions will be made later. I found out last night that the canister of 45s and 7-inch 78s didn't get thrown away in the early 80s, but has been deteriorating in their garage. She's shipping me the remains, which I am keenly anticipating after decades of thinking I'd never see or hear any of them again. (I'd even tried looking for some of them online.)
This is the first night I've been up this late in a while. Time to stop writing. I haven't had time to read LJ -and- sleep, so I've been opting for sleep. I'll have little time to do this with the family about, too, so today I gave a long (and necessarily shallow) read, catching up before writing this. I'm hoping that things will get sort of normal before too long. Meaning, I'll have time to do things, and I'll stop having the sort of work-related dreams I usually only have when I'm running a fever. I wake up several times a night and tell myself I don't have to remember the details of some "job," because it's just a figment of my stupid imagination.
Anyway, thanks for reading beyond the cut line. I go sleep now.
.
So many things I missed putting down here. One day I left for work and it was drizzling a bit, and all these skinny red worms were crawling up onto the porch. I tried to pick one up to put it off, and it commenced flipping about frantically. "Okay, stupid, die up here then," I told it. And all of them. That evening, I saw that they had, indeed, followed my suggestion.
The next day, it was snowing. The weather's yo-yoing up here, just like my work-related emotions. A relatively good day is followed by another day of quicksand jobs that suck me down, down, down. Confidence gives way to dull dread. Armies run from left to right, then from right to left. Sarah runs to hug me when I come home. Time vanishes into some form of plumbing fixture.
Progress occurs. I write down stuff I've learned in a steno pad (thanks to
galacticvoyeur for the tip!). I called the rest home I played at and found that I have been given a good report and might get some gigs next budget year. I asked my boss if he was thinking of hiring me, and he said as far as he's concerned, I'm hired. Today I got a key to the place. I hope they aren't wanting me to work this weekend, as we have family in for the weekend. Guys have been up on the roof all week at work, raking the asphalt. One day, we had other guys in the ceilings, crawling around putting cables through and cursing the concrete bulkheads they had to drill through. I heard a crash, and turned to see one of them sitting on the floor next to his ladder, looking a bit dazed. "Are you okay?" "I'm not sure." But he seemed to be all right.
I seem to be all right too. Yesterday was a good day. Today wasn't so bad, except for the two to four slot, when I was wrestling with an intractable business card. Just as I declared victory and printed one side, remarks were made about the color balance and I had to go back to the tedious round of making a correction and seeing on paper if it worked. And being chided for spending too much time on low-priority jobs at that. When I left at 5:30, I was just a little disappointed that the front door wasn't locked.
I've been talking to my sister about my folks. Dad is finally ready to find a rest home for Mom, which is an unimaginably huge step for him to take, but he's getting old too, and would like to sleep at night and have a life. Mom's not well, and hasn't been for years, unfortunately. Dad wants to move from Texas to Michigan, close to my oldest sister, and find a place for Mom nearby. They'll be about a million miles closer to me when that happens.
My sister was down helping to sort and de-junk the house, and take the first steps in dispatching "keep" material to us four kids. Being a violinist, she will get the horn violin. This is entirely proper, and her good hubby will make an appropriate display case for it. She's putting Mom's slides aside for me. I plan to start scanning when they arrive. Many more decisions will be made later. I found out last night that the canister of 45s and 7-inch 78s didn't get thrown away in the early 80s, but has been deteriorating in their garage. She's shipping me the remains, which I am keenly anticipating after decades of thinking I'd never see or hear any of them again. (I'd even tried looking for some of them online.)
This is the first night I've been up this late in a while. Time to stop writing. I haven't had time to read LJ -and- sleep, so I've been opting for sleep. I'll have little time to do this with the family about, too, so today I gave a long (and necessarily shallow) read, catching up before writing this. I'm hoping that things will get sort of normal before too long. Meaning, I'll have time to do things, and I'll stop having the sort of work-related dreams I usually only have when I'm running a fever. I wake up several times a night and tell myself I don't have to remember the details of some "job," because it's just a figment of my stupid imagination.
Anyway, thanks for reading beyond the cut line. I go sleep now.
.
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An Option for Decaying Vinyl
Date: 2006-04-15 05:30 pm (UTC)(To avoid copyright issues, you must provide, or buy from him, a copy of the original vinyl version of the song.)
I don't know what inventory he has now, but he used to have something on the order of a million 45s and a large number of 78s, so you might be able to do something with him. Even if your copies are unplayable, he might be willing to make you a CD based on his better copy as long as you prove that you have a license to own the music.
Mary
Re: An Option for Decaying Vinyl
Date: 2006-04-16 12:49 pm (UTC)It'll be exciting to see what comes in intact kind of condition. I'm looking forward to Tennessee Ernie Ford's "Cry of the Wild Goose," (a 45 which we used to enjoy playing at 78) backed with "Shotgun Boogie." The real jewel of the collection is The Streamliners with Joanie doing "Pachalafaka" and "Frankfurter Sandwiches," which I'm glad to say I abstracted from the bunch years ago, and which has traveled safely with me through years of moves.
I still need a better 78 turntable. Maybe now that I'm a wealthy proletarian, I can return to that issue. The problem there is that a turntable new enough to have compatible electronics would only have the 78 needle on as an afterthought, and a recent turntable with a proper 78 needle knows in its heart that it's supposed to be an expensive instrument for a connoisseur. I'm just a slob with a bunch of platters.