Hey, guys? Remember several months ago when I told you all about the class-action lawsuit about CD prices? …Good, because I’m too lazy to go look for the entry on my site. Anyway, you’ll never guess what I got in the mail today.
A check. For $13.86. In payment for the settlement.
Word.
Let’s go buy a CD.
Is it wrong to be amused and emboldened by the misfortune of others?
Now, some people have problems in their lives, and I just genuinely feel bad for them. Like Beth needing to give up her ferrets, and her employer’s impending business collapse. But there are others whom I will not name, both online and off, whose plight makes me feel smug on some level.
There are those who think their life is good, and don’t realize how truly fucked up it really is. And there are those who had quite a chip on their shoulder after college, and thought they were the proverbial shit, who now live back at home penniless and jobless (or close to it). And part of me feels horrible for my attitude toward these people who probably once thought or currently think they are a better person than me. More successful, more worthy, more talented, more driven, et cetera.
It’s not that I need to put other people down to make myself feel good. I’m finally coming to terms with the fact that I actually don’t mind my job, and am starting to like it. This despite the fact that it’s not what I’d originally wanted to do, nor is it what I have my degree in. I enjoy steady hours, a definite annual raise of about 4% (coming up in March!), opportunities to post for different and better jobs within the company, semi-annual incentive (bonus) checks, and having my own little cubicle that I can decorate as I please. 🙂
I’m also quite happy with my personal life. Aaron and I are still kickin’ it after about nine months of wedded bliss, and are hoping to close on our house this Friday. So, we’ll move in at the end of next month (anyone who wants to help is more than welcome—maybe we’ll buy you dinner or something). We’re contemplating starting a family once we get settled in, starting with a cat and moving to something a little more substantial (like a small human being) in a couple of years.
And in between that are my hobbies and avocations. Once it gets warmer out, I intend to go photographing more often, since it seems that nature is one of my favorite subjects. I’m reading a lot more these days, and as soon as I get Dreamweaver on my damn Mac, I’ll be webpaging more, too. (Not that I can’t hard-code, mind you, but I’m quite spoiled by wysiwyg editors that actually do what I want them to.) I also have an apartment-full of plants that will fill out our new home nicely, and I’m still enjoying making my soy candles on occasion.
So, long story short, I’m happy. I think all this gratuitous me-ness goes under the category of “Count Your Blessings.”
So why do I feel so smug at the downfall of others? It seems evil to me… but I can’t change the way I feel.
Some genealogy documents I’d ordered from the Ohio Historical Society came in the mail today. Death certificates, to be precise. Even though the family information on them isn’t always precise, they always tell a story, and I love that. A few of the ones I got today are absolutely heart-wrenching.
There’s one woman whom it turns out I’m not really related to, after all, but her story is still a rough one. Helen was widowed in her mid to late-twenties. Shortly after her 29th birthday, she died by carbolic acid poisoning—suicide.
Then there’s Harvey, the youngest son of my great-great grandfather. His clothes accidentally caught fire from the fire grate, and he burned to death. He was two years old.
And we have Edna, the eldest daughter of another great-great grandfather. Not long after she married, she developed tuberculosis. She died after about four months of illness. Edna was almost 21.
Of course, there are always the standard “this is the way death should be” records, like my great-grandmother Margaret. She lived the last 25 years of her life as a widow, and died at the ripe old age of 90, while living at the home of her eldest son.
Still, though, just those few words and dates on a page can really bring to life (so to speak) the person they’re about, despite the fact that they lived and died generations ago. I think—no, I know that this is why I do genealogy. It’s my own weird form of religion and ancestor-worship. Think about it: how often do we console ourselves and one another by saying, “He’s not really dead, as long as we remember him,” a la Dr. McCoy in Star Trek? Part of me believes and acts on that premise. I could be the only person on the face of the Earth who has thought about a given ancestor for years and years, and they deserve better than that. They deserve to be remembered. These people didn’t leave any lasting legacy besides their own progeny, and I owe them, if not respect, at least acknowledgement.
I wonder what my descendants will think of me, someday…?
Well, I did really well getting to work on time for the past two weeks. Then, yesterday and today, I came in at ten minutes after eight. And, of course, when my boss brought me into his office to give me a couple projects to do, he called me on it. He tried to be “friendly” about it, asking if there was something that was holding me up in the mornings, maybe dropping someone off somewhere or something… but no, it’s just me being late. *sigh* Finally he said that, if necessary, he would look up the procedure for giving verbal and written warnings, but that he didn’t want to go there. He’d rather just keep it a friendly reminder. I agree wholeheartedly.
That really put me in kind of a pissy mood all day. Matter of fact, it kind of felt like High School, to tell the truth, and it kind of gave me a new perspective on my recurrent attitude problem when I realized that. I felt kind of put-upon, like he knew that extra five minutes wasn’t a big deal, and hadn’t I been doing well for two freakin’ weeks straight? And hell, I see all sorts of salary people coming in at the same time I come in, so how is that fair? And on and on.
But, finally, I realized that I was feeling unreasonably oppressed. I mean, hell, who’s the one who’s coming in late? Me. All I need to do is get the fuck out of bed fifteen minutes earlier, and I’ll be just fine. I think I get feeling like that when I know it’s my fault, and I know I could have done something simple to remedy the situation, but I didn’t because I was a lazy-ass, and I resent myself for it, but I don’t want to admit it, so I turn the resentment outward.
Or maybe I’m just overanalyzing. I’ve been known to do that.
So, I’m just going to set myself a goal to a.) not be late for the rest of the week, and b.) clock in before 8:00am at least once next week. We’ll see. I’m going to have to get up much, much earlier when we live in Toledo and I actually have a commute, so I’d better get used to it.
In other news, I faxed a 28-page monstrosity to John from NOIC, containing all our little worksheets, landlord info, W2’s, bank statements, and pay stubs. Aaron, meanwhile, finished calling around and comparing prices for homeowner’s insurance, and ended up going with Allstate. Incidentally, no one seems able to beat our auto insurance with Progressive, since most of the insurance places wanted to try to give us a deal on both. Anyway, we’re pretty much set on the house thing, and just need to wait for everyone else to do their jobs and schedule a final date for the closing.
I’m also beginning to liquidate all the crap I’ve been meaning to eBay for a while. Check it.
Edit: I found the notes I’d scribbled at work about my plight, and here they are, unedited and without grammatical additions:
Start times were fine last week—late last 2 days. Got called on it—hate it, but probably good for me. Feel all high-school again, resentful
Oh, yeah, and my computer won’t cooperate.
All this has really put me in a pissy mood and unfortunately, since I get pissy so seldom, I tend to almost revel in it. Part of me doesn’t want to shake it.
I’m beginning to remember why H.S. [High School] was such a big deal. Little things grow in your brain over the course of the day and make you think too much.
Need to get my shower and get to sleep, but I just felt the need to update. It’s been a few days.
Went to see Henry Rollins do his spoken word thing in Ann Arbor on Sunday. I was worried that the drunk bastard sitting behind us would ruin the entire show instead of just the first 20 minutes, but he mercifully passed out and didn’t wake up until the show was almost over, nearly three hours later. I swear, we can’t get away from the drunken fucks even when we pay for reserved seats. —But drunken debauchery aside, Rollins was on top of his game, as always, with tales of his recent USO tour in Afghanistan and of a would-be burglar “running like a scared bitch,” as one Abe-lover I know would say. 🙂 Gotta get a Rollins fix every couple of years, just like Clutch.
While we were in Ann Arbor, we stopped by the anime store (of course), a couple record stores, and a couple of book stores. I ended up buying Nichelle Nichols’ autobiography, Beyond Uhura, a book on the making of Star Trek entitled Star Trek Lives!, and a trade-paperback edition of an Asimov-universe book that Aaron had already bought for me in small paperback form for Christmas. I felt kind of bad buying that one, but the size and artwork matched the two hardbacks I have for the other books of the set, and I just couldn’t resist. I may eBay the other paperback, but I may not. It was a present, after all.
Incidentally, I am absolutely hooked on Nichelle Nichols’ book. I can’t put it down.
I ordered some new candle scents that should be arriving soon: ginger, chamomile, green tea… and marshmallow. I also ordered tealight tins and wicks, so now I can pour a bunch of little candles and burn them together to test-mix fragrances. I still need to get some additives and a couple more dyes before I get going full-steam again, but I’m looking forward to it.
OK, my 20-minute session of Pilates kind of whipped my butt again tonight, so I’m hitting the shower and going to bed. Of course, once I’m there, I’ll probably read for a good half-hour before I actually go to sleep…