Three Years Later

I was still working at the Job from Hell when I started my novel, so this was a while ago. I've been with The Store since Nov. 2002, so I probably started the novel sometime in 2002. It's 2005. I've put three years of my life into this. And it's almost over.

I wrote my novel in two parts so that when I was totally blocked on where to go with one part, I had another part to take my mind off it. There have been weeks where I haven't looked at it at all, working on other pieces instead. But I got a creative burst for a period of about three months and really hammered out several large portions of it. Now it's almost done.

I'm maybe ten pages away from the end of the beginning of the novel. Once Part the First is done, I only have the rest of Part the Second to finish and that's pretty close to done too. And I'm absolutely terrified. I'll have finished the novel I put three years into. What do I do next?

I don't even know if I have the confidence to get this published. I don't know if I have the confidence to try. I'm a little envious of Baby Sis in some ways. She knows she wants people to read what she writes - possibly in a different format than mine, but still, she knows. I don't know what I'll do if I finally get the nerve to shop this book around and no one wants it.

Writing is such a huge part of my life. It's all I've done and all I've ever done since I understood that I could do it. Telling stories and making up images in my head to put them to page has been what I do. If I couldn't write, I think I'd explode. So what do I do if no one wants to read it? How will I ever be able to put anything down on a page again?

I know I shouldn't be afraid or nervous. Someone will like it.

So now, my book is almost finished. Three years later, it's practically done. I'm afraid to finish it. I'm afraid that once it's done I won't know what to do with myself. I have other stuff that I've started: short stories, the beginnings of dozens of novels that are like twenty or thirty pages in but no further. I have things to do, but this book is my baby. I don't know how I'll feel when it's finally complete.

Dear JJ Abrams Part Deux

Dear JJ Abrams,

You have ruined the months of June through September for me with your cliffhangers. Especially the Alias one (hi, I called that Walt was the child the "others" were looking for on Lost - totally called it). Vaughn is not Vaughn?

You, JJ Abrams, had better not ruin Vaughn for me. Or I will find you and ruin you. I do not watch Alias because I love Jennifer Garner. I, in fact, do not understand a lot of things about Jennifer Garner (mainly how she could break up with someone as scorching as Michael Vartan and, after watching him on stuff like Celebrity Poker Showdown, as endearingly dorky as he is, too [come on, he seems a little dorky, but in that totally cute adorable HOT sense] for someone like Ben Affleck. Gigli? Ben, you're breaking my heart and if you fuck with Gone Baby Gone in any way that I find objectionable I will bring down the wrath of God on you... Where was I?). I watch Alias for the entertainment value, but I also watch because Michael Vartan is something else. I love Vaughn. Vaughn is in many ways the perfect man (although Omar sometimes says that no man would do that much stuff for a woman for as little sex as Vaughn appears to get, but Omar [cover your eyes here, Baby Sis] tends to work better when he's being rewarded). And JJ if you screw that up for me, I will HURT you.

Are we clear?

Love, Lucy

PS - Nadia still sucks. Get rid of her.

Time To Move On?

So ever since my boss got back, work has sucked. Our BIG VISIT did not go well. In fact, my regional manager was least impressed with me. Which, after two months of hearing how fabulous I was from my district manager, came as something of a shock. She didn't like the way I was hiring, thought I was slacking on the networking, and didn't care for any of my suggestions. Two days after the visit, my boss sat me down and gave me the RSM's feedback from my interview with her.

I asked if I needed to find a new job.

My boss told me I didn't, but that I needed to step up to the plate and really take charge of job or I would have to find a new one. Truth is, my company isn't making sales plan, my region is last in its zone and my RSM is on the verge of being fired. So she's making everyone else's lives harder. I'll go before my RSM, my store manager will go before my RSM, and my district manager will go before my SM does. But that doesn't make me feel any better.

So I started looking at want ads, posted my resume on line and have been half-ass looking for a new opportunity. The idea of not working weekends or nights any more is very tempting and I'd love to spend more time with Omar. But I don't know if I know how to do a 9 to 5 office job anymore. I didn't exactly enjoy the experience the first time around. I don't know. I'm still thinking things through. I can tell you, though, I don't enjoy going to work anymore. As much as I love my boss as a person, she's been a brat to be around the last couple weeks. I hate working when she's there.

Everyday Mundane Crap

Sometime Omar irritates the crap out of me.

It's twenty past seven on a Thursday night. Most couples are finishing the dishes or settling down to watch a game or t.v. or do some laundry. Not here. Omar is calling me from a train station informing me that he'll be home by eight. He wants to know what's for dinner and what did I do all day on my day off.

Well, here's what I did on my day off. I read for three or four hours, watched some television, spent time on the Internet, folded the three loads of laundry that have been sitting on the couch since last week, and did the dishes from last night. I forgot to take anything out of the freezer for dinner, which apparently is a cardinal sin that I didn't learn about in CCD. I didn't clean the bathrooms or do anymore laundry because I didn't feel like adding to the hour of folding I had just done nor did I vacuum the apartment. And Omar acts like I've betrayed him or something like that.

Things you need to know about Omar: 1) he's the oldest of four kids; 2) his mom's nurse but she was a stay at home for most of his life; 3) even after Omar graduated from college, his mom made his bed, ironed his clothes, cooked his meals; 4) Omar always thought he'd get a wife like that, too. Fat fucking chance.

I'm not domestic. I have clothes that were washed last May that are still sitting in an ironing pile. I can cook pretty well, but I don't like doing dishes. I hate cleaning the bathroom. I don't mind doing laundry. In fact, I do 90% of the laundry because Omar never remembers to even though the laundry basket is in our bedroom. I refuse to take the trash out to the dumpster after dark because there is a racoon that ate Chicago that lives out there. I only dust if I'm sneezing.

Omar knows of all these things. He's been with me for nearly seven years. None of these things are new. They were that way when I was in college. They were that way since I could understand what any of that was. I've always been a slob, ever since I was a little kid. My mother could tell you stories and she will if you ask. I like clutter. There's something about the disorganization of it that appeals to me. Not to Omar. He likes everything just so. Which is wildly irritating. And despite all these things he knows about me, he expects me to change and behave -- well, I'm not really sure who he wants me to behave like, but presumably more like his mother or mine.

It's not going to happen.

I am who I am. On my day off I would rather sit on the couch with a book for a few hours rather than clean my bathroom. I would rather throw laundry in the machine while I work on my novel than vacuum. I know cleaning the bathroom and vacuuming don't take forever, but doing that stuff is boring and I'd rather put it off. Procrastination, thy name is Lucy. And I'm okay with it! And usually Omar is, too.

Part of the reason, most of the reason, I'm so irritated is because a) he's coming home late. Again, and b) I haven't spent any time with him in awhile. Omar is getting his MBA. He has this really big project due, plus a final exam next week and he is spending every moment he's not at work studying. But here's the thing, and I am so much like Baby Sis in this respect that it's frightening, if you tell me you will do something, you better do it. On Sunday, Omar told me he'd be home by three from the library. We'd have dinner together and hang out before he had to go play softball with people from work. Well, four-thirty rolls around and Omar comes rushing in. He changes his clothes and goes rushing out. Then he gets home after eight. So much for being home at three to spend time together. Last night, he tells me he'll be home by eleven. He calls me at midnight and says he'll be home in a little bit. Yesterday, I had a really big visit at the Store from my regional sales manager. He didn't even ask me about the visit; I had to remind him and tell him about it. That was a really important thing for me, a big deal.

When he called a little while ago and told me he'd be home at eight and wanted to know what was for dinner, blah blah blah, he asked me what I did today and I told him nothing, he asked me why I didn't vacuum, etc. So I said, I didn't see why I should do the things he expected me to do when he couldn't even get home when he promised me he would be. He just called my cell phone and he's being all cute with me because he knows he's in the doghouse. He even offered to take me out to dinner, which definitely means he knows in the doghouse.

I love Omar and this is only one part of our life together. Most times he's a lot of fun to be with and even when he's exasperating, he's adorable. But sometimes, he just irritates me.