December 8th, 2006


My mind is an oasis, to drink from as you please

I am, as they say, "rough" today. I'm feeling very weepy and things are upsetting me easily. It's the first time I can really remember having this kind of stuff affect me while I was at work. I nearly burst into tears when my boss's boss asked me why I wasn't going to go to the company Christmas party - a sure sign that not going is the right thing to do.

I'm disturbed that I'm falling apart right at the time where my three month probation is taking place. I'm not really looking like someone who is handling working here all that well. I'm sure after our release Tuesday things will lighten up, but between the pressure here (I get to work tomorrow, yay) and my ongoing bad on the brain from Wednesday, today is a Really Bad Day. I should have taken some Xanax to break the bad dialogue in my head, then I could have focused on the work stuff more successfully.

Wow. Today marks exactly three months since I moved here. I guess my anticipation that it would be six months before I started feeling level was not overly pessimistic. I must, must remember to go to Pilates Monday, and I ought to see if I can start going a second time a week.
  • Current Mood
    indescribable craptastic

In lieu of the company party, I've been eating fatty foods and unpacking

Well, a rip-roaring Friday night in London is happening here. Most of my coworkers are off at the company party. I saw many men dressed in tuxes boarding the bus as I snuck out of the office and fled into the night at nearly 7 PM. Me, I'm at home with my sugar-shadowdaddy, who went to the Borough Market today and bought some lovely rare-breed, free-range pork chops (3 for 8 pounds so a bit ouch but very, very ethical - plus supporting rare breeds!), then came home and cooked them as well as some baked macaroni and cheese. He poured me a cider when I walked in the door. Damn, this is what 7 hour long days are about; fattening yourself up and getting drunk (three of the four food groups: fat, carbs, and booze). I just didn't want to do it in a tux.

So far, casualties of moving include the lid of my Franciscan Coronado teapot (carefully glued back together by Mr. Daddy) and the most of my lovely Emile Henri pie dish, which has a very large triangle out of it and a crack halfway along the bottom that would let out any liquid and looks like it's eager to just split off altogether. My current recommendation is finish the break and reglue. It's odd; having this stuff in my kitchen was one of the big impetuses (impeti?) for going through the hassle of packing things up, and yet the oddest things have chosen to spite me (and in spite of themselves - both of these things were hardly fragile) and divorce themselves from their former existence as "a" piece of clay for, perhaps, a more adventurous life as a chunk and some shards.

shadowdaddy kindly ignored my pleas that I didn't need my various vintage cookbooks and packed them all up with the lot, so now I've got every casserole recipe under the sky shelved on top of the cabinet in the dining room. I think shadowdaddy used the Joy of Cooking in his kitchen ventures tonight, but next time he'll have options.

I was talking to a nice French guy tonight (one of my coworkers, I don't have any idea what I should nickname him) about why we weren't at the big $howboat do, and he said, "In France, we have parties by having smaller groups of people over to our houses, then we can actually visit with them." So I've invited him over to mine for a party at the end of the month. He did really enjoy the big lunch out we all had yesterday, and between that and the gorgeous German developer (blue eyes, light brown hair, has aged three years in the last week due to overwork, super sweet and kind) telling me the lunch I brought him was the highlight of his day, I'm really feeling the love with the folks I'm working with today.