Last day of work, and it was pretty overwhelming. One, for having to get everything wrapped up, no loose ends, and two, for the response everyone had to my departure. Usually a going away merits a departmental lunch, but mine included people from across the agency. And we went to Shogun, which is not particularly my favorite place to get sushi in the world, but considering all my co-workers used to wrinkle their nose at anything I brought in for my lunch, I thought it was a sweet gesture.

And a big basket of presents, some lovely and some well-intentioned. Somewhere in the middle of all of this--and then later my exit interview--it occurred to me that these people really liked me.

It's odd to be in a position like that. Does that sound strange? I guess I'm not used to people showing me that they like me. People are more effusive in the south.

I think I've been the obstinate, difficult sibling my whole life so I expect that people are always going to react to me in comparison to my sweet, personable sister. I guess it's pretty childish to still fall into that pattern of behavior. So maybe it was a pretty stupid realization to discover that I'm nice and sweet on my own, as an individual. But still, it was pretty cool.

I haven't really processed how I feel about work yet. I left no holds barred during my exit interview, and I left feeling slightly sick. Even though I feel like HR needs to know what's going on in my department, to actually say it all outloud feels like tattling, or gossiping. No matter how frustrated or upset I can get, to complain always makes me feel like a lesser, despicable person. And for the past two months, I've had a daily countdown, and then suddenly it's here, and over, and I emerged from the day with a throbbing headache and my body was racing like I had downed several shots of espresso.

I don't know. I feel like things are all rushed right now with ending work and getting the apartment packed up, and arranging things in Chicago so I'm not going to have the time to contemplate on my feelings about the job, and leaving it. Which means I'll probably never resolve the conflicting emotions I have/had about it. But I guess that's really the way most things go in life. One thing ends, another begins, and you're always moving forward.

Packing

I took the pictures off the wall today, and suddenly the place looks empty. Previously it just looked like a bomb went off inside.

My allergies are going crazy with all the dust I'm stirring up. It kind of reminds me of, oh crap, Chicago. The one thing I've successfully repressed about Chicago is how for about 9 or 10 months out of the year, I can't breathe at all for the multitudes of dust bunnies scurrying around the hardwood floors. Our carpet here may be dirty and cat-puke-stained, but at least it keeps the dust out of the air.

I feel pretty unstressed about everything, though. I started packing a month and a half ago, and though Tim would occasionally ask me for something right after I packed it, it was a good idea to start that early. I could pack a few boxes each night and not knock myself out. Now I'm down to deciding which clothing I can use to pad fragile items, and which to leave for 5 more days of work, a weekend of packing, and what to put in a suitcase to have handy when I arrive, and deciding what I can live without for the last week in Alabama and the first week in Chicago.

Everything is ready! The last detail I had been fretting over (not hearing from the landlady on if she got our lease and worrying the apartment had fallen through) has been resolved.

I don't want to jinx it, but I am basking in the utter lack of stress.

Babies

We have a dangerous precedent set before us: Tim's dad didn't want kids until he spent time with his nieces and nephews, and my mom didn't want them until one day at age 28, she just decided she did. Tim met his nephew for the first time this weekend, and I'm, well, I'm nearly 30.

I'll admit, I watched Tim pretty closely with Milo, worried that he would fall madly in love and decide on the spot that he wanted Milo 2. And we talked about it a lot.

I think we talk about it so much to reassure ourselves. For our heads to remind our hearts, should they become wistful.

But babies don't really do it for me. Milo is darling, but I lose patience quickly when he frets, and he's just a lot of work. I think where I might get caught is toddlers. I think if I could have a baby starting at toddler age, I could be persuaded. I like toddlers, and preschoolers, and the 6-10, and the junior high kids, and high schoolers, but I'm just not ga-ga over babies.

But it's a bit of a relief to not be baby crazy now that Milo is around. I like my life the way it is. I like Tim being the center of it, and our relationship being the main focus.

Stuffed Zucchini

I pulled this recipe together out of things in the kitchen and a recipe from J. Key, though, is fresh basil.



Stuffed Zucchini

zucchini
onion
garlic
feta cheese
fresh basil
bread crumbs (I used Panko)
salt and pepper, to taste

Using a knife and spoon, cut/scrape out the guts of the zuch. I like to leave a thick rind on it.

Dice the onion (the smaller, the better, but I'm not a huge onion fan), and sautee in olive oil with garlic. (I used roasted garlic, because I had some leftover, but fresh would be fine, too.) After cooking the hell out of the onions, add chopped zucchini guts.

You're supposed to cook that until the water from the zuch cooks off, but I didn't notice it giving off a TON of liquid. Just cook it until you think it's done.

Add a handful or two (depending on your love of feta) of cheese, and roughly chop the basil. (I like leaving them in fairly big pieces. yum.)

Add a few shakes of breadcrumbs. (Though I didn't do a side-by-side taste test, it seems like the Panko crumbs probably lighten the stuffing a lot more than regular crumbs. But really, I think any kind would be fine.)

Salt and pepper to taste. Spoon the filling into the zucchini shells. Cook them in a baking dish with sides, just in case they leak, and spray the bottom of it with cooking spray so they don't stick.

Bake in a 400 degree oven for 20-30 minutes, depending on how soft you want the zucchini rinds (I like them still with a bit of crunch).


As much as I am irritated by recipes calling for pinches and dollops and glops (god, I hate glops!) that's basically how I cook, so I can't give out any real measurements. Sorry.

I think there's really no way to fuck up this recipe--provided you don't forget about it in the oven and burn it. It is deeeeelicious!

Explosions

I am obsessed with explosions. In a bad way.

I'm scared of firecrackers.

I hold glasses gingerly because I'm waiting for them to shatter between my fingers, cutting a bloody path across my palm. I've had glass explode on me before. That it was directly related to being on a hot stove, and knowing the heat instantly fuses the edges of the break doesn't occur to me in my paranoia of all glass, all the time.

When I boil water in the kettle and it whistles shrillly, I carefully pull it off the burner and flip open the top, then wait a minute because I expect the metal kettle to burst open, spilling boiling water on me.

Pushing the gas pedal down past where the car comfortably wants to go revs the engine and makes my heart stop for a second, waiting for the front hood of my car to erupt in sparks and flames.

I expect it. I believe it will happen one day.

Once in the throes of a panic attack, the only one I've ever had, back in college, I heard a ticking coming from the water heater closet. I laid down on the floor next to it, waiting for it to burst. I fell asleep there.

When I was a kid, a stove really did explode on me. We were making cookies with a babysitter, and she didn't know how to light our old, scary propane stove. I was ten or so, and instructed her to stick the match down into the pilot hole while turning on the gas. A flute of blue flame rose out of the hole. That had never happened before. We didn't know what to do. So I blew it out. And then the kitchen exploded.

I remember blue and orange light. It fizzled and filled the entire room, and was over in a fraction of a second. But windows were knocked out of their frames across the house, and a quarter inch of my hair, brows, and lashes were sizzled.

Upon returning

I think a dangerous thing about returning to Chicago is that I have built it up quite a bit in my head, and I have ideas about what it (and I) will be like. The things I imagine about myself are who I've always wanted to be but am never sure I really am.

As though suddenly I'll be more active and go back to being the slim person I was several years ago, or stop being as cluttered in my living space as we are now. I'll be focused and intelligent and insightful in my school work, and I will quickly make like-minded friends in my classes.

Who I really am is not necessarily a disappointment; I just want to be better. Cooler, smarter, livelier. More.

No longer a rough draft.

From bad to worse

Work is really bad right now. It's a pretty toxic environment, and I can't wait to leave. You know the stereotype of Southerners being incredible sweet to your face while they're busy cutting you down? Almost everyone I know mentioned that to me when I first told them I was moving. Unfortunately, I work with one or two people who live up to that stereotype.

There is absolutely no trust in my workplace. There are now two people with whom I openly (but behind closed doors) discuss this, but not for one moment do I think they aren't talking amongst themselves about me and the things I might do that bothers them. It's not a great spot to be in, but occasionally, I reeeeeally need to vent.

I can't wait to get out of here. 16 more days.

The worst

There is nothing in the world worse that hearing your dad cry after losing his best friend. Nothing nothing nothing.