riverlight | Recent Entries

Here's a list of lovely things in my life right now:

Job: I had a second-round interview for a job yesterday, and I think it went really well! I both desperately need and want a new job (the City of Boston ended my contract with about a week's notice due to budgets, but even despite that, I've been underemployed since I left Harvard, two years ago). This would be a job that I'd be very good at, that I'd enjoy (from everything I can tell), and that would be paid very well… the trifecta! I should hear later this week.

Moving: If I get this job, I have to (and get to) move to NYC. Sister C and I lived in the city together for a decade, as some of you may remember; when we bought a house together in our hometown in CT, we left and moved back to the tiny rural area where we grew up. I've loved living here! I have a beautiful little house, and my mom and siblings are all within a five-to-15 minute drive. I've joined the Fire Department, and a local choir, and am assisting the Registrar of Voters, so I actually know people and have friends here, which has never been true before. I'm not at all relishing the logistics of uprooting my life here and moving back to Manhattan. But: that said! Turns out, when C. and I were living there before, I was pretty severely depressed the whole damn time, in a way which drastically impacted my quality of life. I knew I was depressed at the time, but I didn't know just how much it was constraining me. Now that I'm finally properly medicated, it's remarkable how much energy and enthusiasm and curiosity I feel about life; I'm just happy to be alive these days. So I actually am kind of looking forward to living in the city as the person I am now… I'll probably be much more capable of doing things like going to museums and concerts and the park and dating and… etc. I'm actually super excited.

Singing: Also if I move to the city I'll try to re-join the excellent choir I sang with before. It's a very high level choir, near professional though it's about half amateurs, and I haven't found anything comparable here in CT. I can't wait.

Speaking of singing—I recently auditioned for a church gig (the freelance singer's bread and butter) and got the job, which is very exciting. The musical director is incredibly well-trained—someone who has actually made music her profession, in a way I haven't actually encountered outside of, like, people who went to Juilliard. During the audition, she stopped me in the middle of singing and basically gave me a mini voice lesson in how to breathe, and the change in my vocal quality and power was immediate. And then today when we were talking about the job, she basically analyzed my voice in a way that I haven't had a teacher do since—oh, college, which was 20 years ago. "You're not a second soprano," she said (which I knew—I just sing sop 2 in my other choir because that's what they need.) "You're a lyric soprano, maybe even a dramatic soprano, and you've got an instrument you're vastly underusing." Which is fascinating to me. Several of the things she's said to me ("You need better breath control," and "Your sight-reading skills are okay but need improvement") are things I'm well aware of, so it makes me inclined to think she may well know what she's talking about. Which. What does this mean for me? I haven't had formal vocal training since—again—college, with the exception of like three voice lessons one summer. I know a lot about music compared to your average person because I love it, and I've sung with a lot of choirs, but compared to professional musicians, I know next to nothing. I don't know why A440 and A415 are different. I don't know what the difference is between Baroque and Romantic music when it comes to performing. I'm a good amateur, and yeah, I get paid for singing, but I'm still just that—a good amateur. It's interesting to contemplate the idea that if I put in the effort I could improve the quality of my voice. To what end, I have no idea—I'm in my 40s, and even if I weren't, being a gigging musician is not the life I want—but then again, why should I know what the end is? I'm looking forward to working with this woman, in other words. It's gonna be an education.

Birds and animals. I've been feeding the birds, and so I have a congregation of wonderful black-jacketed juncos living around me. And since we have two feet of snow on the ground, every time I go outside I see all the wonderful little animal feet-prints. It makes me so happy.

It's such a nice feeling to feel optimistic about the future. I'm in the middle of hitting "submit" on a job application that I am super qualified for and that would be a really great next step in my career (with a great salary). And I have one audition for a paid church singing gig scheduled, with another in the works.

Granted, I have felt super optimistic about positions that I've then not gotten… but, gosh, if this were to work out, my life would be a lot better!

I'm at my best friends' house for the week, staying with them and being Auntie Riverlight for the next few days. And, man, this reminds me of childhood! Winters in Connecticut then were like what winters in Maine are now—bitter cold. And my dad kept the house cold (55°) as my friends do (60°). And there's the constant battle with the woodstove.

…And, alas, there's the tip-toeing around a man's volatile temper. ( Cut for details of poor parenting/men behaving badly )

I survived my childhood, and even thrived, and I love the person I am today. But that doesn't change the fact that I shouldn't have had to experience what I did, and neither should any other kiddo.

I swear, 2026 is a nonsense future year. Surely 2026 is a year when we'll have future marvels like super-tall skyscrapers and moon shuttles and flying cars—not a year I live in! And yet. Here we are.

It turns out I haven't posted here in, ugh, over a year. Historically, not posting meant I was too depressed to do more than the bare minimum of sustaining life—thank god that's no longer the case, and in this case I was just too busy and out of the habit of doing it, I guess.

But this year I've decided that one of my Year Goals is to post here at least 3 times a week, in service of staying in better touch with all y'all! I don't make resolutions, per se—I'm not really into the whole "optimize yourself" thing that seems to go along with the idea of resolutions, because they feel so open-ended: like, "get in shape!" is a resolution, and you just have to, what, do it every day for the rest of your life. No thanks! But the idea of making a goal for myself of the things I want to accomplish by the end of the year—that makes sense. So my Year Goals are: finish a draft of my novel, post here three times a week, and stay committed to my spiritual life/meditation practice. Not a bad list, I don't think!

Since it has been so long, here's the ( state of me in 2026 ).

So, that's that. And now I have to go play Scrabble with my nieces, who are demanding Auntie time posthaste.

Dear Yuletide author!

I am mostly copy-pasting this from past years—please forgive me, it's 11 pm and I have to be up at 5 pm to drive three hours to Boston for work.

( Yuletide letter within... )

In conclusion: yay Yuletide, and yay you!

Things I want to be doing:

Working on the Shetland Jimmy/Duncan story I'm in the middle of
Working on That Other Writing Project I'm trying not to talk about for fear of spooking it
Zone out listening to music on my headphones
Go for a run, maybe (who am I??)
Have a glass of wine (but not really! By this I mean: either shut off my brain or kickstart my brain, but either way I want out of this ADHD-paralysis quicksand, and I think one of the reasons I drank so much was because it was a pretty reliable way to do that, alcohol being, after all, a way to get a hit of dopamine)
Doing any of the myriad projects around the house that need doing (caulking the shower! touching up paint in the kitchen! refinishing the floor just enough that I can put the bookcase where it belongs!)

Things I should be doing:

Working (I need to do at least one more hour today)
Digging out the seller's real estate disclosure from when I bought the condo so mom and I can figure out whether we have any legal recourse against her
Doing my budget (ugh)
Applying for back-dated unemployment (double ugh)
Replying to the three people who agreed to write Fulbright recommendations for me (oh god it's due SO SOON)
Writing my Fulbright app essays (oh god due SO soon!)
Cooking the veggies that are slowly wilting in my fridge due to my utter lack of interest
Cleaning the house so it's in reasonable shape for when dad shows up this weekend

I notice how this Venn Diagram does not overlap, like, at all.

Okay, self. Go do ten minutes of work on turning around your work deliverable, and then you can work on some fic.

I'm just so fucking sick and tired of feeling like I can't do a goddamn thing right at work.

I'm slow, at work. It takes me a long time to write. It takes me a long time to do anything; I'm a lot slower than my colleagues, I've noticed. I have a hard time with time management and deadlines: I struggle super hard with understanding how long things will take to do, and thus how long I should estimate to do things. I struggle a lot with what my bosses consider "reliability," i.e. getting things done when I say I'm going to do them.

I have a hard time with details, too; I'm constantly running into situations where I think I have a clear understanding of what's being asked of me, I talk through it with my manager and think we're on the same page, and then I hand in the thing and—lo and behold!—turns out their expectations were for something else and they end up being frustrated with me.

Does some of this sound like ADHD? Why yes, it does! I got diagnosed this spring, at age 41. When I got put on a PIP, all of the things they indicated that I needed to improve on were things directly relating to my poor management of some of these challenges: time management, tracking details, difficulties with focus.

The ADHD diagnosis didn't prevent them from laying me off. Which: I get it! Neuro-cognitive difficulties aren't a "get out of jail free" card that lets me just underperform and expect to get away with it. I am a difficult employee who seems to need a lot more guidance and hand-holding than my peers; it's no wonder they didn't want to deal with me any longer. I don't blame them, in other words. They shouldn't keep me around if I can't perform. And I'm not sure I'd want to deal with me, either: who the hell wants to deal with an employee who can do the key functions of her job (writing) really well but needs huge amounts of management on the rest of the tasks (everything else)?

But it's just so demoralizing to keep trying and trying and trying and never being able to come up to the mark. Though they laid me off, I have another 2 months until my contract's actually done, so I go in to work every day feeling like it's just a matter of time before I fuck up again. I just had an instance of fucking up, yet again: I delivered something yesterday I thought had met my manager's expectations, that I truly believed was what was being asked of me—and this morning I woke up to a clearly frustrated and curt message from my manager expressing his unhappiness with what I'd done. I don't need accolades, but, god. If I ever had a manager respond by saying "Hey, I can see you worked really hard on this but it wasn't quite what I was expecting, can we figure out where the gap in expectations is?" I'd probably burst into tears out of sheer surprise and relief. Instead I feel like there's this invisible mark that I keep trying to hit and keep failing.

The thing that gets me is—well. On the one hand, I keep thinking: "God, if they'd just given me some of the support I'd asked for when I asked for official accommodations, I might not have ended up in this situation." I asked for official ADA accommodations as soon as I received my diagnosis, and one the accommodations I suggested was clear written guidance about how to do tasks and what was expected of me. I didn't expect them to just do what I asked—the reasonable accommodations process is a dialogue, after all! But I did hope they'd at least make an effort to engage with me on some of it. And I keep thinking, well, if they'd been at all willing to engage on that and given me something—anything—in writing, I might have been clearer on what was being expected and then I'd have been better able to deliver, rather than just having me rely on a conversation and my own (apparently incorrect) notes. But they didn't, and haven't—I'm not just being self-justifying when I say they have not made a single visible effort to respond to my accommodation request.

Then on the other hand, I think: well, they did give me clear expectations in writing. It was in the PIP. If I didn't understand them well enough to apply them in this case, well—that's on me. If I'm so stupid that I can't extract the situation-specific guidance on what they expect for publication drafts from the overall general written guidance about publications they gave me in the PIP, then that's on me, and it's no wonder they're frustrated.

I'm just tired, guys. I want to be good at my job; I don't want to try and try and fail; I don't want people to be mad at me all the time. And yet no matter what I try I can't seem to succeed. It's demoralizing.

Last week, I had The Talk with my managers, where they let me know they would not be continuing my contract. (My employment is a one-year contract. Last year they continued me; this year they did not.) So as of August I'm out of work.

I am hugely privileged in many ways: I have three more months of employment in which I can find a new job! I'll be entering the job market with the Harvard name on my resume! I've got a job history that looks quite impressive on paper! Plus I've got such amazing family support; I'll never be homeless or starving no matter what happens with my employment or lack thereof. Talk about blessings.

I also am... well, let's just say "deeply anxious" about what comes next. I'm essentially being let go because of how much I've struggled to manage the symptoms of ADHD, and even though I can very very clearly see how this has impacted my work performance and totally understand why my managers have found it unacceptable, I also am feeling pretty despairing about finding a job that I can do successfully. Looking back, I've underperformed not only at this job but at my last two jobs, and that doesn't bode well for the future. Not only "how can I find a job I can do successfully," but also—how can I find a job that I can do remotely from my tiny hometown? And how can I find a job that lets me afford life as a single woman in an expensive COL area?

And how can I do that when I don't really have a strong sense of what I'm good at and what I want to do, even now at age mumblety-40?

In many ways my life is doing really well: I'm happier than I've ever been on a consistent basis (even if the daily ups and downs are tough), I'm living in the most beautiful place in the world, I'm surrounded by family whom I adore. But this whole question of jobs and career is… let's just say it's making it hard to focus on the actual job I still have right now, because all I can think about is trying to figure out where I want to be in three months and how to make that happen.

I just wrote this text to my mom: "Three months ago, you and I took a walk down the Valley from my house, and all I could think of the whole time was how much I was hurting, how desperate I was for the pain to stop. Now, three months later, I'm taking the same walk, and I'm full of joy and a profound gratitude for being alive. Thank you for helping me get here."

And—I mean, that's it, isn't it? I feel so damn lucky. Or—lucky isn't quite the word, because lucky doesn't feel deep enough. It's gratitude, if the gratitude feels as wide as the ocean, the kind of feeling that has me taking that walk and feeling I want to make a bow of reverence inside my heart.

Is it the therapy? The medication? The sobriety? Being in my forties? Probably all four. But I'll take it. It's only in hindsight that I can recognize how bad things had gotten—because today I felt like my spirit could dance right out of my body it was so light, and I haven't felt that way since my twenties.

* * *

I was put on a performance improvement plan at work; I've been quite desperately under-performing, and my bosses have let me know I'm not meeting expectations. (Was it the former alcoholism? The worsening depression? The undiagnosed ADHD? The bosses' unarticulated expectations? Probably all four.). The thing I find remarkable about all this is how calmly I'm taking it. I mean, did I absolutely hate hearing that I'm not meeting expectations? Absolutely. I felt like shit, and wailed, and cried, and all but gnashed my teeth. But I did that for a few hours, and then I stood up and dried my tears and said, "Okay, great, so now I know what I need to do better," and proceeded to do better. It's like my brain suddenly decided that it didn't have to take things personally; I just feel like approaching things with humility and curiosity. I can laugh at the fact that I'm not perfect instead of being scared about it. I might or might not get fired, but—if that happens, it's going to be what the day brings, and I'll worry about it then. For now, all I have to do is curiously and thoughtfully take onboard the feedback I've been given and I try to apply it.

I can't overemphasize how weird this is. It's like my body has suddenly realized it's safe, and now my brain is able to put down the immense burden of anxiety it was carrying. I've never felt like this before.

* * *

M. asked me yesterday what I'd say to myself if I had a time machine and could go back to 2022 riverlight, or 2015 riverlight, or some younger me. He likes to have this kind of deep conversation; asking things like this is his way of, like, processing big feelings, I guess. And I think he wanted some serious answer, some deep piece of wisdom that would have saved my past self a lot of misery and sadness, something that would have gotten younger me onto a different path. And instead, all I could say was that I'd tell myself "You're fine, you're okay, you've got this." I wouldn't want to change anything, because in that alternate universe, the me I am isn't the me i am now. And was fine and am fine, and that's because I've got my own back. I make good decisions, because the decisions I made then got me to where I am now. And that's so amazing to think about. I can turn around and look at future me and know I'm making good decisions for her. How weird is that?

* * *

(Apparently I'm feeling reflective.}

Apparently it is the thirtieth anniversary of Due South. THIRTIETH! What? I don't understand! What even is time?

I mean, okay. I guess. Even though I didn't watch the show when it aired (I bought the DVDs a few years later) it was still my first fandom. And at the time, I was in college then, and—yeah, okay. That was a long time ago,

So, all right, if I'mma be old, I'll be old, and do like we did back in the day, and post fic recs. I know! I don't see this as often any more, but: I'm pretty sure that's how I got to know both

thefourthvine and

norah , because they had such great recs-themed livejournals. (A vital fandom service, I tell you what.) So, in honor of the Due South thirtieth anniversary (and the

ds30below fest on tumblr), I give you: a Due South shenanigans-themed rec set.

One of the things I loved best about DS was the wacky, weird sense of humor. I honestly think, from having seen Paul Gross in other things, that a lot of it was his sense of humor—but, regardless, it's also mine. Sort of quirky, off-the-wall, sometimes magical realist. And fic I loved most managed to capture some of that sense of wackiness.

The Bodyguard, by speranza. Fraser/RayK, 20k words. This one has Fraser, Russians, vodka, spring chickens, and frequent jaunts to Canada (if by "Canada" you mean "Fraser's closet," and I do). For whatever reason, the line "my father gave you a cookie?" cracked me up every time, and even now I giggle when I think of it.
Chicago's Most Wanted, by speranza. Fraser/RayK, 43k words. The one where Fraser loses his memory and goes to jail and becomes convinced he's a criminal mastermind. Again, the line "diabolical and nutritious" cracks me up, lo these many year
Scrabble, by speranza. Fraser/RayK, 30k words. Whooboy. This one blew my mind when I read it—the format is wild, but it's what the format lets Speranza do with POVs that's so excellent. In this story, it's the image of Ray hollering "natural bullshit!" that makes me cackle.

(Did I mean to rec three fics by the same author? No. Will I let it stand? You bet your Stetson I will. Speranza was one of the best writers in Due South fandom, so ain't no harm in throwing a little love her way!)

This post also available on tumblr here.

So, I follow a bunch of auction sites online—the millennial version of my grandmother's lifelong habit of going to garage sales, I guess. (Plus: no getting up at 7 am on Saturdays, like we did with her as kids, to get there in time for good bargains.) Anyway, the other day I found this sculpture and immediately fell in love. But I couldn't figure out why I liked it so much; I'm not usually one for decorative objects. Then I thought, well, it reminds me of that wonderful Dorset/Inuit art I love so much... and then I realized. Guys. I like this little figurine because it makes me think of cesperanza 's Due South story Hanged Man. Remember that one? With the bread sculpture and the sea goat? Lo these many years later, that's what this sculpture made me think of. Hahaha. Our minds are so delightful and funny.
I've been really loving the Huberman Lab podcast. He's a Stanford professor of neurology and ophthalmology, and his podcast is focused on—he says "science education," but I'd say it's specifically neuroscience and biology, with an emphasis on understanding and improving physical and mental health via a deep understanding of biological mechanisms. This isn't your standard "health influencer" podcast; many of his episodes extend to three hours, and he dives deep into the science of what he's talking about. (Don't know what the ventral tegmentum is? Well, here's where you can learn.) YMMV; some of what he talks about seems a little "out there" and could arguably be called "biohacking," and that has a negative association with, like, bro science for a lot of people—but, speaking as someone who actually does my own research by reading PubMed articles (and not just, like, going on reddit) I find that whether or not a concept is new to me, he always backs it up with extensive scientific evidence from respected peer-reviewed journals, so—it works for me.
Two of the episodes I've most enjoyed are the one on alcohol's effects on the body (incredibly sobering, haha, pun intended: alcohol is terrifyingly awful for us, and I for one had no idea about most of this) and the episode on ADHD medication (I'd been having this exact conversation with my friend M, who was concerned about whether putting his daughter on meds would mean she'd have to be on meds for the rest of her life and negatively impact her down the line; the answer appears to be no). If you like going deep into the science on things or are interested in neuroplasticity, check out the podcast.
Need some new music? Here's what I've been loving recently: Journey in Satchidananda, by Alice Coltrane. Jazz and Indian classical hybrid. I had no idea who Alice Coltrane was but I'm so glad to discover her and love this album. Baby I'm a Fool, by Melody Gardot. Classic piano jazz/jazz vocals by a woman with a gorgeous voice. (Seriously, her vocal control is lovely.) Someday, by Josh Ritter. Indie/folk. What can I say about Josh Ritter that I haven't said already? This is my favorite off his latest album. Brilliant instrumentalization, wonderful vocal.

I am cat sitting, and Mom's cat Lucy is curled up on my lap, purring like mad.
The house is completely clean! I did a bit every day the past few days and somehow it feels just so lovely to have a clean well organized space.
I have enough money in the bank account to pay my condo fees. And my mortgage.
My wonderful brother had a very exciting job interview today, my wonderful sister is doing excellent at her job, my wonderful mother is loving retirement, and my wonderful father had eye surgery and is recovering nicely. Gosh, I love them.
I made a really delicious dish in the slow cooker last night (chicken, bacon, tomatoes and lentils) so I had food to eat for dinner.

Item one: Come say hi! I'm always up for conversation. And feel free to add me to your reading list if you're so inclined, even if we don't know each other—that's part of the delight of fannish relationships, meeting people we otherwise wouldn't! If you feel like it, drop me a line and let me welcome you to these parts!

Item two: Fic masterlist is here!

Item two, part a: You're more than welcome to transform those works in any way you want, be it podfic or whatever. I'm fully in favor of transformative works! Permission not required for anything I've posted publicly, but please do post it publicly if the fic in question is public, and do let me know so that I can link to your marvellous work.

Item three: I'm also known as

riverlight82 and

riverlight82; again, follow at will.

Crossposts: http://riverlight.livejournal.com/164944.html

Two days ago, sad: today, deliciously happy. Such is the roller-coaster, apparently, of this whole getting-in-touch-with-my-feelings business. What a treat to get both sides of the coin!

Yesterday I got up at 5:45 am and drove up to Albany, what is normally a 1h45 trip turned into 2h30, complete with momentarily losing vehicular control on a stretch of unplowed road and then creeping along at 40 mph on the freeway. So I was exhausted by the time I got there, and drifted along in a haze of exhaustion all day; I was in no condition to appreciate the snowstorm that was the cause of the bad driving conditions.

This morning, though? I woke up in the hotel I'd stayed at overnight, and out the window the trees were all heavy with snow, deep green conifers buried under soft drifting white. The sky was that cool pale winter blue shading to peach, the mountains cold and slate-grey rising in the distance. What glory! How beautiful! The world is so lovely, when I have the capacity to pay attention. Even the dirt and roar of the cars and the shabbiness of the hotel couldn't diminish the feeling of it, somehow: it felt tucked out of time, charmed, magical. New England in winter.

Speaking of magical: I was in Albany for my third IUI, the last one before I get to proceed to IVF again. Logically, I know the odds are very slim—between the technique, my age, and the sperm I'm using (frozen rather than fresh) I've got probably a 5% chance that I'll actually get pregnant. But 5% is not nothing, and so I can't help but feel a little glimmer of hope and excitement: it could work, after all. I know a week from now I'll have veered right back into a more realistic-slash-depressing assessment of the odds, and two weeks from now I'll have to confront the actual reality of the outcome, but right now there's enough potential that I can relish the possibility of it, at least for a night or two. It could happen, so I get to hold it close, that potential: a little shimmer of delight.

I'm feeling sad today, unaccountably; I've spent so long feeling reasonably cheerful—nay, downright happy!—that I've kind of forgotten how to deal with these for-no-reason blues.

Or—well. Real talk, it's been so long since I've unhappy while sober that I've forgotten how to deal with it. It's miserable!

I've been trying to get sober for—honestly, years. But this is the first time it feels like it's sticking, like I'm staying sober because I want to, because I've finally gotten on some deep level that booze is bad for me. It's amazing, and I'm so so so happy about it. But—well, they say in the reddit sobriety community that when you get sober you have to feel your feelings, and turns out that's true. Ugh.

You probably wouldn't know I've got an alcohol problem to look at me; I'm the epitome of high-functioning. I've got a good job and a loving family, I've never lost relationships or my health or a job. I can hardly even say "I spent a decade at the bottom of a bottle," because I didn't; in the past decade I've lived a lot of life and had a lot of adventures. But I also spent a lot of the past decade being either quietly, desperately sad, or insistently, determinedly fine, all the while wondering why I'd somehow lost the ability to feel things deeply and intensely that I had in childhood and my twenties. "I think I broke myself," I said, once, to my therapist. "I used to have a lot of feelings, but I don't seem to have those anymore."

Turns out I didn't break myself; turns out all I had to do was stop numbing my feelings out of existence. WHO KNEW.

Which is great! I'm so glad to have my ability to have emotions back, truly I am—except, well, tonight it's not the most fun thing in the world.

So I've got food on the stove and candles lit and swing jazz playing, and I made myself a cup of tea, so: I'm trying! Light, music, food, the cat: could be a lot worse.

Dreamwidth ate the post I was writing (ugh) so instead here's my entry for

snowflake_challenge .

Fannish me:

riverlight /

riverlight82 /

riverlight /

riverlight82 . I'm iffy about posting here regularly, but do try; I'm on twitter as long as That Fucker doesn't break the site, and you can pry Tumblr out of my cold dead hands. (Turns out Tumblr provides just the sort of off-the-wall, unhinged content I like, in a delightfully dopamine-hit-inducing way. It makes me happy!)

Real-Life Me: 40, single, queer. Trying to get myself knocked up, and, mostly-unrelatedly, trying to get sober. Government nerd, singer, cat lover, and major introvert.

Transormative works policy: Yes, please! Do whatever you want to whatever I've created; just let me know so I can link back!

Current passions, fannish: Again with the not being great at staying engaged, because I get distracted easily, but: 9-1-1 is a show that hits ALL my buttons: disasters and emergency management! queer characters! best friends in love! In fact, it hits my buttons so well that I can't always watch it. Other loves: The Locked Tomb Trilogy (COME YELL ABOUT HARROW AND GIDEON AND CAM AND PAL AND NONA WITH ME ON TUMBLR, omg), and Murderbot, even though I'm not writing in those fandoms.

Current passions, otherwise: Classical music, indie music, Americana music, the banjo, pedal steel guitar, countertenors… are you sensing a theme? Music, period. Reading every hour I can. Lately: sci-fi. Knitting. Cooking and becoming a better cook! My cat. Learning to draw. Spirituality, though that's a thing I don't really know how to talk about easily. Flowers and gardening. Learning to be a more whole-hearted person.

Say hi, won't you?

There are so many things that bring me joy. I have a small cat curled up on my belly, purring madly, her head tucked under and eyes closed in pure contentment. The leaves are as vivid as I've seen them in years: pure gold and amber and russet and blazing orange, glowing in the slanting autumn sunshine. What beauty! The cows in the field next door low every evening, hungry for food, and there are flocks of wild turkeys on all the roadsides. The other morning, a turkey got stuck in my garden enclosure and I had to go let him out, barefoot in the dewy grass, while he ran back and forth in panic until he was able to dart out the gate and rejoin his flock. Such beloved beautiful creatures.

I saw two raccoons crossing the road on the way to pick up my CSA, and (god be praised) didn't hit either of them with the car. This morning, Sister C. and I joined our aunt, uncle, cousin, and cousin's husband for a tromp in the woods to an old abandoned quarry: sharp blue sky and falling golden leaves, and everywhere the sharp gray stones, bones of the everlasting hills, covered in moss. Strange to think our ancestors harvested stones as a crop, but there they are in their serried ranks in the walls to the town cemetery, the mark of a prosperous New England village.

This morning, drinking my coffee, the cat curled up on my lap as she's wont to do, our early morning ritual. After ten minutes, she got up from my lap and walked across the table over to the couch, where she curled up on Sister C.'s lap: she has to get love from both her humans, after all.

Our fridge is full of veggies from the CSA, kale and spinach and the most vivid fuchsia radishes you could hope for, broccoli and squash and the last of the season's heirloom tomatoes. We'll eat the tomatoes with a pile of cottage cheese and homemade garlic mayonnaise, the favorite dish of our family. (Our grandmother was the one who started it, and of such homely things are traditions made; two generations on, we still eat tomatoes and cottage cheese, and her eggplant casserole, and her chocolate mousse.)

My wonderful mother is well and happy, and we hung out last night to watch a movie. My beloved father is well and happy, and he and his partner are coming down from Canada on Tuesday. My wonderful sister is struggling with what to do with her life but is so cheerful and positive. My favorite brother is recovering from COVID (god be praised) and is so happy because he got a new pet bunny. He named it after our dead grandfather.

It's such a simple litany of blessings: nature, and wild creatures, and ancestors, and food, and family! But truly, truly, do I need anything else?

I'm sitting out on my porch, with the cat curled up next to me and my favorite-lately band playing. The swallows and goldfinches (?) are swooping and diving in the yard, and there are crows in the trees, and everything smells like that sweet-dusty late-summer scent of grass in the sunshine. It's so lovely.

Here are some updates from the trenches:

My new job is amazing. AMAZING. You guys. I've only been there two weeks, but it's brilliant. I have a great supervisor. The org takes professional development and training really seriously. Everyone's really smart. It's just wonderful. I said to Sister C. the other day: it's amazing how much nicer my life is now that I'm not stressed all the time!
I had a brilliant two weeks of vacation after the old job and before the new one. We spent the up in the Maritimes, on the farm dad bought on the Bay of Fundy. Glorious.
I'm finally dealing with my Issues™ in therapy. Like. It's not fun. It's really not fun, but I'm glad I'm doing it. Turns out I'm a little fucked up, guys, (aren't we all?) but hopefully I can be less fucked up in my forties!
Finally (burying the lede) I went and got myself potentially knocked up yesterday. And then, hilariously, went home to have drinks/dinner with my aunt/uncle/cousins and cross-the-street neighbors, to discover that my sister had shared my day's activities with the whole crowd. Family I'm cool with, but apparently now my neighbors also know the details of my attempts to get pregnant! I'm honestly not that bothered—I don't really have shame around any of this, and am all for normalizing discussion of fertility in general—but I do wonder if they found it a little awkward!

Plus: New job, new job! I got the job with the org I've wanted to work for since 2018. They're hugely excited about me, which feels great. It's fully remote, a raise in salary, great benefits, great management… and I'll likely get to work with Colleague M. again, which is just bonkers. I'm so excited!
Minus: I am 110% mentally checked out of my current job, even though I have lots and lots and lots to do before I can officially resign.
Plus: I had my final monitoring appointment for IVF today. They saw 11 follicles, plus a bunch more smaller ones they didn't count. This is reasonably good, I think! My egg retrieval is Monday. In theory, I could be looking at 2 mature embryos if all goes well! (Of course, there's all sorts of "if" coming off this plan, as M. used to say, but I'm feeling cautiously optimistic.) My mom is driving me to Albany for the retrieval. I kind of love it. My mom, taking her single almost-40-year-old daughter to get knocked up with donor sperm from a friend.
Minus: Turns out steroids dull the headache pain significantly enough I turn into a real human being again! …However, they won't let me have steroids long-term. They're trying another headache med next. I guess that's a plus? Who knows. I liked being human again. Ugh.
Plus: There's a red-wing blackbird pecking at crumbs at the outdoor coffee shop I'm at. And this morning I was driving behind a car with a very happy German Shepherd hanging out the window.
Minus: Did I mention my current job? In addition to general transition work, my boss has given me a very particular assignment that is both a) high priority and b) necessary. And for whatever reason I just cannot make myself work on it. It's like I'm having some sort of, like, moral block about it. I cannot force myself to do it. She's already had to shoulder so many burdens on my behalf because of my headaches, I feel like I ethically can't go to her and be like "look, I'm not doing it," so… I'm stuck. Ugh.
Plus: Long weekend this weekend, though. I'm going to work really hard all day and then honestly take the day off!

Today, I absolutely must:

~~Follow up with the Executive Director and the Potential Manager at Potential New Workplace to express interest in either (!) of the roles they're hopefully going to offer me~~
~~Talk to Colleague M. about the roles (one of which would involve… collaboration with him, yay! It truly is a small world)~~

Today, I really should:

~~Set up an appointment with the headache specialist~~
~~Follow up with the neurologist~~
~~Track down and upload my MRI films for the neurologist~~
~~Make a chiropractor appointment~~
~~Follow up with the emergency room to dispute a bill~~
Submit reimbursement claims for my IVF meds
Follow up on other health insurance reimbursements
Harass TurboTax about refunds
Upload my IVF consent forms

Tomorrow:

Acupuncture appointment
Physical therapy appointment
Drop off package from dad to mom
Book my California flight
UH FIRST IVF STIMS WHAT

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no longer a human trampoline

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