This Desert Life

When I was visiting Nik & Mandy around the first of the year, I bought for Nik an Answer Deck. We had fun playing with it that night at their house and the deck did give me the correct answer about whether I’d get my promotion. So when I saw a copy of it at the bookstore the other day, I got it for myself.

Fooling around with it the other night, I asked a silly question: “Who is the next person I’m going to have sex with?” The cards told an interesting story. I already know the person, it seems, but he’s involved with someone else. However, they are going to have a bitter fight and break up. I’m supposed to be patient through this. My answer card revealed that I would be rewarded with a new sense of strength. It’ll be interesting to see if any of this actually happens. I know only a few guys who are coupled that I’d like to see break up for my own selfish reasons but I would not actively sabotage their relationships. The cards were dead-on accurate about the job thing, though.

A guy whose blog I read often writes about numerology. While I am willing to ask a deck of cards a question, numerology has always seemed too out there for me to take it seriously. But yesterday at Bookman’s I found a numerology book written specifically for Sagittarians. It was only $2 so I picked it up. Among other things, it tells how to calculate your destiny number, the digit that supposedly reveals what you were reincarnateed to do in this lifetime.

Turns out I’m supposed to be a psychological counselor. Psychology has always interested but I’ve never seriously thought about it as a career. True, I was a psychology major for a year in college but that was mostly because I was trying to learn if I was as screwed up as I feared. I wasn’t too concerned with helping other people at that point. I really just needed to figure myself out.

As I’ve gotten older, however, I’ve gotten more interested in wanting to help people. The most satisfying parts of my current job are the times when I can directly assist someone and get them what they need. I do think I would be happier in a profession that allowed me to experience that more often.

What’s more, people tend to come to me and tell me things and seek advice or just a friendly ear. Coworkers do it all the time. It happened twice today. Just last night my sister called me because she was upset. She’s told me before that she always feels better after talking to me. Tonight when I got home from work, there was a message on my answering machine from a good friend who said she needed, “emotional structure and satisfaction” and had called all three of my phone numbers trying to find it. Yes, I think she was mostly joking but still, she did call me.

I’m not saying I’m going to drop out of library school and become a shrink. In fact, I don’t see myself ever becoming a professional counselor, no matter what my stars, numbers, and cards say. However, it is something to think about doing on the side. Maybe once I’m out of school I’ll look for some sort of volunteer work where I can satisfy this aspect of my life.

I remember a lecture about the Greek concept of the afterlife from my classics course in college. Dr. Kadletz, whose lectures were always lively and vivid, said that the Greeks feared death most because they thought it was going to be boring. He explained that the Greeks were earthy people who enjoyed living in a material world full of sport, food, and sex. After death, their spirits just sort of hung around in the underworld, cut off from corporal pleasures. Dr. Kadletz was an athiest and he didn’t believe in an afterlife. He enjoyed the smell of garlic cooking in olive oil, a good bottle of wine, and cracking jokes about his mother-in-law. As we talked about the Greeks and their beliefs he said he envisioned death as a long, dreamless sleep. “What’s wrong with that?” he asked, rhetorically. Lots, I thought at the time, but I really couldn’t put it into words then. I just had a hunch he was wrong about the afterlife.

The Greek sentiment about the afterlife would be echoed 2,000 years by the Talking Heads in their song Heaven, which is described as “a place where nothing ever happens.” Unless I’ve been missing something, the Juedo-Christian concept of heaven, where you just float around being happy that you are in the presence of God, does sound pretty dull. Most images of heaven in popular culture do nothing to make it look like an exciting, dynamic place. Some examples:

• That stupid cream cheese commercial where the angel oversleeps and is late to go shopping. Do we really want to spend eternity with alarm clocks and retail outlets?
• Movies like Made in Heaven and Defending Your Life where heaven is merely a place where you kill time until you get reincarnated.
• The billions of comic strips where heaven is just a bunch of clouds and people with harps and halos.

I never really saw beyond this cultural conception of heaven until recently. In fact, one of the things I had to come to terms with regarding Mom’s death was that she was missing out on so many things I knew she’d want to see or experience. Important things, like the new babies in the family, and trivial things, like the tiramisu at North.

A few months ago, I participated in a mix CD trading circle. I’d long had the idea to make a mix of songs about reincarnation so I decided to finally do it for the trade. I found the list I had compiled months earlier of possible songs to include on the mix. One of the songs was Jacksie by Over the Rhine. I had a copy of the song on a compilation CD I bought a long time ago. I hadn’t listened to it much and I wasn’t even sure why it was on my list so I dug it out and played it.

When I heard the lyrics to the final verse something clicked and I started crying. It was a revelation and a relief and it made me realize something about my own beliefs regarding the afterlife.

“Heaven couldn’t hold her
She’ll be by your side when it’s your turn
All she’s seen without you
To you she’ll confide when it’s your turn”

What these lyrics made me realize is this: If there is an afterlife, then it is a life. If the soul’s journey does continue after leaving this world, things are going to happen to that soul along the way. Therefore, Mom’s spirit is doing things and seeing things and experiencing things. She’s not just sitting around in some ghostly realm where nothing ever happens. Further, I can’t feel too bad about the things she’s missing here because we, those she left behind, are missing out on what she’s experiencing.

It sounds simplistic and naive, I know, but it was a comforting thought. I do believe in a life after this one. I do believe the soul goes on. I’ve never really doubted that. Now I have a different perspective of what that life beyond this one is going to be like.

I like the husky voice of a man who smokes. I hate everything else about smoking.

I don’t mind the cheap cologne as long as you don’t wear too much of it.  When it’s barely there, it’s very masculine.

You put some thought into your clothes and hair but I can tell it doesn’t take you more than twenty minutes to get ready in the morning and I appreciate that.

It frustrates me that I can’t read you. I hate when you break eye contact in the nanosecond before I can establish a connection. Is it me? Are you shy? Not interested? Taken? This drives me crazy but it keeps me interested.

I like it when you have something to show me and you stand so close I can feel your body heat. And I love it when you touch my shoulder, even though you only do it when no one else is around. It’s awkward, I know, doing things like that in a place like this.

I’m slow on the uptake myself, more than a little skittish, and have a long history of misreading actions and seeing signs that aren’t there. But I feel it between us. I just need something concrete from you, something that I can grab hold of, something I can pull on to bridge this gap between my soul and my body, to close this distance between us.

At least I could have blamed my watery eyes on the hot mustard.

I went to Yokohama for lunch yesterday. Two booths in front me there was a guy around my age having lunch with his mother. I eavesdropped on their conversation a little. The subject matter was vastly different but the tone of their banter was very similar to what my Mom and I had when we were eating together.

Mom was really into dining out. Back when I lived in Muncie, we had a standing date to go to dinner every Friday evening. After moving away, when I’d go back to visit, we’d eat out almost every night. She enjoyed trying new places, socializing over food and, most of all I think, having someone wait on her. When it was just me and her, she’d always insist on picking up the check which drove me crazy.

The last time we got to go out to eat together was two days before she died. I had arrived for my holiday visit late the night before. The next morning I was craving the oat and nut pancakes from IHOP. I asked her if she wanted to go to breakfast. She wasn’t feeling well but she went. I talked a lot about what was going on at work while we ate. She didn’t talk much but she did eat well. On the way out she handed me the keys and asked me to drive home. That was when I first started to understand just how sick she was. She never, ever wanted anyone else driving her around.

Seeing the guy eating lunch with his mother at Yokohama brought a lot of that back. One of the reasons I go to Yokohama is because I really like their iced jasmine green tea. It reminds of the hot tea Mom and I used to get at a Chinese restaurant back when I lived in Muncie. The place was called Peking and they had great food. The chef would come out of the kitchen and ask people how they liked the food. Mom and I went there a lot until they changed hands and the food went downhill. But we both loved that tea and always drank at least two or three pots when we ate there.

Last fall, I was stuck in a meeting at work. It was one of those long, boring meeting where people just talk and talk and nothing gets done because everyone is trying to push their own agenda. I was starving for lunch and hating life and just wanting to get the hell out of there. Out of nowhere, I smelled that jasmine tea from Peking and had a very vivid image of Mom sitting alone in that restaurant. It was sad and comforting at the same time and I got a little misty but couldn’t really start crying in the middle of that damn meeting.

Likewise, I couldn’t start crying in the middle of Yokohama Rice Bowl yesterday. I was getting a little misty, but like I said, I could have blamed the hot mustard on my egg roll. I finished eating while the guy and his mother were still there. I kind of wanted to stop by their table on the way out and say something about how nice it was they were having lunch together. I couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t make me seem either creepy or pathetic so I just let it go.

Maybe the universe is giving me a Valentine’s Day present.  I just ran into two of my hottest colleagues. Neither work in my division but I see them in the halls from time to time. First I ran into the Bodybuilder having his snack in the break room. He’s got new glasses so now he looks smart and buff. Plus, he was wearing a green shirt that looked really good on him.

Then on the way back in the office, I held the door for the Twink. He’s  a student aide in an office on the same floor as mine. Personally, I think he’s wasting his time working here when he could make far more than minimum wage doing twink porn online. I know I’d pay to see it.

Sexual frustration aside, I’m having a great day. Things are going well at work. People are being either cooperative or quiet. The Boss brought in a delicious chocolate cake that he and his wife baked early this morning. When someone asked him if they really baked it this morning, he said, “Of course! Do you think I’d bring you last night’s cake?” It cracked me up. He’s a funny guy.

Then I had an unexpected visit from my old boss who now works in another unit. She asked me to test something out for her and we had a nice chat. It was good seeing her. I miss working with her. She was the one who hired me in the first place which enabled me to move to desert. I will always be grateful to her for that. Plus, she gave me a good reference when I was up for promotion so I doubly owe her.

So, yeah. All in all, a good Valentine’s Day even if I’m single. In keeping with the spirit of the holiday, I made a special podcast. Have a listen and let me know what you think.

In keeping with the theme of rearranging and redecorating and redoing, I’ve been thinking a lot about my professional wardrobe. Before moving to Arizona, I had a decent collection of nice clothes to wear to work. It took about three minutes to realize that it is much more casual out here in the desert and I let my wardrobe slide that way.

I wear jeans to work everyday. Usually with a polo shirt or a long sleeve t-shirt. The last time I did laundry, I counted. I have 15 pairs of jeans and only three pairs of pants that aren’t. One of the three is the pair of black pants I had to buy for Mom’s surprise funeral Christmas before last.

When I interviewed for my promotion, I wore the funeral pants but I did not have a decent dress shirt so I had to go buy one. I also picked up a tie while I was there. If I had to, I could probably put together three professional-looking outfits with what is currently in my closet. I’m feeling that this is unacceptable.

I mean, my promotion was to a professional level position. Should I start dressing the part? Will people take me less seriously in jeans? On a personal level, I’d likely feel more confident in meetings and such if I weren’t in the back of my mind worrying if I look like a slob.

Believe me, I have problem spending money on clothes. I’m just a little hesitant to drop a lot of money on nice clothes for my current body. One of my goals for this year is to lose some weight. That would definitely make it easier to shop, too, since it’s sometimes hard to find things that I like and that fit well and that look good.

Another issue is that I’m getting a weird vibe from certain coworkers since I took the promotion. I don’t want to suddenly start dressing up and exacerbate that “not one of us” anymore feeling. But I can’t let their neuroses dictate my choices, now can I?

So most likely it’ll be a slow transition from jeans and t-shirts to more professional dress for me.

It’s a new year. Well, relatively new still.

I’ve got a new job. Well, not entirely new. It’s a promotion in the office where I’ve worked for the last eight years. I stayed late Friday night, going through stuff left behind by my predecessors in this position. Tossing out things felt good. It’s time to make room for new things in that office, to rearrange, to make a fresh start.

One of the buildings in my office complex is getting a new facade. At home, my apartment is being painted. I have a long weekend coming up in a few weeks and I plan to spend the time making my patio a liveable space again.

It’s in the air, this feeling of change. After the difficulties of last year, I need some time like this. Time to reinvigorate, to rearrange, to reinvest. Time to exploit what works for me and time to let go of things I do not need any longer. It’s time for a new web presence, hence this new blog, which I hope will become a record of all this good change.