It's Only A Paper Rose

Lots going on in my life of late, though none of it has struck me as being particularly of interest to the world at large, which is why I've been a bit quiet on this front.

Thanksgiving was delightful; thanks to our friend Kat, we ended up hosting a Friendsgiving, pretty evenly split between people we knew and people she knew who didn't have family plans for the holiday. It was a good crowd, full of friendly and intelligent people; thanks to Kat and Brian's cooking, the food was also excellent. In the wake of it, I've been ruminating on why I enjoy Friendsgivings more than the traditional family-oriented sort; I think it has to do with my Pacific Northwesterner roots, as well as being sort of the black-sheep offshoot of the family (the two are not unrelated - most folks in Alaska live there in part because they're not close to their extended families). Don't get me wrong, my extended family are nice enough folks, but we have basically nothing in common, and with a couple of exceptions, none of them have shown any real interest in getting to know me and my life (or, in fairness, vice versa). So I tend to think of traditionally family-oriented holidays/events (weddings, funerals, etc.) with a sense of obligation rather than joy - and after the drama bomb my aunt set off over my (non)invitation to my cousin's wedding, I feel no qualms about skipping them. But even though many of them have drama stories of their own, I'm nonetheless fascinated by and slightly jealous of my friends with large tight-knit families; it must be nice to feel actively wanted rather than merely tolerated in that context.

My massage therapy career is going well, and growing - in fits and starts, as all growth seems to happen. (The week before Thanksgiving was especially crazy; I'm not sure what happened, but between clinic and private clients I went from maybe eight hours of active hands-on work per week to twenty-five. And of course that was just after I'd promised myself I'd go to yoga more regularly. I was So Tired.) One of my coworkers who lives nearby and I have set up a standing date on Tuesdays to get together and practice new techniques, so that'll help with (informal) continuing education, which should in turn help me maintain my enthusiasm. Milestones I have hit: graduation, licensure, professional organization membership (and associated insurance), acquiring a couple of regular clients at the clinic job, acquiring second occasional fill-in gig (which took basically no effort on my part - hurrah good word of mouth!), acquiring (and rebooking!) a few private clients, averaging at this point about one a week. Milestones I have yet to hit: any kind of formal continuing education, my first Yelp review, averaging more than one private client per week, making enough from private clients to need to report the income on my taxes, heh. (IRS rules say net income has to be over $400 before you need to report it; given that I'm still firmly in the negatives even with my relatively minimal startup costs, I'm not concerned for this year.) On the docket for next year: figuring out CE requirements/opportunities, registering as an LLC, possibly finding an accountant who specializes in small business.

And that's all the news around here, pretty much. Tomorrow is Brian's work Christmas party (still to do: dye hair to match purse and boots, try on outfit to make sure it works as well as I think it will, find necklace to match bracelet), and this weekend we're hosting thewronghands and her posse. Here's to pleasantly-busy-but-not-overbooked times!

--My goddaughter is here! Sophie was born last Wednesday, and (judging by the pictures) is tiny and adorable and only looks a little like a squashed potato. (Or Winston Churchill. Or Yoda. Newborns. *grins*) I can't wait to meet her in a month! And to see Donna; it's been far too long.

--The first week of my new job went well. Lots of requests for the standard fluff-and-buff, but I did get to work on one man who was right up my alley - his muscles were all knotted up from schlepping suitcases around, and some myofascial and trigger point work did wonders. The receptionist told me later that he couldn't say enough good things about me. He's not local, sadly, but his employer has an office here; I did tell him I'd love to see him again when he's in town next. We'll see. So far this upcoming week is looking pretty slow, but that's life at the bottom of the totem pole - priority for appointments is given based on the hours you were available in the previous month, which with my current schedule should put me solidly in the middle of the pack come November.

--Brian was in Dallas for work all last week...and has to go back today for another week. Boo. I don't mind the time alone, in principle - I can set the thermostat to whatever I want, or better yet, turn off the A/C completely and throw open the doors and windows! - but two weeks at a go starts to feel lonely. As independent as I fancy myself, I've lived with someone else nearly continuously for more than a decade now; that kind of time spent leaves an imprint in your life and habits. (And let's face it, he's pretty cool to have around. Half of my more clever quips I steal from him.)

--I picked up a copy of The Body Keeps The Score on an Audible Daily Deal, and it's turned out to be completely fascinating. I initially thought it would be about the ways our body reacts to trauma, a useful thing to learn about for a massage therapist; as it happens, while it touches on that subject, it's turned out to be more about the neurological effects and how they affect the body and mind of trauma victims both. Fascinating stuff, but what's really been eye-opening for me is the discussion of victims of childhood trauma - neglect, abuse, molestation. These people display a well-known constellation of symptoms - difficulty with emotional regulation, propensity toward obesity or anorexia, high likelihood of self-harm, high predisposition toward autoimmune disorders like lupus or fibromyalgia, and a significant lack of bodily awareness, among others - but the current Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (the "psychiatrist's bible") has no separate diagnosis for the condition, and the completely drug-oriented treatment framework that's sadly the norm now doesn't help either. So they'll reach a crisis point and seek help, and be diagnosed with depression, or bipolar disorder, or borderline personality disorder, or (if they have a particularly observant therapist whom they trust enough to open up to) post-traumatic stress disorder, and be given drugs to 'treat' that disorder, which won't help long-term because their problems stem from neural patterns and behaviors that were (tragically) adaptive in their earlier years.

This particular bit of knowledge slots nicely into a gap I've been wondering about for years now. I was initially a psychology major in college, but I got discouraged precisely because the field seemed to be all about figuring out which drugs treated what problems, regardless of the person's background or experiences or anything else about them. In all fairness, I know some people for whom such drugs are life-changing; however, in the years since then, I've also had a number of friends who fit exactly the profile described in the book - they've been in and out of doctors' offices for years, trying to figure out why they feel broken and nothing seems to help. Many of them have managed to have amazing lives nonetheless; now that I have some idea of why life has been so difficult for them, I'm even more in awe of their accomplishments. I'm looking forward to listening to the section on treatment strategies, as well; it's good to know there are people working on strategies that actually help these people, even when the medical establishment refuses to recognize their problem.

--I was petting Dexter the other day when I realized that he's developed several more little white furs on his face. In retrospect, this is hardly surprising - he's twelve or thirteen years old, after all - but it startled me a little that I hadn't noticed until now. We humans are so good at seeing what we expect to see, and it's sometimes a little discouraging how easily we fall prey to the assumption that life is fundmentally unchanging. Often it takes something momentous - a birth, a death, a wedding, a career change, a betrayal - to make us realize exactly how time's been passing, and things and people have been changing, despite our merry assumptions of stasis.

I don't really have any great conclusion or insight to this observation, but it's interesting to me how even though we experience time in a linear fashion, we certainly don't perceive it that way. It reinforces my conviction that it's important to take the time to really listen to each other and connect, rather than just taking each others' presence for granted.

And I should definitely spend more time petting my cat.

Technically I have class right now, but it's my clinic-skills class, which is the precursor to entering student clinic. And since the three members of my class are all strongly ahead of the curve, and our attendance numbers plenty high for state requirements, the instructor simply had us take the final on the second day and gave us the last few classes as either practice time or time off, as we preferred. Given how rarely I get to sleep in anymore, and the fact that I've worked quite a bit at the front desk and thus already know pretty well where everything is, I picked the "time off" option. I got to sleep until 9:00 AM! It was glorious.

School continues to go well. I finished my Foundations of Massage class with full marks, so I'm officially able (if not licensed) to do a one-hour classical massage. I've been doing my best to keep learning/devising new techniques, however, both because it's good to be able to customize and because, frankly, doing the same set of moves on person after person gets old fast. I have a practice partner who's been coming over every Tuesday afternoon for a month now; yesterday, I tried some new techniques and also made a significant effort to stay present and not be mentally multitasking (which is usually my biggest liability; I'm so used to cogitating on multiple subjects at once that it's tough for me to stay in the moment). She said afterward that it was the best massage I'd given her yet, and while I'd never done badly, she could really see how I was improving. I'm pretty pleased about that. On to Massage for Specific Conditions, Further Western Techniques, and Eastern Modalities!

On the work-study side of things, I recently finished Internal Anatomy and Physiology, which was a rather poorly-designed class: we were cramming an entire semester-long intro-level class into five weeks; the textbook was aimed at high school students and thus was written in a fairly juvenile tone; the curriculum, while useful information, wasn't made particularly applicable to bodyworkers, which made a lot of the students resent how quickly we were supposed to be learning the information, especially as many of us weren't used to high-intensity academic performance. I did fine, in part because I have a bit of a background in it from my psychology courses/reading, but a lot of the other students were struggling to keep up. Because I'm me, I wrote a pretty extensive critique with some suggestions in the end-of-class course evaluation; I didn't really expect it to have an effect, but I've heard through the grapevine that once my Pathology for Bodyworkers course is done I'm going to be working with the teacher to combine the two courses and make it more applicable/accessible. I'm seriously jazzed about this; one of my biggest frustrations with postsecondary education in the past has been how the administration clearly couldn't care less about the students and their opinions, except as a source of cashflow and enrollment numbers. Admittedly, this is a much smaller (and private) school, so caring is probably easier here, but I admit I'm especially pleased they've been so on-the-ball about recognizing that I want to contribute. (This has not always been the case with organizations I've been associated with.) Maybe I'll see if they want me to stay on part-time as a teacher/administrator after I graduate.

In non-school-related news (I do still have some parts of my life that aren't school-oriented, heh), on Saturday Brian and I had a case of multi-spoon-resistant-derp - we weren't sick, exactly, but neither of us had any energy or could even really think. So we ordered Domino's and sat on the couch to watch Lucy, our Netflix rental. (Capsule review: Fun action flick, with a bit of philosophy thrown in; not as smart as it thinks it is, but eminently stylish with laudable science-forward humanistic themes, even if the premise is a bit of folk wisdom that's been repeatedly disproven.) After that was done, we were still feeling derpy, so we fired up Hulu and watched Agent Carter, which I'd been hearing good things about. Color me impressed - it's a stylish and well-shot secret-agent-noir, with some great performances, some very clever misdirection in the writing, and a refreshing lack of the usual misogynistic "action-girl" tropes. It's definitely part of the Greater Marvel Cinematic Universe (there are moments when you think you're just watching a noir but then Comic Book Trope #384 comes along and you go "oh, right"), but it does a very nice job standing on its own, and Hayley Atwell absolutely kills the lead role, with a very human mixture of determination and vulnerability. If it sounds like something you'd enjoy, check it out; I haven't heard if ABC has plans to renew it, and I'd very much like to see a full second season.

Okay, morning decadence is over. Time to get into gear and start my day. Anatomy quiz later!

First things first: I got my first rejection letter for a story. :)

That may seem like an odd thing to smile about, but I promise I'm not just trying to (literally) put a happy face on things. I wasn't kidding when I said earlier this was a story I was proud of, and this submission was miles above any of the hold-your-breath-and-dive-in submissions I made to story contests and whatnot. So getting an actual rejection letter, even just a form letter, feels like a badge of legitimacy - I truly and honestly gave it my best shot, and it didn't fit with what they were looking for. So now I keep looking, and keep writing. That's what authors do, especially ones that are new to the professional game and haven't established a niche yet. Admittedly, I don't know if I'm comfortable calling myself an "author" yet, but it feels like a big step along the way.

I realize I'm in a somewhat privileged position to be so sanguine, since neither my finances nor my sense of identity were riding on an acceptance. The former's mostly a matter of luck, but the latter...I've been working hard on that. I know I've at least mentioned that I was (and, sometimes, still am) struggling with defining myself, especially now that I'm not working a traditional job and don't have any regular source of my own income. (I think it's partly why I've latched on to yoga so heavily; it gives me someplace to go outside the house, and a way to define myself, albeit more as an enthusiast than a professional.) But mostly I've been trying to take my mother's advice, and rather than beating myself up because I haven't reached a particular milestone/earned a particular title, be more accepting of where I am now, and who I am now, and just enjoy where I'm going. It's a process, true. And I don't want to limit my writing to "when the muse strikes", because that seems like it could very easily become code for "I don't feel like doing something hard". But I've been a lot happier about my life and my writing both over the past month and a half.

Meantime, I've written another short story - one that feels good enough for professional submission, although I'm honestly not sure where the market would be. (I wrote it as a gift for a friend, though, so that's a secondary consideration.) I'm proud of it; it's another project I've seen through a difficult/thorough revision process and come out with an infinitely better product. Once I was finished, I even did something I've never done and went back and read the rough draft. There was more of it in the final product than I'd guessed, but even more, it made me realize how far my writing's come in the past couple of years. The rough draft was about on par with a lot of the half-finished stuff I've got lying around in my Google Drive; the final draft was better-developed, tighter, and far more gripping.

One of the things that made this one such a challenge was that it was about fundamentally different characters than the sort I normally write about - darker, and more aggressive. (This caused a bit of whiplash, as it started off as a playful piece, and then midway through took a couple of comparatively dark turns.) Generally, my characters tend to be in pursuit of Truth/Beauty/Freedom/Love, because I'm a Bohemian at heart; this time, the main character's central conflict was that he desperately wanted those things but was also terrified of them, so he kept sort of orbiting the core of the story but couldn't reach it like I initially wanted him to.

Part of the reason the revision process was so difficult ("I want you to do this thing! Why won't you do the thing??") was that this wasn't something I decided in advance; it wasn't until my faithful beta reader commented "He's a tragic figure, isn't he?" that I realized why I'd been having so much trouble with him. At one point, I even spent some time trying to write him into a sex scene (because, yes, I'm still a porn writer at heart, but also because what people do and say during sex is a good measure of who they are at their core), and ended up with five different variations on the scenario, none of which felt particularly arousing. That was when I started to get that his problem wasn't that I couldn't find his truth, it was that he was too terrified of his own truth to express it, even wordlessly. (And, big surprise, sex without emotional truth really doesn't do a whole lot for me.)

Man, the creative process is strange. No wonder artists are known for being a little eccentric.

More ridiculously cold weather has arrived. It's -1 right now, which is actually slightly higher than the "high" of -2. Not bad if you bundle up, but Brian had to run to work for a few supplies and reported back that the wind is nasty-cold. And tomorrow it's supposed to pick up, with wind chills down to forty below. I remain grateful that Brian and I both can work from home - in fact, Brian's employer actively encourages people to stay home and work remotely in weather like this.

Needless to say, the ratio of "Good for you!"s to pitying looks I've gotten when telling people I just moved here from Arizona has been trending toward the latter of late. Most of them don't believe me when I tell them I'm actually enjoying it (with the important help of stylish-and-warm winter gear and a well-insulated home), so I've been insisting that it's just like when I was growing up in Anchorage. Although my mother reports it's been so warm in Anchorage the past couple weeks (forty-odd degrees and sunny) that the pussy willows are all budding out three months early. Mid-February I'll actually be headed up in that direction; she bought me tickets to fly up there (first class! my mother is awesome) so I could help her out while she undergoes minor surgery. If this weird reversal keeps up I'm going to start telling people I'm vacationing in Alaska to escape the winter weather.

In other news, like roughly 90% of the female population of this country in January, I've decided I could stand to lose a few pounds. I don't think I'm fat or anything, but I've been gradually putting on weight over the past couple of years, and (especially what with working from home, with all the possibilities for deliciousness therefore constantly available) I'm not quite willing to trust my gut feelings on how much and when to eat. I've had very good luck with HabitRPG for building daily habits, and Mint.com for budgeting, so I saw no reason the same idea wouldn't work for tracking my food intake. To that end, I've been playing with Lose It!, a calorie/nutrition tracking website/app combination. I've been very impressed with it so far: you can move seamlessly between the app and the website, the interface is clean and easy to use, there's an extensive database of foodstuffs available, including lots of popular restaurant items, and - what really sold me on it - the app has a barcode scanner so you can instantly download the nutrition information of whatever you're cooking/eating and be certain it's correct. I know lots of people find this kind of thing a pain in the ass, but I have just enough of a meticulous control-freaky streak that I actually really enjoy it (especially with the streamlining in place so there's relatively little time spent entering or adding or multiplying). Admittedly, I've only used it for a few days, but it's been really nifty to be able to quickly punch in different food/exercise combinations and see how they affect my calorie budget for the day. It's also encouraged me to look for healthier options in day-to-day eating, since I know that those are the ones that'll make me feel fullest and happiest per calorie. It's given me that extra bit of encouragement to pay closer attention to how much I eat - that last pierogi might be tasty, but if I'm not hungry for it, I get 80 more calories to spend on dinner. (And then Brian's happy because he gets to eat my last pierogi.) And best of all, I've been enjoying food more - I know it's cliche dieting advice at this point, but it's really true that food tastes better when you wait until you're good and hungry for it.

The app also a whole community/social aspect, which I haven't played with much, but a little bit of clicking around the forums has shown a surprising lack of fat-shaming or body snark or other nastiness, and quite a bit of sensible advice about nutrition and exercise. Some people even use the tool to help them gain weight, and everyone seems to talk pretty openly and frankly about their experiences. So that's encouraging. The only thing that bugs me slightly is the focus on weight - if you're eating well and going to the gym regularly, for instance, your weight might not change but your body shape would (because you're building muscle as you burn fat). I wish there were a setting to go by waist size, or something similar. Still, the benefits inherent in the way it's adjusted my mental thinking about food are strong enough that I think I'll probably keep using it even after I get to the point where I change it to a maintenance-level calorie-intake rather than a net-loss calorie-intake. And that's probably the best compliment I can pay any such tool.

I also want to give a public shout-out to my friend Leigh, who gave me another invaluable tool in thinking about food or anything else that requires willpower. It was a few months ago, when I'd ordered some soup and potstickers for lunch for Lao Sze Chuan (a local incredibly-gourmet Chinese restaurant chain that has the most amazing food). Their potstickers are delicious and also enormous, and I'd eaten three of the five, and I could tell I was full, but I really really wanted to eat the other two. Leigh was gracious enough to listen to me angst about this over IM, and then rather than get all pedantic on the benefits of abstinence like I probably would have, she just said "You know, two potstickers and a glass of wine sounds like a fabulous midafternoon snack." And I realized she was right - and furthermore, that sort of thinking works wonders for all sorts of situations. You just stop framing it as "I can't have this right now", fix a concrete point in your mind where you can, and think about how much you're going to enjoy it then. Using scarcity and willpower to increase anticipation and maximize enjoyment. When you have a hedonic streak like I do, that's total and complete genius. I am so grateful for my awesome friends. <3

(Also? I don't want to jinx it by going on about it, but I think I'm feeling inspired again. So I'm going to go rinse the dye out of my hair and see if I can't sneak in some writing above and beyond my 500-word minimum today. Wish me luck.)

Happy holidays, folks! My month's been kind of up-and-down - as per usual, I got presents purchased and wrapped early, and then was in a bit of a slump for a lot of the past week and a half or so. But the impending Christmas deadlines got me up and moving. Finish decorating! Decorate packages for mailing! Send out cards! Clean the house! Learn to make mulled wine! That last has been an especial success; I wrote up the recipe to send to a friend who'd requested it on Facebook, and the list of recipients has been gradually getting longer as more and more people request. I may have to put up a Special Christmas Eve edition post for the Rebel Bartender. Or Christmas-Eve-Eve, if I get to it tonight. (ETA: Oh hay lookit dat.)

Luckily, the slump I mentioned hasn't been of the depressive sort; I've still been keeping up with my daily goals - I just haven't been doing much above and beyond them. Still, I'm especially pleased with how I've been doing on the writing. According to HabitRPG (which I have set to count M-F, and doesn't ding me if I miss a weekend day but counts it if I check it off), I'm up to 23 days in a row writing 500 words or more. It's not a lot, really, but it's easily the most consistent I've ever managed to be in not-November, and soon will pass that last qualifier as well. And some of the output I've actually been pretty pleased with. (It's an oddly cathartic feeling when you find that emotional centre that's been missing from a scene you've been doggedly plowing through - not unlike the mounting frustration playing a puzzle game that suddenly transmutes into satisfaction when the "AHA!" moment appears.) January is going to be my big push to start getting some kind of return on investment, I think - whipping my short stories into shape and putting them up for sale, starting a writing blog, working on having new content available regularly, that kind of thing.

The weather's been entertaining; it went from stormy to cold to warm-ish, with temperatures in the mid-thirties and all the pretty snow melting into slush. Then today it became a hard freeze - I think the high was like 12 degrees, and right now it's 4 with a -10 wind chill. I braved the weather to head to Trader Joe's for more supplies, and while waiting for the bus in the dark with the wind blowing I was starting to have Barrow flashbacks. (Though in Barrow, four degrees this time of year would feel amazingly warm. Heh.) Still, TJ's and both buses were pretty uncrowded, unusual for a weeknight before a holiday - I imagine the weather kept a lot of people indoors. I continue to be extremely pleased with my new coat; as well as stylish, it's remarkably windproof, and even under these conditions worked extremely well with just my usual ensemble of a t-shirt and hoodie beneath.

Related, there's been all kinds of kerfuffle from otherwise-slow news outlets over whether there'll be a white Christmas or not; current forecast is 60% chance of snow tomorrow. I certainly wouldn't mind, but honestly, the cold alone is plenty enough to feel like a proper Christmas again. Especially with the mulled wine and cranberry mincemeat (a new experiment for this year, since we had a bag of cranberries left over from Thanksgiving) cooking on the stove. Mmmm.

We haven't much in the way of plans for the holiday, other than Brian enjoying Not Commuting - he's had to drive out to a thoroughly desolate spot in the midst of the suburbs for the past month or so, and it's been hellish. It regularly tacks an hour on to his commute time each way, plus he has to drive in traffic rather than kicking back on the train and reading. (Though his biggest peeve is with the lack of good food out there - "I had the most mediocre hamburger in the world today. I miss working in the Loop.") Still, he gets paid for mileage, so that's a little bit of extra cash coming in. And in theory the project's supposed to be done the week after Christmas. Keeping our fingers crossed. In the meantime, as the new guy he's on call for the holiday, but other than that he's home for the next few days. He even gets to work from home on Friday. Score.

I hope you all are as warm and cozy as I am, and get to spend the holiday with someone you love (human or non, as you prefer). I hope you have many blessings to be grateful for, and can find it in your hearts to let go of hurts done you by those who meant well. But mostly I hope the turning of the year is a positive thing that leaves you in a better place than you were before; or if not, at least leads you along that path.

A very merry Christmas. I love you all.

500 words a day, M-F, no excuses. If I'm not going to actively look for work I have to do something. And on a good day, 500 words takes me maybe half an hour.

So far, the days have not been good. I have a couple ideas for characters that I like very much, but whenever I think of a plot to drop them into, it just feels hackneyed and cliche and all I can think is "these characters deserve something better than that". My worldbuilding is flat, my logic wouldn't stand up to a two-year-old's cross examination. Even the characters I'm halfway intrigued by are based on broad tropes, and they won't tell me with any honesty what it is that they want. Everywhere I mentally turn, it feels like I keep coming up against the You're Not Good Enough Chorus (with Special Solo Aria "Look How Much You Suck"). I'm starting to be afraid it's true.

And at the same time, I know if I had more drive, more practice, more motivation, I could easily be doing a couple thousand words a day, or more. I have all the time I need. I'm just...not good enough.

But I'm writing. Just a little, but I'm writing. It sucks, but I'm writing.

For now, that'll have to be enough.

I'm at work today, sitting at the desk up front so I can keep an eye on things while I do my usual office stuff. A fifty-something-looking dude, apparently waiting for his wife, wanders up and strikes up a conversation.

Fifty-something dude: "Are you emailing, there?"

Me: "Nope, doing inventory."

Dude: {sounding surprised} "Really?"

Me: {slightly perplexed} "Yeah, I'm the office person."

Dude: "Oh! Just like that Paul Ryan fellow."

Me: {now very perplexed} "…no, I'm pretty sure I have nothing in common with Paul Ryan."

Dude: "That's okay, we like Ron Paul anyway."

...Seriously. WTF?

My birthday passed without much fanfare, but pleasantly enough nonetheless.  I've been looking after the gallery all weekend while the boss is out of town; Friday and Saturday are both long days, and Saturday especially was hectic as it was an art-walk day.  But Sunday was fairly quiet, which I appreciated; it gave me time to catch up on paperwork as well as more generally recover.

The lack of fanfare did not, however, mean that the day went unmarked.  Brian was kind enough to take some pictures of my new hair color (which finally matched a shirt I got several months ago at the clothing swap but hadn't yet worn) with his fancy camera.  My favorite looked much like something you'd see in a catalog, or possibly a photo-resume headshot.  (Click to embiggen - the high-res version really makes a difference, here.)


I especially love how, when I cropped it down for an icon, it looked like a completely different picture.

After I closed up the gallery, we went to Screaming Banshee Pizza, where they were unfortunately out of the Thai Me Up pizza (my favorite, and not just for the name), but made us a tasty-enough pie nonetheless.  And when we got home I discovered that Brian had made me an honest-to-blog red velvet cake, from the famous 1928 Waldorf-Astoria recipe, with buttercream frosting.  (I felt a little bad that he'd gone to all that effort, since buttercream is a cast-iron pain in the ass to make and I actually prefer the more common cream-cheese frosting, but I can't fault his results - the texture is absolutely perfect.)  We settled down with that and some fizzy red wine and watched The Artist, which was delightful - especially so to Brian, who I think got it mixed up with another movie when he was reading reviews, as he was convinced it was a Pretentious and Depressing Film about Man's Inhumanity to Man.  I'm glad I exercised birthday privileges and insisted we watch it.

I guess that means I'm 29 now.  I feel a little different about that than I did when I turned 28, though I'm not quite sure how to articulate it.  It's not like I was being all drama-filled and "Woe is me!" about 28, but there was a definite shift in perception - maybe just that 30 was suddenly within spitting distance, which kind of put the final nail in the youthful "I'm going to live forever" coffin.  Comparatively, I was downright Buddhist about 29.  "Time is a river and constantly moving.  Attachment to anything as inherently transient as youth will only create suffering.  Do not try to dam the river; instead, let the water carry you.  Om."

I don't know what prompted the change.  I've said before that I don't mind getting older, and mostly that's true (though I can't say as I particularly look forward to physical decrepitude, especially having just recently experienced the spasming soreness that is throwing out your back - more yoga for me!).  I like having had real world experiences to draw upon when forming opinions.  I like the broadening of perspective that comes with said experiences.  I like having had the time to fine-tune my preferences and desires, even if that means I lose a certain amount of the impulsive enthusiasm of youth.  And I like the sense that there are things that I'm getting really good at, because I've practiced them so much over time.  (It helps me to stick with the things I'm still learning, since I know that eventually I'll get there.) 

I think picking up the guitar's helped a lot, too.  At my 28th birthday, there weren't very many things I was actively working on; mostly I felt like I was treading water.  In November I did NNWM and came out with 50,000 words and a rough outline for an epic fantasy series that I think has real potential; even if I'm not certain if/when I'll pick it up again.  In early May I bought a guitar and started teaching myself; since then, I think only one day's gone by where I haven't picked a guitar up and practiced at least some.  Now I have an even nicer guitar (thanks, Mum!), and am nearing performance readiness on two songs, though I still have a good bit to learn.  Brian and I are making plans to move to Seattle in the next year or two.  Things are moving forward...perhaps in more of a labyrinth shape than a straight line, but moving nonetheless.

All that said, I think that I'm going to tentatively plan a long weekend in Vegas for my birthday next year.  (In all fairness, I'd really rather head to the clubs on Ibiza, especially as I'll likely soon be too old to enjoy the experience properly, but given the financial and geographical restrictions, Vegas is a somewhat more reasonable goal.)  30 is a milestone that deserves celebration, and I've never been to Sin City; and while I fully realize it will be an assault on all possible definitions of good taste, I do have a certain fondness for kitsch and popular entertainment, especially when it's both self-aware and so completely over-the-top as to become a form of meta-art (viz. Lady Gaga).  Would anyone be interested in possibly joining us?  When pricing out hotel rooms for DefCon Brian discovered that it's cheap as chips to stay at one of the casino hotels (hardly surprising - they know they'll make it back from you downstairs), and it'd be fun to meet up for a birthday dinner at one of the fancier restaurants and then perhaps go see one of the shows (I've wanted to see Penn & Teller for a decade now) and go out dancing.

One of the girls we hired here at the gallery appears to have gone missing.

Admittedly, this is hardly an unusual thing in Bisbee. This town is full of people who decide they need to go on last-minute spirit quests or retreats or nature hikes or what have you. Not to mention your usual run-of-the-mill flakes who just like to up and disappear at a moment's notice.

But none of that really seems to fit her. She seemed a solid, dependable sort, and on the days I worked with her she talked about how excited she was to be finding a place and starting her life here in Bisbee. She worked here for two weeks with no issues, and then apparently disappeared - our boss had tried to call her about scheduling for this week, and couldn't get her to call back.

She was also supposed to be working at the coffee shop, so I went down there to ask around. The girls there said that she'd shown up for one training shift, then disappeared from there as well. And they were surprised, because her references had all said she was a very dependable worker, too. (One of them said they'd heard a rumor that she was worried about someone stalking her, but didn't have any idea of the provenance or accuracy. And given the social pressures of the situation, I don't necessarily lend a whole lot of credence to it.)

I called the police and asked for a welfare check on her; they found her place locked up and no one apparently home. (Brian has a county radio that also has police frequencies; he says that they mentioned having done a welfare check at the same address on the 11th as well.) If no one's heard from her by tomorrow, apparently we can call and file a missing-persons report.

I don't know. It may just turn out to be a false alarm; maybe she has more Bisbee-flakiness than seemed apparent. But given that her new life here was precipitated by a divorce with a frankly-unstable-sounding ex (her words were "He was an interrogator for the Army for years; that should tell you all you need to know"), and that there was also a young kid involved, I'm having a hard time maintaining a sense of equanimity.