Getting back to good

NOTE: WITH LOSS OF POWER FOR MORE THAN TWO WEEKS AND NO PHONE LINE OR COMPUTER ACCESS, BLOGS WRITTEN THROUGH THE PITTSBURGH MOVE WERE BY HAND AND WILL BE ENTERED AS TIME ALLOWS. PLEASE STAY TUNED!

Tonight I can write by streetlight. It's a little sobering, so I'm having a beer. A cold one. :)

Bob got power back. I can stop worrying about running out of clothes for work and making the mark when I sit on the toilet. Bob said that a cheer went up throughout the neighborhood when the lights came on. I wish I had been there for it. Four days with no lights, that must have felt good.

There's still no power at my house. When I stopped by before work, my landlord and his team of helpers had just finished covering the roof with an old tarp and plastic sheeting. A friend of mine who is visiting Sarasota snagged a new tarp for us.

While I was home, they ripped up the carpet. My bedroom is now a concrete slab covered in random notches and patterns of glue.

My guess is it's a lot harder to put down carpet than to tear it out: They were done in less than 10 minutes.

And the smell went with it.

As I was driving over to Bob's house after work, I noticed that many more places had electricity; there were many more lights on in the distance. On the highway, I didn't feel like I was about to drive off a cliff.

I smelled a burning smell, and wondered if it was from electricity coursing through tattered lines, or my car. My check engine light has been on since the storm. Closer to Bob's I was convinced I smelled McDonald's. A cheeseburger to be exact. I started to wonder why my brain was convincing me a world without power somehow smelled that way, like a burger with too much sugar. Surely not a single restaurant was operational yet.

When I got to Bob's I found that a bottle of Worcestershire sauce that I salvaged from my house had spilled in the back seat. That was the cheeseburger smell. I wonder if FEMA would pay for such a stain-related injury to my car.

The world is getting back to normal again. It's a good thing in most ways.

I might be able to make my deadline for starting work in Pittsburgh, but I think I'd be less stressed if I pushed it back a week. Right now my current paper is publishing from another office, and that is chaos in itself, forget finding gas and water and chocolate milk.

Next week things should be closer to normal as we regain power one by one. It's funny, as each of my coworkers slams down and phone and exclaims they have power: A hearty cheer goes up, as if he or she had climbed a phone pole and fashioned the repair single-handedly.

I hope life returns to normal before I move. Even if it's just for a day or two. I think I really need it to be grounded in the reality of what is going on with me. And I need to remember the fondness I have for the place rather than feeling grateful to escape.

Hurricane Wilma

NOTE: WITH LOSS OF POWER FOR MORE THAN TWO WEEKS AND NO PHONE LINE OR COMPUTER ACCESS, BLOGS WRITTEN THROUGH THE PITTSBURGH MOVE WERE BY HAND AND WILL BE ENTERED AS TIME ALLOWS. PLEASE STAY TUNED!

It's been only two days. This hurricane has been a lesson in patience.

I know now that I prefer the hum of an AC window unit to the droning growl of a generator.

Much of this storm resembled the last: People helping people. The buzz of chain saws filled the air along with the smell of freshly cut wood. Debris everywhere. Anything and everything the wind could shake loose. Dangling, darkened traffic signals and the deep blackness when dusk disappears.

Oh, the stars. It's like camping in many ways. Improvised cooking, creative cleaning, even toilet habits become, well, profound. But the stars -- they are the best part of camping. And now with no city lights, they pop from the sky like firecrackers.

I drove home from work with Orion over my left shoulder most of the way. I got to my house and flashlighted my way to let the dogs out. It was scary to be in so much darkness, and I thought perhaps it might be dangerous, but probably it wasn't. It's one thing for a criminal to go sneaking in the shadows of darkness. It would be a whole other feat if one could fumble through the complete blackness without hitting his toe and crying out in pain.

As I headed back to stay with Bob -- the winds sheared off my roof and shot a hole through my bedroom ceiling -- I saw FPL trucks begin to light up the end of the street. They say power will return in two to four weeks, but somehow I knew I'd get lucky. I had a bottle of wine tucked under my arm and thought about rushing over to offer it to them, but I realized it was too small of a gesture. I wish I could offer them sleep and to be home with their families. At least I am getting that, in a way.

As I approached downtown, I saw most of the buildings were dimly illuminated. Even the Templeton building, with its west facade torn off and gaping holes where glass used to be, had lights on, and I could see the ceilings stripped bare. What horrified me two days ago now made me smile -- everything will be fixed. There was even a single traffic light glowing, and part of the entertainment district was lit so brightly that it looked like any other slow Wednesday night.

The storm itself was powerful, but at least it was quick. In hurricanes, there are noises that one can just never imagine. One from Wilma sounded eerily like a wounded dog, perhaps one dying a slow agonizing death. I had to keep checking on my own dogs to be sure they were OK. When the winds died down and I finally poked my head outside, I discovered that noise was a dangling ficus limb scraping against my metal back door. Another chunk of the same ficus decorated my front door, on the other side of the house.

To say seeing my roof draping from the side of the house was disturbing is a clear understatement. I completely broke down. Upon inspecting the inside of my house, I found part of my bedroom ceiling had collapsed. I broke down yet again, and Zoe has told this to complete strangers: "Mommy cried when she saw the ceiling on the floor." But at the time she was comforting: "Don't cry Mommy. I'm still here."

Indeed I am lucky to have chosen to stay in the living room that night. After my landlord climbed up on the "roof," he said the only part remaining on my three-apartment building was over my living room and kitchen.

Sometimes I wonder which of the horrible noises I heard was the ceiling coming down, or the roof peeling off, or the ficus tearing from its base. It keeps me up at night wondering, and I'm still waiting for a good night's sleep.

All of this will likely affect my moving plans. The moving company was supposed to show up Monday, the day of the storm, for an estimate. I have no light by which to pack with the hurricane shutters still on. I'm lucky Bob got his water back so quickly, and even luckier that he has a gas water heater and stove.

I'm sitting on his front porch now writing by candlelight and flashlight; I can't see my hand in front of me without them. But I can see a familiar glow due south. It's the kind of glow that can mean only one thing: Civilization is coming back, the lights will go on, and the stars will dim again.

Neighbors will go inside, ACs and TVs will go on again, and cars will go speeding by instead of slowing for a hello.

Timing is everything

"Tell me why everything turned around.
Packing up,
Shacking up is all you want to do.
If I could I'd give you my world...
How can I, when you go taking from me.
You can go your own way.
You can call it another lonely day."

-- Fleetwood Mac, Go Your Own Way

It's Thursday. I gave my notice yesterday, and I've been smiling ever since. I thought giving my two weeks would be cathartic, but it was uneventful and predictable.

I've heard of counteroffers. Ha. I got just another "Don't let the door hit you in the ass" speech.

I accepted the job Wednesday morning. Mr. DME: "I'm so pleased." I'm so freaking happy I can't contain myself!!!! I was quite professional on the phone and didn't squeal or sqeak or even waver. I think.

There is a small tiny little itty bitty piece of me that thinks I might be making a mistake. I don't have a list of job duties, I don't know all about the benefits, I don't own any closed-toe shoes and I don't know if I need different tires for my car for winter. I've never driven in snow. :)

And Zoe's dad. He's a mess. And it kills me. It really does. This happened faster than I could have imagined.

Today I had to train the new hire, boyfriend to the girl who got the job at work that I went after here in Lauderdale. Both are a year out of school. Great people, and I have nothing against them, but I wonder who at work is responsible for making me sit through ANOTHER meeting today with another candidate who will take another job I deserved to get. All three of them come from the paper where our new DME worked.

But still, I have an enormous amount of faith in my future for the first time in a while. When I express any doubts about my ability to make it, my friends remind me: "[Your current company] has really done a toll on you, hasn't it?"

Yes, it has, I suppose.

That's no way to work.

I decided my last day will be Nov. 4. It is my nine-year anniversary with the company. I know no one else will care, but it will mean something to me. I made it.

Pinch me

"I was feeling part of the scenery,
I walked right out of the machinery,
My heart going, 'Boom, boom, boom,'
'Hey,' he said, 'Grab your things,
I've come to take you home.' "

-- Peter Gabriel, Solsbury Hill


Holy crap.

I was sitting on the porch with my coffee today in Pittsburgh, all bundled in a coat and anticipating my flight back to Florida, and my cell phone rang. I was sitting next to my father. "Oh my god, I think it's them."

It was an offer. It was an offer I could never have expected. Mr. DME told me the day before that he was going to fight for this and that, but the editor in charge made it clear when I talked to him that what's done is done, not to expect this and that... blah blah blah.

To make a long story short, I got more than I could have hoped for. And while I'm sitting there listening to the details, Dad is in the background griping, "Tell him I want a hat and T-shirt too! Where's my hat and T-shirt!"

Oh, god, I'm 32 years old and going back to live with my father??? :)

I know that this company needs my skills, but I never thought for a second I'd be able to sell them on it. I would have been satisfied with an offer on the night desk, though I don't know if I would have taken it because I need a day job. But Mr. DME is on the phone telling me he wants me to be his assistant, he wants me to help run the design, photography and graphics departments, that I'm in charge when he's on vacation... (yeah, and he can probably hear Dad rumbling about a hat, LOL)

Hell, I know I'm capable of it. What burns me up is that my current publication... well, some of them saw it, but they chose to ignore my accomplishments, let alone my potential... I don't get it.

And this guy, Mr. DME, he doesn't know me except for us bullshitting over the din of CNN in his office and lunch near PNC Park.... but he got me. That I'm passionate about my work, that I'm a loyal employee, that I am a stickler for balance inside and out, and keeping the communication open...

And that we are journalists. We're not just designers or writers or editors or photographers... we're all journalists. Ahhhh, refreshing.

And he somehow managed to win the battle with the editor in chief that I was worth the dough. The same editor in chief who told me I was worth $14G if he factored in the cost of living, LOL. He's a personable guy, if not funny, and I plan to make myself a fixture in his professional life.

I think Mr. DME had his mind made up before he flew me there. I'd like to think I was charming and won him over, but probably I just backed what he sensed: That I'm not just a jack of all trades. I do have a hunger for this business, and I can do it all and do it well.

I left the hat with Dad.

On another note, I got back today to find a hurricane headed right toward us. What better excuse to move. Snow sucks, but hurricanes suck more.

Please, give me a job

"Confusion never stops,
Closing walls and ticking clocks.
Gonna come back and take you home.
I could not stop, that you now know.

...You are, you are
Home, home,
Where I wanted to go."

-- Coldplay, Clocks


I got an hour's worth of good sleep before the interview. And I couldn't believe it myself: I wasn't tossing and turning all night over the interview itself, but about Pittsburgh. About my family. I was recalling all my good and bad memories here, and thought a lot about moving my daughter here... my daughter, the Florida native. Oh, I was also tossing and turning because I couldn't for the life of me get my toes warm in Pittsburgh's October. I started out with a pair of socks and two blankets and ended up piling on three more blankets. Damn thin blood.

I had the interview. It was .... long. I was left alone a lot but that didn't bother me. It's better than being stuck with busy people who have to baby-sit me! Not to mention the pressure on my part to engage in conversation when I know they have things to do.

I got to meet most of the management, and I was amazed. I was amazed at what was coming out of my mouth, and I was amazed I knew when to shut up and listen. I was amazed with the whole atmosphere and dedication.

Everyone was right up my alley though. I think they thought the same of me. I went to a few meetings and realized I had never even been to the same meetings at my current employment, nor had I been invited. The interview process for me was lacking at my publication.

I left feeling not just good, not just postiive... I can't explain it. I left feeling like it was in the bag, but even that doesn't explain it. It's the same industry, whole different feel. Everyone was naturally funny and positive and had faith in what they've taken on. And it just felt right. I really think they are interested. I really hope they are interested.

My dad and brother were obviously pessimistic when I got home. They know the Pittsburgh job market better than me. Wsssssssssssssssss, wind out of my sails.

I'm going out for celebratory drinks with Aimee. She was jealous of my parting gifts: a hat and shirt. She's worked there for years and promised to go in demanding her t-shirt and hat. :)

I have a good good feeling, and I don't know why. I've been told all these background checks and whatnot take time... six months is normal before a hire. I'm glad I have another day here to absorb what might be my reality. Tomorrow I'll sit outside and take it in so I remember a couple months from now.

No Pain, No Gain

"When your day is long
And the night is yours alone
And you're sure you've had enough of this life
Hang on
Don't let yourself go
Because everybody cries
Everybody hurts
Sometimes."

REM - Everybody Hurts

I HURT.

Today I had the strangest pain in my foot. It felt like sparks just shooting out. I went for a walk and my knee felt numb... like it would give out. I called my sister, who had knee surgery recently, and told her I was having sympathy pains.

I got home from work and felt a throbbing spasm in my lower back. Yesterday my neck was killing me but today it feels fine. My shoulder is locking up from time to time.

OK, something's up here. My body is disagreeing with my personal decisions? I'm 32!!!I refuse to believe it is just because I got older in one day!! I told Rebecca I was convinced I had cancer or something and she laughed. She's 50, so she knows what she's laughing about. So I feel less freaked out. But I still ache in weird ass places.

Zoe's dad will take her to Tampa for a few days starting Sunday morning while I'm on my interview in Pittsburgh. Since he has her Saturdays, tomorrow will be the last day I see her until Tuesday night. I am going to miss her so much.

It will give me the time to concentrate on the interview though, as much as I don't wish I had to. The editor in Pittsburgh was supposed to send me materials for review, but I'm thinking he forgot, since I don't have anything yet. I don't even know if I'll have to take a standard editing test. Perhaps I should suggest it, since I know I would ace it. When I call him he seems rather distracted; I wonder by what! Today he told me to show up for the interview "around 10:30. But don't worry if you're late. I probably will be."

Hell, I will probably show up early just so someone can stick me with the managing editor or someone else who knows what he or she is doing.

I got a call from WQED today too, for a sales position. HA! Anyone who knows me knows I am not cut out for sales. I had sent my resume for an editorial position! I called back and left a voice mail saying as much, and she called me back and said that she was leaving for the day, but to call her back tomorrow. OK, I'll bite. Tomorrow.

Our Everything

"That mistake he thought he made
Covers up the refrigerator.
He loves that little girl.
Mama's waiting to tuck her in
As she tumbles up those stairs.
She smiles back at him
Dragging that teddy bear.
Sleep tight,
Blue eyes and bouncy curls.

There goes my life,
There goes my future,
My everything.
I love you Daddy,
Good night.
There goes my life."

-- Kenny Chesney, There Goes My Life

I spent the past couple of days sick, and I went on WebMD because I thought it might be *gasp* serious. I couldn't find anything to indicate I was actually sick. I'm now convinced I'm just anxious. I'm stressed, I haven't been eating right. So I've been tired and pumping myself with caffeine. Coffee on an empty stomach is a bad, bad thing.

The interview itself doesn't really bother me. The IDEA that I have to have an interview bothers me.

But so many of my friends are telling me how happy they are because they moved on. And I think my ex is now willing to accommodate as far as my daughter is concerned.

Can I really drive in snow???

This begs so many more questions... moving vans and money, god, gas prices these days. What about transporting the dogs? Who will help me load the truck? How does one roll over an IRA? Can I go back to my old doctor in Pittsburgh? Do I need to collect medical records before I go? How can I pay for this? I have a hundred bucks in my checking account and nothing in my savings. Oh, do I close the accounts before I leave or can I do it from Pittsburgh?

Where do I get that many boxes? Will Zoe's dad give me her stuff from his house too? Will my car make it to Pittsburgh? Do I have to get some special tires or something? Do I have enough warm clothes? What happens to my custody case?

The production editor came up to me tonight and asked me to fill in for him for a day in November. I told him sure, if I was still around. He walked away in a weird way. We had our holiday lottery and they all joked that me begging for Christmas Eve was a joke. It would be the first year I actually got Christmas day and New Year's Day as my natural days off.

But I want to give them to Zoe's dad. Every day I'm here, I feel like it might be the last. I can't imagine how her dad is feeling, knowing he's somewhat willing to kiss his daughter goodbye.

Better schools, better life. Great family. Happier mom. Tons of support. I know I have weighed everything, and I know I am doing the best thing.

But Daddy?

Someday she will leave me too. I guess I'm feeling a little of that now.

Time's Up

"Still don’t know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild
A million dead-end streets and
Every time I thought I’d got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet."

- David Bowie, Changes

I had another shouting match with my ex right before work today. And when I got to work, someone sent me a link to newspaper-related site that announced that a girl with barely a year of experience got the job I had applied for on our features desk.

How wonderful that I got to find that out on the Internet before someone at work told me.

I was riled up so I vented to my editor and my DME. This girl and her boyfriend (they ARE lovely people, I helped interview them) were hired together, some kind of "deal," one of the editors said. Well, good for them, but I've been asking for a "deal" for more than a year, and I've been lied to and strung along by one, two three, four, five... yes, five people. I told my editor that I was upset that no one feels the need to be up front or honest with me, and that I have so much to lose from not being able to act sooner than I am now.

I can walk into that newsroom on any given night and do anyone's job. Design, rim, slot, production, wire, photo. I think I'm the only one who can do that. But they're going to sacrifice a 10-year underpaid worker for a "deal" they made with two kids right out of college. I'm totally missing something here.

What's worse, she implied that when I filled in on the features desk, they must not have liked me. It doesn't matter that I'm way more qualified than the new hire. Or that I'm not the art director they said they decided to hire for that position.

I was whiny, I was angry, and I wasn't looking for anything, and I made that clear. But I could NOT sit there all night and steam about it; I had to finally let them know how I felt. I won't go out kicking and screaming, but I won't go out with a muffled whimper either! I have nothing to lose.

I really want to run away from all this, and I'm afraid my ex will now prevent that from happening.

I'm tempted to tell them I will be with them for another couple of years just so they don't go hiring more people for the position I haven't vacated yet. (Oh yeah, the boyfriend half of the duo was hired for our desk, and no position was ever posted, hmmmm.)

I do wish them the best of luck though. They are great kids and they will do well; I can tell by how our "design editor" coddles those he hires and neglects us old-timers who came before him.

A Peace is Missing

"One day you'll wake up in the present day
A million generations
Removed from expectations
Of being who you really want to be.

So as you push off from the shore
Won't you turn your head once more
And make your peace with everyone."

- Jethro Tull, Skating Away

My daughter's father is suddenly giving me a hard time about this interview in Pittsburgh. I can't tell you how many times he's told me that he's surprised I haven't moved home by now. Or that he's waiting for me to move so he can move.

But the reality is getting to him. He yelled at me so loudly today on the phone that I couldn't understand a word he was saying. He's been harsh and even nasty at times before, but never THAT emotional. I don't even know what he was saying, and I'm not sure I want to know. This has been an emotional decision for me too.

The interview is set for mid-October. I think he's going to take care of Zoe while I'm gone, though he seemed to fight me on it. He wants her to stay in Florida but he can't even watch her for a weekend that I'm out of town. Sigh. But I think he will.

I think once he calms down we'll work it out. It's not like it's a job offer, for crying out loud. And I still have other pursuits going on in the county, even at my company.

So far my family has been way more helpful and open to me coming home than I ever imagined. My father is the only one with doubts, and I abide by his advice almost religiously, but if he doesn't accept me, I have others willing to help, including an aunt willing to take the dog I didn't want to leave behind! But I think Dad will come around. He's the kind of guy that would get pissed if someone else in the family stepped up. I take that at face value though: I think he doesn't want to see me fail. And it's more than a fear of taking care of me, I think he might actually be proud of me. That, or he wants me to stay in Florida so he has somewhere to crash when he retires.

I have to say, the whole idea of watching snow fall by the street light, seeing neighbors working in the garden in the spring, having the chance to see leaves turn colors in fall, watching the baby skip through a sprinkler in the summer... it's all starting to really appeal to me. I would really love for my daughter to grow up like I did. She's got three cousins in my dad's back yard alone. Here in Florida, she has a paved back yard, warehouses next door and a Taco Bell out front. Year round. That's what we can afford, where the median housing price is $450,000.

And little family.

I just don't want her to miss her dad if we move. I know she could have a richer life outside of Lauderdale, but her dad wouldn't be there every day. I think I might even miss him a tiny little bit. I don't want her to be mad at me later if I make this decision, but I'm really really leaning toward it. I'm already purging junk from the apartment.

It's been a long time since I've been at peace. It will be a while longer before I have it.