The busy calm before the happy storm

So, things 'round here. I guess they've been good-- they've probably been great, and I just haven't consciously absorbed that fact yet-- I guess they've been busy. Stressful with work, but when I don't think too much about what I'm doing or how I'm doing or why I'm doing it, I'm rather happy with work. That is to say, I'm happy so long as I'm not trying to justify that happiness, because when I start thinking too much about things, I start to wonder if I shouldn't be happy, if my happiness is actually just a cover I've woven to distract myself from secret self-disappointments or regrets. If I've convinced myself that I'm happy. It's terrible, all these questions and doubts and needs to validate what simply, automatically is.

I've been reading Malcolm Gladwell's books lately-- I don't know if "reading" is the right word, maybe something more akin to "devouring", albeit in intervals; the way a few people have expressed their sentiments about me by way of my writing, which I have never understood, is the way I feel about Malcom Gladwell, which I think a couple universes of people could understand. I read "Outliers" over a weekend  during the plane flights in and out of SFO, then did the same with "Blink", and I absorbed the two books so deeply that now I just think in terms of his chapters and anecdotes and I have trouble explaining my thoughts to people who have no idea who he is, because it would be so much easier if I could say, "Remember that part about the rope experiment and the three solutions?" and then the other person would nod, and I'd make an expressive and thoughtful face and one of those indicative gestures with my arms, and my point would be so clear.

Or, basically I just want hyperlinks in real life.

Also, I'm writing again (for work, though that maddening little creature in my head has started to nag me about picking up creative writing again), and one of the most fun parts about that is seeing what subtle ridiculousness I can sneak into articles. Seeing as how I'm the only person who reviews the articles before they get published, it's not exactly hard to put things in there, but I do have editorial taste and I don't want to get fired so I can't exactly throw whole paragraphs about dinosaurs in without concern. I did a guest post for a fairly respectable tech site and they took out my math reference (for good reason; it was cacophanous to the narrative flow but I wrote it anyway because I just wanted the stupid reference that badly) but didn't fix my coder quotes, and that was my crowning glory.

TheNoah is reading this right now and wondering why I haven't offered you links, especially given my statement up there professing such an attachment to hyperlinks that I wish they could exist in the real, offline world. The first answer to this is, I don't really know. The second answer is, I guess it's because I'm still not used to this idea of throwing myself into the public arena. For as long as this particular site has been in existence, it's pulled up as a search result for my full name (though hardly by my own accord; I just never remembered to find out how to disassociate the two)-- however, my last name is nowhere within any of these entries, my first name only occasionally (I didn't even include it on this current "About" page). In short, while my identity is hardly a secret, I don't go out of my way to make it readily known.

Which is, I know, ridiculous. Especially when I'm dating TheNoah, who lives on the far other end of the online-identity spectrum. Granted, everything I've written and published here, I've done so knowing that it would be submitted for the world at large to access and read, should they so choose. I just never really expected there to ever be a reason for my name to be queried by complete strangers, whereas now I have a domain of my name registered and redirecting to here. It's-- well-- um, it's different.

Anyway. Things 'round here, they're also currently quiet, which I'm trying to appreciate while it lasts. TheNoah flies into town in a matter of hours (well: nine or so), and then according to the list of names on recent correspondence, I'm hosting 10 people this weekend (starting today, Friday) for a dance event-- and then Saturday, two friends from L.A. are driving up and bringing their dog (Schroeder-dog! I love that dog! Though the resident felines of this household will undoubtedly not), and on the one hand I'm starting to panic because while I have more than enough space, I don't have nearly enough furniture to sleep 12 guests, but on the other hand, 10 of those 12 are dancers, and dancers will sleep damned near about anywhere. Dancers will sleep in the bathroom if need be; depending on how drunk they are, the bathroom may even be the slumbering quarters of choice. So I know, I shouldn't be stressing. As I told my mom (who was the first to start raising eyebrows over where everyone was going to sleep) the other day: I'm not a hotel. If people require hotel accomodations, they can go stay at a hotel. If anything, I offer free wi-fi. Can't sleep because someone's elbow is in your ear? Blog about it in real-time! Not that sleep is expected to be much of an issue this weekend: blues dancers don't seem to have much comprehension of the notion of it. They're a motley bunch, they are.

Nearly one a.m. Time to start cleaning. Have a good 4th!

Comments

[Jo]

I just went to Malcolm Gladwell's site (gladwell.com) and he has 800 pages in the archive of every New Yorker he ever wrote. I printed it out and it filled three binders and is AWESOME reading.

[Vaughan]

We have very little comprehension of personal spaces too, which makes it even better!