Tag Archives: neuroses

It ain’t heavy, it’s my planner

Just when you thought I couldn’t get any nerdier…

In January of last year, I read Getting Things Done. I loved it. I started out great, things slipped, I learned about new tools, things got back on track. I have to say that a lot of what keeps me on track and interested in personal productivity is my wonderful boss who loves this stuff so much he blogs about it. I really find that having an actual system to keep me organized helps me keep my anxiety levels down to almost-normal, and I feel a lot more confident and pulled together.

One thing that has nagged at me and been a pain in my side is the technology factor. I know, there are great apps and gadgets and fancy phones and all that jazz. Except, I pretty much have a Zack Morris phone. And I am in super-budget mode, so buying in iPhone or another smart phone and a data plan is just not a good idea right now.  (I mean, that’s a whole other blog post, because I  love social media, and now do it professionally and my phone can barely handle texts. So, it may actually be a career move.  So, this whole post may be moot in a few months, but for now – not in the cards.)

I am usually in front of a computer. Definitely at work, and most of the time at home (that Farmville isn’t going to harvest itself, you know). So, I use google docs and stickies for lists and it’s been working … okay. But I also spend a lot of time on the subway. And occasionally outside. And sometimes I sit on the couch, not near the computer. Or my phone rings and something comes up. So – I guess I am not in front of the computer that much.

I thought about what to do for awhile. I started keeping a notebook in my bag (ironically, a Google-branded notebook) and was transferring notes and ideas into my Google docs when I got to the computer – but then I would forget. Then it hit me: before the days of the internet and new-fangled phones, people used paper. Lots of paper. With binders and cool little inserts. And so, I went to Target and bought my new best friend.

She doesn’t have a name yet, but I am thinking something like “Hortense.” But I don’t want to be sexist, so I may go with “Horace.” It’s up for debate.

The planner comes with a great insert that helps explain how you should organize yourself. Tasks versus appointments, etc. Since I am a “Getting Things Done” grad, this wasn’t that complicated–but it was nice to have a mini-refresher and reference. And it’s cool that it gives you the space to separate things out.  Like its working with you.

But my favorite part of the planner is all the fun accessories it came with and that I could buy. I mean, there are sheets in there to plan parties (*snort*), space to make lists for books I want to read, movies to watch and even a place to track what I ate that day. And I thought the contacts section would be redundant (my Zack-phone can at least handle that!) but it was nice to be able to write down my doctor’s actual address and the pharmacy store ID number.

Yesterday at a book club I was able to make an appointment for a date weeks in advance without asking to use someone’s laptop, or promising to call after I checked google. I had an idea for work on the subway and I wrote it down.  My mom told me what she wanted for Chanuka and I made a note. I am leading some group work for school (ugh!) and I could effectively set a deadline and tell people by when I needed their input. Score!

It’s only been a week, but I am already adapting pretty well. I would even say “cautiously optimistic.”

What do you use to organize yourself?

Moving with a Neurotic

boxesIt’s so frustrating. Frank and I are planning the “Big Move” next-next Thursday, but a mini-move next Saturday – and the packing is crazy. He has been doing the lion’s share, but there’s just so much to do. I’ve never moved before (that wasn’t out of my mom’s house) and it seems like this is much, much harder. Magazine subscriptions to update, banks, credit cards, insurance – the list goes on, and on.

I’m also stressed because we are doing the move on our own (no movers, and just one amazing friend) and I’m freaking about weather, and if we can actually physically do it. And some furniture has to go back to his parent’s house, and some we are moving piece by piece over the course of a week. It’s pretty much a neurotic person’s nightmare. And, it’s really unbalanced to be living in a house that’s almost all packed, but we have nowhere to go. Also, fourteen boxes of books.  That’s with donating about 3 boxes to our local library, and a bunch to friends.

I think I will probably post the amazing diagram of the new apartment Frank drew, because the other thing that’s driving me nuts is where everything will go. The square footage of the apartment is about the same, but the layout is so different, and I don’t know where everything is going to go, and how it’s going to fit. And if we need new furniture, and what don’t we need, and are there outlets for this, this or that.

And we can paint! We have some samples picked out, but I am of course crazy second-guessing myself.  And decorating? I worry that Frank and I aren’t always on the same page, and I am anxious about potential fights (his version of clutter sometimes conflicts with my version of “design.”) And while I love our Gallery of Awful Art – I’m not sure I want it in the new place.  But apparently, some of the stuff I considered kitsch-awful, Frank actually really likes (whoops!), so we may compromise with some sort of giant wall of “stuff” which in my head looks kind of cool – but who knows?

I know none of this stuff is earth-shattering, and it’s all going to work itself out – but it’s just some of the stuff that’s floating around in my head. What if I don’t like the new place, or the commute is crazy-making? Is it really okay for a dog, and what if it’s too small, or we have to move again? What if our friends don’t come visit, or we have bugs here too? I think it’s also just the sheer amount of decisions I have to make. I think I am running into being a little bit of a problem where my exhaustion with making decisions is conflicting with my need to control everything. Something has to give (and I doubt it’s me trying to control everything!)

The Dotted Line (New Things to Worry About)

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was hesitant to write about it until the lease was signed, but I found us an awesome apartment, and I just signed the lease tonight. I am so excited. This new apartment is awesome. It’s not too far from where we are now (which is good, because this is where our friends live) and one of the small downsides is that it is a 5-minute bus ride to the subway. But what it does have? A parking spot, plenty of street parking, a full size dishwasher (a must!) and the potential to turn my pretend puppy into a real puppy! Yes – dogs are warmly accepted here. This is so incredibly exciting.  It’s also even a little less money than my current apartment. And it’s what’s known as a “garden apartment.” Which means I have courtyards, and grass and common areas, and I can walk around and not feel like I am on top of everyone else. And they have 24-hour security guards. And I can paint!

What it doesn’t have? Giant roaches. I haven’t really wanted to talk about it, because it’s so embarrassing. I have been plagued by giant, disgusting roaches. People call them waterbugs, but really – they are American cockroaches. And in my current apartment, I get about one a day. Sometimes dead – sometimes not. I walk around with Raid. These things are tremendous, and we have no idea where they are coming from. Everything is sealed,  I clean and bleach everything almost every day. It’s just out of control.  And to top it all of, the shower in the apartment above me broke, so my bathroom has to be somewhat gutted, and is now covered in garbage bags and duct tape until the super can some to put up new drywall. It’s insane here. It’s like the apartment knows I am leaving, and is just falling apart.

So, Frank and I move August 15th. Since our lease isn’t up until Sept. 1st, we will do one of those “slow moves” so it should be pretty stress free. Should, being the operative word. Of course, I am totally freaking out. The new apartment is so awesome, but since Frank is still in Iceland – he hasn’t seen it (except in pictures) and I am full of constant doubt that maybe I made the wrong choice, and what if he hates, it and blahblah. I got his blessing to go ahead, but still – picking out a place to live for someone else is a big responsiblity. I love him for trusting me.

And because I feel like you haven’t had a good dose of my neuroses in awhile, listen to today’s conundrum! I have been dealing with the current tenant of the apartment (which is a condo). The person who owns it is the tenant’s mother-in-law. So, today we were supposed to meet at a diner, so I could meet the actual owner. I was supposed to bring my credit scores and a check for the despot, and we would sign the lease. But it’s so weird. I mean, what if she hated me, or I thought she was a nut? Do we still sign? Is it just awkward? But more importantly – how does this all work?!

Do I meet them in the diner? Out? Are we having coffee? Dinner? If we eat – who pays?

These are serious questions, people!

As it turns out, I got there early and called the guy. He was across the street, so we both went in together and waited for his mother-in-law, who turned out to be a little odd, but lovely. We ordered coffee (iced) and we signed the lease. It wasn’t until it was all said and done that I remembered my credit score. Since I went through all the trouble of getting it (which was good to do anyway – yay awesome credit!) I made her take a look at it. It was so funny and different from what it was like when we rented this apartment. Because my current one is a co-op, we had to submit all sorts of financials and meet with the board. These people didn’t even ask me how much I made!

All’s well that ends well, and when Frank comes home at the end of the month, the current tenant told me to drop by to show him the apartment. He also gave me the all clear to start transferring my magazines over to the new apartment.

So excited!

The Late Twenties Crush

There is lots written about the quarter-life crisis, but a bunch of friends and colleagues and I have been talking about what happens when you around this age (27ish).  We are comfortable with our jobs, have lived on our own for awhile, making a livable salary, possibly in stable relationships. And then at some point, you look around and go “Oh! Apparently, while life was happening – I am an adult.” As in, I can rent cars, have a file with previous years taxes, compare renter’s insurance policies, plan for retirement and vacations and if I got pregnant or married or something, it wouldn’t be scandalous.

What seemingly happened to me is that I had plans and goals, and along the way – they changed. I went with the flow a bit, and ended up in places that made me really happy. I just assumed that at some point, something would change and I would magically end up at Point B. But here I am, an actual adult and I am at Point C. And the view from here? Pretty awesome. But I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I would have gone a different way. And then you have that quarterlife crisis all over again, but wonder – is it too late? Should I just stick with Point C and enjoy it? Go to grad school for something else, something totally different? Will it open more doors, or just waste time?

I am an adult – shouldn’t I have figured this out yet?!

For me, I decided to stick with Point C, and go to an affordable grad school that works with my Point C lifestyle in case I want to go off in another point when I have my “Early Thirties Crisis.” And, I finally decided to get that dog that I always dreamed of having when I was an adult. Except, that means I have to move – most likely to the suburbs.

But sometimes I can’t help but feel like I have failed, or given up. Sure, I am happy and content. But, what about all those dreams deferred? I read a lot of great business books, magazines and blogs, and follow some wonderful movers and shakers – and sometimes I can’t help but feel jealous or wistful. I always saw myself as an entrepreneur, and would love to open my own business (don’t ask me doing what – the list of things I would love to be involved in and think I can make work is absurdly long.)

If I wanted to change all that, there are plenty of people out there who want to show me how – to take a risk, and do my own thing. I can’t help but feel a lot of pressure to just take the leap. Except, for me – it doesn’t make sense right now and it may not ever.  And I don’t think I am alone in feeling pressure at this particular age to do something fabulous and groundbreaking and risky. But that doesn’t make sense for me, at this point in my happy life.  And yet, I feel that by delaying it or leaving it as a dream, and making a decision that fits my own life, I am failing the younger, idealistic me. Even if that version of me also thought that Doc Martens and long skirts were the height of fashion.

Not-Quite Lunchtime Blogging

When I started this blog, I just wanted a place to write – maybe tell stories about my family and some silly things that happen to me. And Yiddish.  But I became a little inhibited because … some of my family reads this and I never know whats going to  upset someone – and because I  know what certainly will upset some people (and those are kinda the best stories). Because I don’t believe its really possible to be entirely anonymous on the internet – I decided to just lay my cards on the table. Which means some stories, will never be told.

So then I decided that if I was going to be me, publicly – I should maybe use it to my advantage and start writing about professional stuff here. Marketing, issues regarding customer service, etc. But then – the title kind of made no sense, and I was a little inhibited because people I work with read this – and while in theory, that should be a good thing when talking about professional things, it just felt a little too … close. Also, that’s a lot of pressure to think about career stuff that often – and I would miss writing about random things, and it would be too big of a mish-mosh to have a “professional” blog interspersed with stories about gym towels.

So, then I had a freak-out about what my blog was about. And then kind of just settled on “stuff that happens to me and that I think about.” And that was nice – I felt it really freed me up to talk about whatever I wanted to talk about and not worry too much about targeting an audience or anything.  I decided to celebrate this with a blog redesign involving unicorns.

I was reading a new-found great blog called “Plight of the Pumpernickel” and she had an awesome post about being a “Lunch Break Blogger” which she defines as a “blogger who discusses things that occur to him or her on a lunch break.” This is perfect! I am so that kind of blogger-except I generally don’t write too much at work, and lunchtime is reserved for lengthy conversations in the break room about the merits of vampires versus werewolves and questioning if koala bears are poisonous to humans.

I mentally compose my blogs while on the subway (if I don’t have a book with me) or walking to and from the subway (if I am not on the phone with a random family member who may or may not be in the hospital, or telling me why they aren’t speaking to a different family member).  I headblog while waiting in line, or in the shower. Then, I generally jot down a draft of what I was thinking about, spend some time in the evening writing about it and then sometimes let it sit there until I post later the next day (with all these drafts, you would think I manage to avoid using the word “awesome” 20 times in a single post. No dice).

So, while “lunch break blogger” isn’t an entirely accurate description, it’s a pretty damn good one. It frees me up to write about professional stuff, the upcoming search for an apartment, my strong feelings about Veronica Mars and some stuff about dying languages only spoken by 80-year old bubbes and me.

The Spelling Bee

It’s been quiet around here. How about a thrilling story from my youth?

I was always a little nerdy (shocker, I know.) And I am naturally a pretty good speller (this doesn’t mean I don’t make typos or spell some words wrong occasionally. Don’t go being an internet jerk and find all my misspellings.) And way back in fourth grade, I was a champion speller. Really.

I went to this awesome elementary school. It was really a crazy place where we ran our own businesses, went on whale watching tours and somehow were let out at lunch time to go to a shopping center for lunch. In any case, like most sane schools, we had an annual spelling bee. The winner gets to go on to the district, etc. The way most classes handled it, was that there was a class spelling bee, and then the winner gets to go on to the school level. Well, I won Mr. Feldman’s class contest, and went to an assembly with all the other 4th, 5th and 6th grade winners.

Me, in what I think is around 4th grade. Mom isn't great at labeling pictures.

Me, in what I think is about 4th grade. Mom isn't great at labeling pictures.

This thing was really a nail biter. People were dropping like flies, but sure enough, it was between me and Douglas Kasim (I am intentionally misspelling his name. If he found this blog in a vanity search, I would die!).  Douglas was a 6th grader. A sixth grader! I was in fourth grade. This.Was.Huge.  After a tense moment where the judges debated over “mountainous” – I won the spelling bee. I remember looking out and seeing Mr. Feldman do some sort of crazy fist-pumping action.  As the winner I got some giant book called “Liberty” and a spot in the district competition.

Well, for a nerd like me? This was heaven. I went home, every grandparent, everywhere was called. It was a Big Deal. The next morning at school, I was called down to the principal’s office.  I almost died. The principal’s office? I have never, ever been down there. Terrified, I went down. In the office was Mr. Siegerman and Douglas Kasim. Apparently, the district competition is only for 5th – 8th grades. Fourth graders were not allowed, and were only allowed to compete on the school level for practice. No one ever thought we would win. So, not only was I not allowed to go to the district competition, they actually asked me for the book back! They were going to strip me of the prize! I don’t remember what happened after that, because I saw the book in my mom’s house the other day – so I guess maybe she called him and told him to go to hell.

In any case, Douglas went to the district. And lost in the first round. And I was never, ever able to win a spelling bee again. I totally freeze. In 5th grade, I got out on the word “chocolate” (I forgot the ‘o’ in the middle).

My grandma had a trophy made up for me. It is still prominently displayed on my bookshelf.

spellingtrophy

Not My Bookshelf. Also, I felt an unexplained need to conceal my last name.

Crisis Averted

Since starting my illustrious blogging career, I have joined a lot of networking sites, the majority of which appear to be aimed at twentysomething/Generation Y professionals. And the communities quickly started driving me insane. I made a few wonderful friends, but the advice and the self-assuredness of the participants were driving me batty. I started to wonder if I was doing this whole life and career thing wrong, and started participating in conversations that made no sense to me. The advice and posts seemed to be pure link-baiting (aka intentionally controversial, under the guise of “irreverant”), and everyone comments on each other’s blogs, almost seemingly without variation. There is weird in-fighting and sniping remarks. (Okay, its like any other community).

But then I started wondering about my own life, and if this advice fits. And then I realized I was engaging in discussions about whether it’s okay to move back home, or if getting married young makes you inflexible. And I began to let other people’s fears and confusion seep into my psyche. I forgot that while I certainly don’t have it all figured out, I’m already established and secure and on a path.

And then I realized – this isn’t my world. I live in a world where I wonder about which retirement fund to contribute towards, and think about how I can take better care of my aging grandparents.

I don’t wonder about job-hopping, because I have been fortunate enough to find a job where I not only gain all sorts of varied, wonderful experience, but I love working where I do. People job-hop to find the job that I have.

I don’t need advice and articles about navigating early adult hood. In fact, I am qualified to offer advice about getting through that first part – I am on the other side.

I am sure my internet community is out there. I think that I am at a weird age and live in a weird part of the country (NYC). At 27, I think a lot of people my age are married, or are mommy-bloggers or something of that kind. And in New York, at least among my friends – that just isn’t the case. So, I love the idea of websites for young professionals, but I need something on a more “already figured that junk out” level. And “twentysomething” is too broad. Someone 1 or 2 years out of college needs different advice and feedback than someone who is more established.

I just changed my description on the “About” page from “mid-twenties’ to “late-twenties.” I never really had a quarterlife crisis (just a long series of difficult decisions and choices), but instead of trying to create one, I am just going to feel fortunate and forge on. Apparently, this means I am older than I thought, and I really couldn’t be happier.

Personal Conversation Fail Whale

I have a love-hate relationship with Twitter. I love being able to get lots of information in a short amount of time, and I love the personal connection I feel with some authors/celebrities who tweet (who tweet well, with cool pictures or insights and not just PR junk.) I love keeping track of some organizations or friends who crack me up in 140 characters or less.

What I don’t love is the amount of “noise” that Twitter seems to have. I don’t understand how anyone reads Tweets without Tweetdeck or some other organizer. And I worry about anyone who follows more than 300 or so people – how is it possible to have any sort of meaningful connection?

Part of what contributes to the “noise” for me is the replies to other people. If the other person isn’t someone I follow, then I see a tweet from someone with no context. If it seems compelling, then I end up kind of backtracking and seeing the replied-to person’s tweets and see what they said. Usually, its not worth my time. And then I start to wonder, if I can’t follow the conversation, why are people tweeting this stuff in the first place?

Why tweet instead of DM (direct message)? Or send an email instead or an IM? I had an interesting and weird conversation over Tweet, IM and in person with a colleague.  I tweeted that I was reading a book, and then she tweet-replied, asking my opinion. I gave it (through tweet) because I thought it made sense in context – I mean, I tweeted about something, and then a few minutes later I explained why I liked it. Then, the person Instant Messaged me about something work related. We spoke. Then, in the break room, we mentioned our tweets and expanded the conversation.

Why?!?

It seemed normal enough when it was happening, but why did we have this conversation on so many mediums? If she wanted to know what I thought of the book, why did she choose to ask me publicly?  (Which begs the question – why do I feel the need to tell the entire internet when I read a book?) Please believe me when I say that none of this is a critique of my colleague – I am just as guilty of it as times, and I wonder if it is something to even be guilty of. Why do we feel the need to have a conversation “publicly”? Do we want people to know we are discussing something – even if its totally inconsequential? Does the world need to know I have a strong opinion on Step Up 2 The Streets? Isn’t it annoying to see me update my status to reply to someone else, who you don’t even know to congratulate her on going to the gym?

I find myself going nuts sometimes, because I want to respond to someone, but I don’t want everyone else to know what I am saying – and I can’t DM because they don’t follow me. Or maybe direct messaging just feels too personal in an impersonal medium. Is what I want to say worth saying? Would an email be better -or god forbid, a phone call?

I think sometimes Twitter is just too public for me. And I gather that’s what most people like about it.

Shower Schedules

I think we learned that I can be a little neurotic. And it’s always extra awesome when I sometimes realize that things I do are not in fact, normal.

I was talking to someone a few days ago about a new either hair product or body scrub or something I wanted to try. But its something that has to like soak in for a few minutes (I think it was a hair masque. Also, who do I think I am with a “hair masque”?) and I didn’t know how to fit it into my shower routine. They looked at me quizzically. Apparently, having a shower routine is not normal and they asked me to explain.

Well, I have two kinds of showers. “The Standard” and “The Supreme (I swear I just made these names up. They weren’t really previously named in my head).” Regulars are the daily kind. I prefer to shower at night and the showers are about 6-7 minutes long.  I get in, soak, shampoo up. I shave my pits (usually every other day). Rinse.  Put in conditioner. Spend some time with my big poufy shower thing and some body wash. Maybe relax a bit and feel a little guilty about the hot water, but convince myself that the conditioner needs some extra time to do its thing. Rinse hair, rinse body, get out of shower. Standard.

“The Supreme” is where the variation comes in. But, since I am a creature of habit, and not known for a large beauty retinue, it’s usually about the same. Get in, soak, shampoo up. I occasionally use a dandruff shampoo and this needs to stay in for about 3 minutes. I use this time wisely. I do my pit shave and then with my bonus time, I may choose to *gasp* wash my face.

I will break here and note – I have pretty decent skin. I actually even receive unsolicited compliments. It can occasionally be a little dry, and I do get the occasional blemish, but I do nothing. I wash my face in the sense that it gets wet in the shower, and I splash water on it when I brush my teeth. Lately, I have been semi-good about putting moisturizer (with SPF) on in the morning. But other than that? Nothing. I have been doing this I’m about 13 or 14 and kept breaking out because my friends were obsessed with new face cleaning regimens.  I dropped out and have been pretty good ever since. Apparently, I am getting older now, and require “product.”

So, I exfoliate/wash my face with my beloved Apricot Scrub. By this time, I am ready to rinse my hair. Then, I put in conditioner. This is when the legs get shaved. Then, I rinse as normal. So you see, not complicated!

But now I just bought some sort of body scrub. And I am charmed by the idea of this hair masque. How the hell do I do this? The masque needs to stay in for 10 minutes! Do I stay in the shower? Get out? Frank won’t let me out of the bathroom until I am done, because I have a charming habit of drip-drying all over the floor. So I would have to bring some sort of reading material into the bathroom. Do I stay in the shower, and just waste hot water? Find something else to clean? I could brush my teeth, but that’s only two minutes and I have a fear of being electrocuted by my electric toothbrush (yes, I know that’s insane). What do other people do? And what about this exfoliant? I think the people at The Body Shop told me I use it in place of shower gel, but I need to use these little crazy mitts. Do I then body pouf after that with something more soothing? Do I have to moisturize when I get out?

Why is this so complicated for me? What are your shower routines like? Do you even have one? And don’t make me go into my modified “gym shower” routine.

Who needs self-esteem?

I worked from home today, because I had a follow-up appointment with the sleep doctor at 2pm. Which was annoying, because I feel like he could have told me that I don’t have sleep apnea over the phone, but – hey, why give up that co-pay? So, after lunch, I washed up and got dressed (for those of you playing along at work, yes – I attended our morning meeting in pajamas. But they were very professional looking pajamas.) I barely zipped up my jeans over my post-cruise tummy, vowed to go to the gym in the morning and went on my merry way.

I run into my friendly mail-carrier Stephanie in the lobby. She is sitting there, sorting mail. I say hi, she says hi. I really rock at this small talk.  I smile, and pass by. She kind of hesitates and then she says with a big smile “Oh, hey. I meant to ask! Are you pregnant?”

…

…

“Oh. My. God. No. No, I am very much not pregnant.”

She looks awkward and confused. I look horrified. I want to run upstairs and cry.

“Apartment 1H, right?”

“Yeah. But seriously? I mean I know I have to go to the gym…”

“I am so sorry! I delivered that formula awhile ago and I just thought…” she trails off.

And then it all makes sense. That’s why she thought I was pregnant.  I explain, we laugh. I am going to go pack my gym bag now.

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