Josh and I are watching Sports Night, and he curls up next to me with his arms around my waist, just like he used to when we first started dating. It's something we don't often do -- spooning consciously -- and it was perfect. Sweet and romantic, the sign of a thriving relationship.
Fifteen minutes later, I realize that the cuddling has turned into dead weight. Josh is fast asleep, and he's starting to drool on me. Fifteen minutes, the scope of a relationship -- from "tenderly cuddling" to "starting to lose feeling in my left arm." The weird thing is, I couldn't be happier.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Making Plans, Making Time
Summer hasn't officially started yet, but between the 80 degree temperatures and the late afternoon thunderstorms, it feels like June already. I spent all afternoon reading, doing research, and listening to the rain. It's not quite hot enough to be uncomfortable -- just slightly sticky, but with a warm breeze, so the perspiration lifts almost instantly, leaving the skin cool to the touch.
Today was a good day for planning. I don't know if I ever actually accomplish anything with my lists, but they serve as a nice check to the hurtling cacophany that would otherwise be my life. Things get so busy so fast -- reading scripts, making my way through summer reading, fantasizing about writing real articles, and trying to start the research for them. Bullet points make it easy to see when you're working on too many things at once.
Today was a good day for planning. I don't know if I ever actually accomplish anything with my lists, but they serve as a nice check to the hurtling cacophany that would otherwise be my life. Things get so busy so fast -- reading scripts, making my way through summer reading, fantasizing about writing real articles, and trying to start the research for them. Bullet points make it easy to see when you're working on too many things at once.
A Hot Summer Day
My day so far:
1. Woke up at 9:30. First story idea-- female retirees seeking college grad roommates for cushy rent-stabilized Village apartments. Spent the morning researching elderly housing options in NYC. Learned that NORC stands for "naturally occurring retirement communities," and that the number of minority retirees will rise by 280 percent by 2015. Did a thorough overview of Gotham Gazette's advocacy pages. Feel like I know the site better - not sure I know any more about the issue.
2. Waited for Robie to deliver air conditioners
3. Realized that I had a script coverage interview at 4. Realized I've only seen two of their films. Remembered that the last time I went to one of these things without doing my homework, it didn't go over so well. Three hours to interview - time for at least one movie. Ran to video store and rented two movies - The Assassination of Richard Nixon and Duck Season.
4. Popped in The Assassination of Richard Nixon. Two hours of watching Sean Penn go nuts - a slow, demeaning slide into workaday oblivion. Movie ends. Sean Penn dies. Robie is not coming with air conditioners today.
5. 4:00 p.m. Script coverage interview. Took the subway down to 23rd street, and for the first time ever took the R line. The office reminds me of Michael's office - clean, well-polished, an air of cluttered professionalism - only these people are pleasant and young, and have not been forced to switch careers into advertising or "commercial" documentaries. Whle I'm sitting in the office, a storm blows in, and there is a mad rush to close the windows, interrupting the mad rush to answer phones, the mad bickering about salad fixings, the enthusiasm of an office in midday. Out the back door, I see a metal staircase going up to another building, and what looks like a clothes line, drenched in the pouring rain. I leave with three scripts, change clothes in the bathroom, and head out into the late afternoon drizzle.
6. Josh is at home. We curl up and watch a half hour of television.
7. Back to news research. Read the follow up on the NYT article about kids sleeping in offices -- hundreds of postings, mostly New Yorkers angry about how hard it is to live here. Anyone living in Manhattan is a snob for not considering the boroughs, anyone who can pay $800 a month is a trust fund baby, and anyone writing from out of state is thrilled to rub in the pricing difference. It starts out interesting, but gets depressing fairly quickly. I close off before finishing the thread.
8. I pass the 100 page mark on Ulysses. Woot!
1. Woke up at 9:30. First story idea-- female retirees seeking college grad roommates for cushy rent-stabilized Village apartments. Spent the morning researching elderly housing options in NYC. Learned that NORC stands for "naturally occurring retirement communities," and that the number of minority retirees will rise by 280 percent by 2015. Did a thorough overview of Gotham Gazette's advocacy pages. Feel like I know the site better - not sure I know any more about the issue.
2. Waited for Robie to deliver air conditioners
3. Realized that I had a script coverage interview at 4. Realized I've only seen two of their films. Remembered that the last time I went to one of these things without doing my homework, it didn't go over so well. Three hours to interview - time for at least one movie. Ran to video store and rented two movies - The Assassination of Richard Nixon and Duck Season.
4. Popped in The Assassination of Richard Nixon. Two hours of watching Sean Penn go nuts - a slow, demeaning slide into workaday oblivion. Movie ends. Sean Penn dies. Robie is not coming with air conditioners today.
5. 4:00 p.m. Script coverage interview. Took the subway down to 23rd street, and for the first time ever took the R line. The office reminds me of Michael's office - clean, well-polished, an air of cluttered professionalism - only these people are pleasant and young, and have not been forced to switch careers into advertising or "commercial" documentaries. Whle I'm sitting in the office, a storm blows in, and there is a mad rush to close the windows, interrupting the mad rush to answer phones, the mad bickering about salad fixings, the enthusiasm of an office in midday. Out the back door, I see a metal staircase going up to another building, and what looks like a clothes line, drenched in the pouring rain. I leave with three scripts, change clothes in the bathroom, and head out into the late afternoon drizzle.
6. Josh is at home. We curl up and watch a half hour of television.
7. Back to news research. Read the follow up on the NYT article about kids sleeping in offices -- hundreds of postings, mostly New Yorkers angry about how hard it is to live here. Anyone living in Manhattan is a snob for not considering the boroughs, anyone who can pay $800 a month is a trust fund baby, and anyone writing from out of state is thrilled to rub in the pricing difference. It starts out interesting, but gets depressing fairly quickly. I close off before finishing the thread.
8. I pass the 100 page mark on Ulysses. Woot!
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