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talktoolooseI'm lying low in recovery mode. This was a really stressful week.
Monday to Wednesday in the office: not only has my friend MF left the company, but now the senior graphic designer has announced her resignation. She will be continuing to work for us from home as a freelance designer, but she will not be in regularly. We are training up to casual work replacements who can be on call for our needs (or not, I suppose, if they're too busy) and we are planning to hire a production manager who can also do production.
Hilariously, it's clear the the company would love someone who doesn't have all those artistic pretensions the rest of the design department has. heh. They'll just want to work and organize and keep regular hours. Sounds like he/she will be fun to have around. But I am the stalwart, I suppose, and I will have to bear the weight of continuity. I don't wanna.
Thursday, Friday I had to get the music work for my sister done to a tight deadline with lots of last minute changes pouring in. In between, Snake and I had more shattering "discussions" about the future of our relationship. I think he is reacting badly to his salary cut (who wouldn't?) and the general feeling that his career is going nowhere and that he has never been appreciated for his skills as a teacher. My listing suggestions of options led him to comment acidly, "I don't want more job possibilities; I want justice."
I made him more upset by suggesting he look into teaching elementary grades at a private school. It makes all kinds of sense to me as he is an excellent teacher who would like to work in an environment where there is commitment to quality and dedication (sadly lacking all too often in the underfunded public schools). I asked both our neighbour, who teaches at a private school, and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
snowmit who works at another to keep an eye peeled for openings. Snake freaked out at the idea of being in an enclave of privilege. After 12 years of excellent teaching, he still harbours the fear that he will be found out: that someone will realize he's just an immigrant fraud who misspells words sometimes and he'll be humiliated.
I am blaming this shifting ground for the fight we had on Thursday night, but that would also be me not taking responsibility for my part in it. The truth is, life is crisis. You would be a fool not to ask yourself if you're making mistakes. It just feels more acute sometimes. One of his best friends in Hungary just left her boyfriend of seven years and he imagines the freedom from the daily annoyances and the pet peeves such a move would create.
I understand -- I find myself daydreaming of new lovers sometimes. And it's always that wonderful initial falling in love that I imagine; that discovery of a new world, that revelation of parts of yourself that shine when reflected off the shiny face of novelty.
But newness is a thin veneer. Love lives in the quotidian. Love lives in the habit and the determination. Love lives in questioning love and finding it worth the trouble. Whenever we have a fight like this (and there has been about one a month lately) I go through the exercise of imagining life without him. And it has its appeal. But then I walk through our house and think of what we have done, what we will do, and I make the foods we found and invented, and I think about when we will plant this year's basil and of the pesto we'll bottle for the winter. I think about the progress of the dog and the aging of the cat. I think about the drama of our individual families and the cast of characters they form at the periphery of our union.
That is too rich a tapestry to walk out on. It is too exciting to live it. It is too tragic to put down the book in the middle, even if the end must be about loss and death.
And for what? To start a new book? They will pile up beside my bed, each with its demi-weight of blank pages and unfinished tales. I'm not interested. The realization of mortality is the understanding that we only get one life. The doors begin to close and we must choose them with a combination of determination and blind resignation.
I love him and I will not be parted from him. That is something to hold onto.
Monday to Wednesday in the office: not only has my friend MF left the company, but now the senior graphic designer has announced her resignation. She will be continuing to work for us from home as a freelance designer, but she will not be in regularly. We are training up to casual work replacements who can be on call for our needs (or not, I suppose, if they're too busy) and we are planning to hire a production manager who can also do production.
Hilariously, it's clear the the company would love someone who doesn't have all those artistic pretensions the rest of the design department has. heh. They'll just want to work and organize and keep regular hours. Sounds like he/she will be fun to have around. But I am the stalwart, I suppose, and I will have to bear the weight of continuity. I don't wanna.
Thursday, Friday I had to get the music work for my sister done to a tight deadline with lots of last minute changes pouring in. In between, Snake and I had more shattering "discussions" about the future of our relationship. I think he is reacting badly to his salary cut (who wouldn't?) and the general feeling that his career is going nowhere and that he has never been appreciated for his skills as a teacher. My listing suggestions of options led him to comment acidly, "I don't want more job possibilities; I want justice."
I made him more upset by suggesting he look into teaching elementary grades at a private school. It makes all kinds of sense to me as he is an excellent teacher who would like to work in an environment where there is commitment to quality and dedication (sadly lacking all too often in the underfunded public schools). I asked both our neighbour, who teaches at a private school, and
snowmit who works at another to keep an eye peeled for openings. Snake freaked out at the idea of being in an enclave of privilege. After 12 years of excellent teaching, he still harbours the fear that he will be found out: that someone will realize he's just an immigrant fraud who misspells words sometimes and he'll be humiliated.I am blaming this shifting ground for the fight we had on Thursday night, but that would also be me not taking responsibility for my part in it. The truth is, life is crisis. You would be a fool not to ask yourself if you're making mistakes. It just feels more acute sometimes. One of his best friends in Hungary just left her boyfriend of seven years and he imagines the freedom from the daily annoyances and the pet peeves such a move would create.
I understand -- I find myself daydreaming of new lovers sometimes. And it's always that wonderful initial falling in love that I imagine; that discovery of a new world, that revelation of parts of yourself that shine when reflected off the shiny face of novelty.
But newness is a thin veneer. Love lives in the quotidian. Love lives in the habit and the determination. Love lives in questioning love and finding it worth the trouble. Whenever we have a fight like this (and there has been about one a month lately) I go through the exercise of imagining life without him. And it has its appeal. But then I walk through our house and think of what we have done, what we will do, and I make the foods we found and invented, and I think about when we will plant this year's basil and of the pesto we'll bottle for the winter. I think about the progress of the dog and the aging of the cat. I think about the drama of our individual families and the cast of characters they form at the periphery of our union.
That is too rich a tapestry to walk out on. It is too exciting to live it. It is too tragic to put down the book in the middle, even if the end must be about loss and death.
And for what? To start a new book? They will pile up beside my bed, each with its demi-weight of blank pages and unfinished tales. I'm not interested. The realization of mortality is the understanding that we only get one life. The doors begin to close and we must choose them with a combination of determination and blind resignation.
I love him and I will not be parted from him. That is something to hold onto.
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no subject
Date: 2005-03-20 09:09 pm (UTC)