After a second helping of ratatouille, forgetting that I was supposed to play floor hockey this evening, I was feeling pretty stuffed. Add a glass of Chardonnay and you've got instant lethargy.
Ryan (who along with Crystal are the baby gate providers), called around seven thirty to remind me that I was supposed to be there by eight thirty. "Oh no," I thought "only an hour to digest."
Well, seeing as I've sat on my ever-enlarging backside for three months now, eating junk and not exercising one little bit, I thought that I had better not pass up the opportunity to get into a regular game. It went okay, but I really need some regular exercise. I was sucking wind like an asthmatic on a treadmill.
In other news, it turns out I have an interview next week. Julia mass-mailed my résumé to about 150 places today. One place responded right away. We'll see how it goes; not knowing what we're going to do for money is getting uncomfortable. I want to get it straightened out now. I'm sure it will be fine, but being sure isn't the same as being sure.
• • •
Julia and I got into it today. It wasn't so much a fight as an unpleasant discussion.
The problem is that she and I can never agree. Ever. Whether it's how to make dinner or what colours to paint or what is a reasonable amount of money to spend on something, we will not agree. And no amount of debate will resolve it. Hours have passed, afternoons, even entire days have slipped away while we dance with an issue.
This has been an issue especially in how I use my time. Deciding how long something should take is a difficult thing; it doesn't pay to be optimistic in your estimates.
She and I are both so opinionated and those opinions are always, inevitably conflicting. We both assess a situation bearing in mind the asthetic, practicality, time, efficiency, and end-result quality factors, but weigh each of those factors completely differently. In the spectrum of "Good, Cheap and Fast" where you can only choose two, she's cheap and fast, while I'm good and cheap.
Since I hate this so much, the constant wrestling with Julia on every minute detail, I have been inclined of late to say "Fine, you make the decision. I'll be your lackey; you tell me what to do." It's at the point now where I'm ready to forego any preference a matter just so we can get the project underway. I even went on strike once, sitting on the stairs, refusing to budge until she told me where she wanted me to start working.
But she won't allow that because it's to much a statement of utter incompatibility. She wants me to be involved in making the decision, but to make the right choice: hers.
It sounded to me like, "I like the work you do, David. I want you to do it your way. But can't you do it your way, my way?"
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home