The weekend found us once again treated to a dusting of snow that passes for a storm in these parts.
While the total accumulation was actually less than the last time around, this time was a bit nastier in that the snow that did fall was very heavy, wet, and slippery.
What really made it a problem, though, was that it actually began snowing sometime Saturday afternoon, yet when I was driving in to work at 5:30 on Sunday morning not a single road had been plowed.
As I was getting onto the on-ramp to the Dulles Greenway, in the misguided belief that the Greenway, a privately owned, toll road (costing more than $2 to drive on) would be better tended than most, I saw three plows parked on side of the road, waiting.
I’m not certain what it was, precisely, that they were waiting for, but clearly the amount of snow that had fallen in the previous 12+ hours wasn’t yet enough to warrant any sort of action.
The fact that I had to drive through the appalling conditions facing me on Sunday morning simply because no one had actually bothered to do anything about them is, to my mind, an example of criminal incompetence. That mess was absolutely inexcusable.
That incompetence aside, though, the storm itself was pretty anticlimactic. Yeah, it was wet, and yeah, it was slippery, but I really wasn’t impressed. The ice that sheathed my car that morning was, without question, the wimpiest ice I’ve ever encountered. I barely had to put any effort at all into clearing it off.
Apart from that fizzle of a storm, the weekend was largely uneventful. Mostly just the standard work/sleep cycle.
You know that feeling you get when you realize that you’ve been at work for nine-and-a-half hours and you still have three more to go? Oh, wait. Most of you probably don’t.
In any case, while the time off it affords is very nice (despite the fact that I do so little to fill that empty time with anything), there are times at work when I question the wisdom of cramming a full work-week into three days. My job isn’t especially demanding, and, quite honestly, is the best job I’ve ever had, but some days…
Ah well, as I said, it’s not actually a bad job, despite the fact that the length of the days can just tend to wear on you, so I can’t complain too much, though not complaining at all would be contrary to my nature.
I’ve been having a lot of odd dreams of late, though most of the details are pretty hazy.
On Saturday night I had a couple of dreams that involved Granny Smith apples, or rather, my failure you to remember to buy said apples. That actually happened in two distinct dreams.
Both dreams involved being back home in Michigan for a visit. In one, I was with my friend Joel, who was bringing me to my parents’ house. When I got there, my mother pointed out that I’d neglected to pick up the Granny Smith apples she asked me to get.
In another, I was similarly riding with my friend Gretchen, though I realized my error before getting home, so we turned around so that I could pick up the apples.
Sometime after that I had a dream that my friend Eric had called me.
When I got up in the morning I reflected on the fact that I had dreamed of several of my old friends, with one exception, and I thought, “What, no Kevin?”
At almost the same time as I was thinking that I checked my e-mail, and, lo and behold, I had an e-mail from Kevin.
It was rather strange.
Then today I got an e-mail from Eric.
It really isn’t that often that I hear from my friends. I don’t hold it against them, as I know that they all have their own lives to live, and in some cases we’re separated by a little bit more than simple distance.
Besides, if “blame” can be assigned, or if such a thing is even applicable, which I don’t think it is, I bear an equal share of it.
It’s not as if I don’t care, it’s just that I don’t really see the point of making the effort to sustain regular contact.
That sounds horrible, I know, but it shouldn’t. I don't mean to sound callous, and certainly I’m glad to hear from them when I do, and I think about them often.
It’s just that, as I said, they all have their own lives.
And I have mine.
Such as it is.
I really shouldn’t say that. Mine isn’t such a bad life. It’s a little lonely, which seems sort of paradoxical, or perhaps hypocritical, given what I just got through saying about my own reluctance to reach out to my friends, but seeming contradictions are as much a part of my nature as complaining, and besides, there are certain voids that friends can't fill, and functions that they can't perform.
When I talked to my mother today she asked me “Are you content with your life?”
I had to admit that, for the most part, I am. Certainly there are things that I want…hmm, no, that’s not exactly true.
There really aren't things that I want.
Really, what I want is to want things.
Sure, there are a lot of material things that I’d very much like to have (like this), and a little romance (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) would be nice, but in a larger, more meaningful sense, there really isn’t anything I want.
That lack of desire isn’t really born out of some kind of contentment or sense of fulfillment, or the kind of spiritual enlightenment that leads men to divest themselves of all encumbrances and live the life of the mendicant, though there is clearly a kind of monkishness to my largely solitary life.
At best, the lack of desire is simple complacency. At worst it’s…well, honestly, I don’t know what it is.
For a long time I’ve said all that I really want out of life is to be left alone.
As is readily apparent, I pretty much have that, though clearly that isn’t really what I want.
In the time I’ve been working in my current position I’ve had four direct supervisors, and at various points each of them has asked me some variation on the same question: What do you want to do?
The only answer I’ve been able to give them isn’t an answer. How can I answer the question when I don’t know what the answer is? Like a test-taking strategy, I tend to skip that question for the time being, planning to get back to it later.
But every time I go back to it my mind keeps drawing the same blank, and I’m forced to admit that I just don’t know the answer, and I can’t even come up with a decent guess.
Wow, that’s gloomy. Didn’t mean to head down that path, though I suppose, much like Rome, all roads tend to lead there for me.
In any case, to move away from the existential angst, it’s my intention to bring my camera with me to class tomorrow night, so, assuming that what we make turns out well, you’ll get a chance to see my latest culinary accomplishment. From what was said last week, it seems that we’ll be making bread.
Today was largely uneventful. As I mentioned, I talked to my mother today. Afterwards I went grocery shopping. While I was home I spent most of the day reading a comic book called “Lucifer,” which is about exactly what you would assume it’s about.
It’s an okay book, sort of spun-off of the classic “Sandman” series, though of considerably lesser quality.
Beyond that I made Tortellini with Roasted Italian Vegetables and broth.
The actual recipe called for “Winter” vegetables, but I didn’t feel like purchasing a bunch of individual fresh vegetables, so I bought what seemed like a suitable blend of frozen vegetables. It was pretty tasty.
On Wednesday I’ll likely make Chicken with Mustard-Fennel Crust accompanied by Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Potatoes and Bacon.
In all honesty I probably do well enough on my own that I really don’t need to take the class, but hopefully I’ll pick up a few tricks, and at least it gets me out into the world.
Whether or not that’s a good thing is anybody’s guess.
In any case, I think that’s enough, and probably more than enough, for one entry.
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