On the radio, roommates (none!) and random writings

A week in human time is equivalent to a month in mine!

So much has happened since my last post a week ago, my move into a studio — NO ROOMMATES! — two weeks ago. Where does the time go?! The million dollar question that not even an astrophysicist could answer.

So’s not to extend the time lapse, the news in rough chronological order starting with the most recent:

* At today’s regular staff meeting at the radio station, where I work one 5-hour shift a week running the board and giving station IDs, my boss asked whether I can also work Sunday’s shift since R. will be away.

Yes! The answer’s always yes at the station! No matter what it is or the time!

Additionally, he tells me that a couple of the regular news folks will be taking time off down the road and he’d like to get me trained on editing their news stories down from their usual 3-minute lengths to bites of 30-45 seconds — a minute max. The usual person just hasn’t the time.

The answer again is yes! My boss knows of my background in editing and writing and so in that sense am a “natural candidate.”

So this weekend is practice. I’ll be given a stack of 3-minute news stories and my mission should I choose to accept it – I Do! — will be to edit each down to a half minute.

It’s one skill to edit stories to a designated length in print and another to edit them into designated air time. You don’t know how much you say in 15 seconds or 2 minutes or 20 minutes — especially those who talk just to hear themselves talk — until you’re taping and timing it to the 10ths of a broadcast second!

I’m excited! Excited for the opportunity to contribute more to the station. Excited for an assignment involving writing and editing, my fortes. Excited for the opportunity to develop new skills. Excited for the added work. Excited plain ‘n’ simple!

* After more than two years locked in their boxes … after more than two years of being hauled thousands of miles from place to place and room to room and storage space to storage space … my music system finally’s got a chance to come out and play!

I’m a music lover since childhood and have a yummy system. The Sony CD player is fine (as in average), the Denon receiver excellent and the B&W speakers are outstanding, to die for. (Quite a story getting those; I’ve have a turntable and slew of albums — I’m a vinyl lover — currently inaccessible since they’re stored in another state.)

For various reasons, I’ve had to keep my lovely music system boxed up through the years. Colorado back in 2012 was the last time it was out. Now that I’m in a space of my own, I gets to bring ‘er out!

And I did last night. It’d been beckoning me. Plus I was growing a skoosh weary of staring at a bunch boxes, nicely organized and stacked though they be. 🙂

Once I got everything set up — on a most attractive sturdy bananas box from Costco serving as the table — I was up ’til 3 in the morn listening to music. LOUDLY. Headphones, ya know. Replenishing my soul stricken by a drought of music (tunes from a radio / iPad / iPhone notwithstanding, ain’t the same).

* I got a bed! An event deserving of its own blog entry; wanted to mention ‘cuz it’s worth mentioning.

* I didn’t get the PT job cleaning the sleep lab. I was looking forward to it and all rarin’ to go. That is to say, it was offered, then they rescinded several hours before I was to start.

Their explanation, after I pursued it, sounds plausible so I can’t fault them for bailing at the last minute if indeed it’s explanation’s true. If not, a lie would piss me off more than losing that job in the final hour.

So now I “wait” for them to call with the next commercial cleaning opportunity. Not like a teenager waitin’ for some guy or girl to ring. I keep moving forward, looking for work, submitting applications and resumes and so on. So damn fucking well do I know the drill that my ears bleed just hearing them repeated in print!

* The best things about living alone again:

1. No. Roommates! No roommates no roommates no roommates!! Shouted from the rooftop!

N-O R-O-O-M-M-A-T-E-S!

2. Keeping the space as I like and need it. Meticulously clean. When I moved in, and before I unpacked anything, I scrubbed every square inch of the linoleum floors — AND baseboards, behind the fridge & stove, inside and on top of cabinets, behind drawers that required removing, shower, tub, etc. etc. etc. It’s who I am, it’s what I do.

Then there’s organizing. Like I’ve oft said, I would’ve invented the phrase: Everything has a place and everything in its place had someone not beaten me to it.

No taking THOSE German genes outta this gal!

Deeeeep cleaning requires hard work, a love of detail (or at least a passing tolerance for those detail-disinclinced), patience and most of all good old-fashioned elbow grease.

Once it’s done though, keeping it clean (and organized) is a piece of cake. That’s where most people fail.

Not I!

Only difference between how a place looks during and after my residency and how it looked when I moved in is it’s 500+% cleaner thanks to my meticulous nature and dedicated maintenance of a high standard of cleanliness (and organization).

Yeah, landlords have thanked me through the years for leaving a place in such tip-top shape. Whoever cleans after I vacate is bored to tears. Everything’s been cleaned to high order! Ovens, fridges — inside, top of, behind and behind — baseboards, windows, sills, any surface that I can safely reach and those I can’t are subject to my cleaning craft.

3. Best thing about living alone. No roommates! Or did I mention that? 😉

4. Also — and no minor matter, this — getting to make noise and not have someone hauling off on me. I mean, noise as in making tea in the kitchen, not re-shingling a roof. I couldn’t breathe in the last place without Judy bashing me with her rageful hammer or oppressive dictates. She’s the rule, not the exception, so yeah, being alone again is healthful healthful healthful!

So today’s good. Been dealing with a lot of heavy baggage too; today’s neither the time nor place.

In closing, I’m grateful for all the good in my life and the good that Prescott specifically has brought and continues to bring me.

I’m grateful for the opportunities and good things developing at the radio station and living alone again, absolutely! I’m grateful for Arizona — conservative Wild-West state that she is — and the many many kindnesses, ready smiles, helping hands and overall friendliness in my community.

I give in kind. As one who has traveled near and far and high and low, I can say with genuine and well-earned authority that being nice and/or kind to others does NOT {in neon lights} return like. So this community works for me in ways that others haven’t / didn’t / don’t.

Places ARE different. People ARE different, despite the cliche that we’re basically alike around the world and want the same things. No. No. And no. No.

That’s a wrap for this Monday. Toodles from Prescott in the mighty fine (& conservative) state of Arizona.


on boxes, bad roommates and becoming freeeeeee!!!

Boxes for tables.

Boxes arranged in neat organized stacks against walls and in corners to make any German proud.

Some things put away. Like plates, mugs, health products, shoes, winter bedding. Items still to be put away await their right place in neatly organized fashion inside boxes.

In the unfolding of a new home — and it very much is an unfolding, for me — things find their place as if ordered by divine design.

In the chaos of a residential transition, in the universe made temporarily of boxes and bags and my belongings in them, one could ask me for an item — a hammer, for example, particular pair of socks, a pair of tweezers … and I could tell you which box it’s in, within a 1% statistical margin of error.

Not only could I point to the box but tell you where in the box it is!

Such precision, mindfulness, thoughtfulness and reasoning in organized packing are gifts cultivated both through lifetimes and this particular lifetime of nomadic spirit and, i reckon, 51 moves. I’d need to sit down, sift through memory to arrive at the exact number. But you get the idea. I’ve moved a fucking lot!

And no relation to the military. The first question I’m asked if the topic of multiple moves comes up! I’ve oft regretted that I didn’t join the military (navy). I fully understand the reasons I didn’t. It was a very conscious decision made at the time so I can’t hold it against myself or claim youthful ignorance. Even as a small child, I was never ignorant, though ignorance would’ve made my life far easier to bear!

But back to boxes and moving!

While you wouldn’t know it by my blog, I just moved into a studio! Exactly a week ago, come to think of it.

My own space! No roommates! NO ROOMMATES! NO ROOMMATES! NO ROOMMATES! If you tuned your ear to the sky, you’ll assuredly catch those exhalations carried by universal winds!

This marks my re-entry into living alone in 3+ years. It’s been a journey through hell with roommates, a few excepted, all the more sweetening the return to solo living.

A new chapter is begun and a journey of discovery. And the discovery is I. So much of my adulthood with roommates has been spent conforming to others. Conforming to their baggage, their issues, their homes, their rules — fair or unfair, reasonable or unreasonable, hurtful or kind, sane or insane.

In their domain, under their roofs and in the midst of their baggage, I’ve been lucky to eke out a tiny space for myself; sometimes hardly that. A space … a small space … a corner in a room … a couple square feet inside a closet.

Hard to move. Can’t breathe. Cannot be.

When the door to this sweet studio opened, as if by a miracle as if by the hand of Spirit, a week after the assault by the roommate in the former abode, I could hardly contain the excitement. The possibility to live alone again … to be free, from Judy, certainly, as well as the years of unpleasant roommates (to put it conservatively) and the toxic dynamics, the majority of ’em … my hopes were raised … but not soooo high as to be devastatingly crestfallen if it didn’t go through. I’m a product of life’s disappointments to be sure.

It went through! As evidenced by my sitting here in my studio, on one of my two pieces of furniture — the first being a bed that I had to buy, more on that another post — a blue vinyl patio lounge chair purchased recently for a buck at a garage sale!

And boxes for tables.

Ain’t a bad way to live. After all, I’m highly accustomed to living as a nomad. To owning little so I can pick up and move, sometimes in an emergency to escape danger created by another’s madness, sometimes on a dime.

As boxes containing expertly-organized contents get shifted from one end of the studio to another … over from this corner to that corner … in the most natural unfolding of “everything has a place and everything in its place” … and every thing gets its place in my presence! … I circle back to a message I was getting to earlier …

a journey of discovery is begun. And the discovery is I. Freed from the confines, controls and torments of roommates, I get to number 1 breathe. And next, create from scratch a space and place of my own. One that reflects me.

And I’ll be honest. I don’t know who that person is. I don’t REALLY know what a home environment that reflects ME looks like. Like a wild bird released from a cage who is to learn how to fly again, so am I. The inner artiste is now unboxed and free to ask the questions:

What appeals to ME in a home? What colors do I adore? What fabrics? Textures? What type of furnishings? Those things that people take for granted are precious to me for my long imprisonment in spaces and places defined and dictated (often cruelly) by others.

I’m excited. I’m ready. Ready for this new journey. Ready to grow. Ready to discover. I’m eager to create.