So I says to myself, I says, You're a Christian, ya gotta serve. That's the term they use in shorthand to mean serving in God's name. At least I think it does. So I reached out to City Impact asking about volunteering, and specifying that I work(ed) in HR and had familiarity with computer programs. Homegirl said she would get back to me, and a week later, I sent her a follow up, offering even to be a part of their Adopt a Building program. She apologized, saying the person who coordinates admin tasks was out of town, but invited me to show up at their next Adopt a Building event.
I was on the fence about it since A) I'm always hesitant to try new things and be around new people and B) it was on a Sunday from 2:00 to 5:00, which is prime nap time for me. But I rallied, and made my way down to the Tenderloin around 1:30 today.
At first, I couldn't find the place since they've got an adjunct building with the same name of the actual address, but a different number. So I called the coordinator, left a message, and was headed back home when I found the place.
I was greeted with the fresh smell of pee (which was fairly omnipresent the whole time) as I walked to the door, headed inside, and was greeted by a smiling older woman who gave me a name tag and ushered me into a small auditorium.
There was no more than 50 people present, and the head dude was giving some sort of intro as I walked in. He wrapped up, and handed the floor over to a millennial who kept saying "the crazy thing is," which quite irked me. I was also under the impression that this was a non-denominational type of gig, which was swiftly corrected by virtue of the large cross on stage. Further, after the millennial wrapped up, the first older dude returned to the stage and started telling this tale of a homophobic guy who, "through God's great humor," had been coupled with a group of trannies to assist, and as the trannies kept coming back to church, slowly but steadily, they shed their finery for fucking sweatpants. And then they all went out to the mountains for a hike, so "they were able to leave that lifestyle."
Seriously, that's the story the dude told. And "lifestyle" is almost always code for "gay lifestyle" and therefore bad bad bad, but I just kind of rolled my eyes internally, and waited for the next steps.
I was grouped with another newbie named Chad who was washed out and freckly, and had the personality of a pumice stone; and two other more tenured folks, Conchita and Chuck. Conchita seemed intent on telling stories of God's providence throughout the day both to us and to our wards for the day, most all of whom were surprisingly pleasant (I guess you would be if you're getting free food). I couldn't follow all of her ramblings, and did tire from standing a time or two while also avoiding the persistent fruit flies who must have fucking followed me from home.
I have to say here, too, that church people are notoriously humorless. I've encountered this in the two small groups in which I've been at Epic, and this lot was no exception. Like, Conchita's name tag read "Empress," which I thought was a cheeky nickname she'd given herself to suggest a haughty demeanor, but it was, in fact, the name of the building we were serving. So I didn't even bother trying to make a joke out of it because she would have just stared at me blankly, I'm sure.
Before we left, Conchita had endeared one of the tenants to come to the church, so he joined as as we headed back. One block in, he asked just how far it was because he had COPD, so as we stood there, boxes in hand, decently dressed people in the Tenderloin, of course Pumice Stone and I are approached by a transient who asks us for money and then tells us of some apartment building his dad left to him that he's trying to get back. I don't give him any money since I didn't know what City Impact's policy is on that, but did stay and help interest in his story. Pumice Stone noticed our peeps heading back to the hotel, and said something like, "Sorry, sir, we have to go," and walks away. I tell the guy sorry and God bless, and he says something about Pumice Stone being evil.
In any event, we regroup back at City Impact and give our final thoughts. I say it felt satisfying and easier than expected, and ask for some of their fliers, with plans to hand them out along with dollar bills to people who ask. We say our final prayers, and I trek up the mighty hill of Jones St. back home.
The reason I did this was to challenge myself, and I succeeded on that front. Not sure I will go again next week. Hopefully they'll come up with some admin work I can do sitting in a nice, comfy office, but we're gonna be a good little Christian and leave it up to God.
Sunday, August 11, 2019
Tuesday, August 6, 2019
Malfunction. Stop. Restart.
Ah, non-existent online friends!
When last I left you, I had been feeling quite under the weather, and had gone to the doctor's. Looking back at my last entry, I had forgotten all about this step I'd taken because not but a few weeks after that adventure, my friends, Roze and Lea, having not heard from me or seen any evidence of me online, had mounted a search and rescue campaign that involved the police knocking down my door and taking me, blissfully unconscious and near death, to the hospital. I was first taken to St Mary's because it's near my house, and then transported to UC.
They identified a major infection that had attacked my heart and brain, so a valve replacement and two cranial surgeries later, I was deposited into my own hospital bed, and the recovery began. It took awhile for my brain to come back online, and I remember trying to explain something about work to Lea and Mia when they came to visit me in the hospital, and it was quite off course.
A call had been made to my poor mom in the middle of the night, and with the help of her cousin, she booked the next flight to SF. In my state of ignorant euphoria, I'd just decided that all answers would come later, and I would enjoy the ride for now.
Another two back to back surgeries were done, and then I was shipped off to ghetto rehab in Vallejo. The tragedy of this whole experience was that I had no contact lenses in the whole time, so I was seeing some weird, but interesting stuff while in the hospital, and creating some pretty vivid and frightening tales in my mind about what was going on.
Back at rehab, I did not know the rules or hadn't paid attention when they were explained to me, but I got in trouble several times for getting up out of my bed on my own. It was also a mildly useless endeavor as I couldn't see properly, so the speech therapy was mostly for nought, even when I pressed my nose as close to the piece of paper with the little drawings and words on it. I was desperate to escape, but my stay coincided with Thanksgiving, so that stretched it out to a full week, even though I asked to be released earlier.
When the time came and I was picked up by my mom and Aunt Sandra, we drove back to SF, and I wasn't home for even a week before the pain started up in my leg. It was then back to the hospital for another surgery to correct the blood flow in my leg. Followed two months later by eye surgery to remove lesions behind my eye. Followed then by a trip to the ER to fast-track connecting with Neurology to address the nerve death sensation in my extremities. I've also been back to UC for two IVMF infusion treatments to relax the milon in the nerves so feeling will return, and am due to return next week.
It has been a very slow, but steady recovery process, but I lost a ton of weight while ill, so it's like I got free liposuction. And I'm coasting on disability, and will be pursuing permanent disability through my employer, so will most likely not have to work ever again. I've reached out to City Impact to offer to volunteer, and am just waiting to hear back from them. And I'm due to get some retro Social Security payment in several months.
I got baptized shortly before this all went down, and can't help but think that, yes, Jesus had a role in bringing me down low and then lifting me to these current heights. I've been rebooted, and am so grateful.
When last I left you, I had been feeling quite under the weather, and had gone to the doctor's. Looking back at my last entry, I had forgotten all about this step I'd taken because not but a few weeks after that adventure, my friends, Roze and Lea, having not heard from me or seen any evidence of me online, had mounted a search and rescue campaign that involved the police knocking down my door and taking me, blissfully unconscious and near death, to the hospital. I was first taken to St Mary's because it's near my house, and then transported to UC.
They identified a major infection that had attacked my heart and brain, so a valve replacement and two cranial surgeries later, I was deposited into my own hospital bed, and the recovery began. It took awhile for my brain to come back online, and I remember trying to explain something about work to Lea and Mia when they came to visit me in the hospital, and it was quite off course.
A call had been made to my poor mom in the middle of the night, and with the help of her cousin, she booked the next flight to SF. In my state of ignorant euphoria, I'd just decided that all answers would come later, and I would enjoy the ride for now.
Another two back to back surgeries were done, and then I was shipped off to ghetto rehab in Vallejo. The tragedy of this whole experience was that I had no contact lenses in the whole time, so I was seeing some weird, but interesting stuff while in the hospital, and creating some pretty vivid and frightening tales in my mind about what was going on.
Back at rehab, I did not know the rules or hadn't paid attention when they were explained to me, but I got in trouble several times for getting up out of my bed on my own. It was also a mildly useless endeavor as I couldn't see properly, so the speech therapy was mostly for nought, even when I pressed my nose as close to the piece of paper with the little drawings and words on it. I was desperate to escape, but my stay coincided with Thanksgiving, so that stretched it out to a full week, even though I asked to be released earlier.
When the time came and I was picked up by my mom and Aunt Sandra, we drove back to SF, and I wasn't home for even a week before the pain started up in my leg. It was then back to the hospital for another surgery to correct the blood flow in my leg. Followed two months later by eye surgery to remove lesions behind my eye. Followed then by a trip to the ER to fast-track connecting with Neurology to address the nerve death sensation in my extremities. I've also been back to UC for two IVMF infusion treatments to relax the milon in the nerves so feeling will return, and am due to return next week.
It has been a very slow, but steady recovery process, but I lost a ton of weight while ill, so it's like I got free liposuction. And I'm coasting on disability, and will be pursuing permanent disability through my employer, so will most likely not have to work ever again. I've reached out to City Impact to offer to volunteer, and am just waiting to hear back from them. And I'm due to get some retro Social Security payment in several months.
I got baptized shortly before this all went down, and can't help but think that, yes, Jesus had a role in bringing me down low and then lifting me to these current heights. I've been rebooted, and am so grateful.
Monday, September 3, 2018
Death becomes him
The unpleasant illness I've been experiencing since I got back from Alaska has grown worse. I worked from home all last week, and went to the doctor Thursday, praying I wouldn't just get a dismissive diagnosis. After the standard schpeel querying if it might possibly be HIV, my doctor hooked something on my finger, led me around his office, and determined it was something bronchial.
Fine.
So I went up to the main hospital to have a cat scan done by an irremediably beautiful Latino guy (thank God I got to keep my shirt on). It was not a chest infection, which would have resulted in me being checked into the ER right then and there, but he did prescribe some antibiotics and a respiratory spray.
I picked them both up on Friday, which I had off, and also had my blood tests done. My Ferritin is through the roof, so a phlebotomy is in my near future. My doctor had asked, after he'd gone through all the routine questions, "What do you think it is?" and I explained how my liver had been jutting out Ferritin through my skull cap for years, and I could feel it, like little sesame seeds being pushed through my veins and arteries. I suspected that might be the cause of the headaches.
Anyways, I made my way to TJ's, picked up some provisions, and then--having proudly taken the bus to all of these locations--I took the quick Uber ride home because it was uphill, and I wasn't about to push it.
The medication seemed to have worked the first day or two, although it doesn't seem like there's anything coming out of the respirator. I've got six more days worth of antibiotics, and my doctor said he was going to try something else if that didn't solve things.
I hate this off-kilter feeling like my life has gone awry. It's like forty hit me, and it hit me fucking hard by reminding me no amount of super-powered multi-vitamins or super green smoothies can truly make me impervious. Part of me really just wants to take a month leave after the merit is paid (which I'm the lead on this year) so I can rest up, but if my health isn't actually improving, I don't quite see the point. And being comatose in bed watching TV through fever dream eyes is pretty fucking abysmal.
I'm not eating because I have not appetite. And I'm definitely not working out, so there goes all of my gym progress and the beloved swarm of weekend endorphins. So yes, I'm hoping this shit passes STAT.
In far more lovely news, I finally got baptized last Sunday! I was teetering and not feeling my best, but it was a lovely experience. Lea showed, and was great. We went to the Palace for lunch afterwards. I'm so glad I finally did this.
Fine.
So I went up to the main hospital to have a cat scan done by an irremediably beautiful Latino guy (thank God I got to keep my shirt on). It was not a chest infection, which would have resulted in me being checked into the ER right then and there, but he did prescribe some antibiotics and a respiratory spray.
I picked them both up on Friday, which I had off, and also had my blood tests done. My Ferritin is through the roof, so a phlebotomy is in my near future. My doctor had asked, after he'd gone through all the routine questions, "What do you think it is?" and I explained how my liver had been jutting out Ferritin through my skull cap for years, and I could feel it, like little sesame seeds being pushed through my veins and arteries. I suspected that might be the cause of the headaches.
Anyways, I made my way to TJ's, picked up some provisions, and then--having proudly taken the bus to all of these locations--I took the quick Uber ride home because it was uphill, and I wasn't about to push it.
The medication seemed to have worked the first day or two, although it doesn't seem like there's anything coming out of the respirator. I've got six more days worth of antibiotics, and my doctor said he was going to try something else if that didn't solve things.
I hate this off-kilter feeling like my life has gone awry. It's like forty hit me, and it hit me fucking hard by reminding me no amount of super-powered multi-vitamins or super green smoothies can truly make me impervious. Part of me really just wants to take a month leave after the merit is paid (which I'm the lead on this year) so I can rest up, but if my health isn't actually improving, I don't quite see the point. And being comatose in bed watching TV through fever dream eyes is pretty fucking abysmal.
I'm not eating because I have not appetite. And I'm definitely not working out, so there goes all of my gym progress and the beloved swarm of weekend endorphins. So yes, I'm hoping this shit passes STAT.
In far more lovely news, I finally got baptized last Sunday! I was teetering and not feeling my best, but it was a lovely experience. Lea showed, and was great. We went to the Palace for lunch afterwards. I'm so glad I finally did this.
Saturday, August 11, 2018
The laaaaat mothafuckin' ass frontier
My trip to Alaska was lovely.
I got up at the ungodly hour of 4:00 am, prepared myself, and trekked to the BART for a nice and easy trip to SFO. Now that Virgin has gone under and been bought out by Alaska, I wasn't exactly sure what I was in for. But it was a connecting flight, so the first leg was in one of the old Virgin jets with the nice violet lighting and the great stretch out seats. I ended up sitting next to a neat freak who legit took out a set of Lysol wipes and cleaned down every surface of his area. I guess that's better than the dude who took out his laptop and straight up started looking at gay porn.
Then from Seattle to Anchorage, I was on one of Alaska's Boeing jets--and in the vicinity of just the kind of people you would expect to be going to Alaska. A guy coming up the escalator in front of me had a duffel bag with "NRA" on it. Saw lots of dudes in shirts with American flags, and the regulation baseball cap with sunglasses resting on the brim. I took my seat in first class while southern accents twanged all around me, and the stewardess, sporting an '80s-styled short curly 'do and embodying the spitting image of a greasy spoon waitress, came and took everyone's drink orders. When I said I didn't want anything, she said, "Nothing? Are ya sure? Oh, you're just bein' difficult," and lightly swatted me on the back of the head with the menu.
Annoying.
Speaking of the menu, it was here on this connecting flight that I felt the difference between my cosmopolitan Virgin airlines and the homey world of Alaska Airlines as the two entree items offered were of the beef and chicken varieties. I hadn't eaten beforehand as the thought of food at 5:00 or 6:00 am is purely vomit-inducing. I also hate screaming my order over someone else, and prefer the more civilized online menu where you place an order without having to say a word, and the stewardess brings it to you.
So, I sat there and starved.
As we flew into Anchorage, I almost wanted to burst out laughing. All below me was white--pure, unadulterated white. Like, I expected it to be wintery, but knew it wouldn't be the arctic proper. We landed, I headed to baggage claim, found the only place that served something I could eat (a low-quality slice of pizza, chips, and Sprite), and waited for Nell and Pam to pick me up.
They arrived, I gave Nell a hug, and it was off to the hotel. From her pictures, and knowing Nell's preferences for butcher women, I had expected Pam to be a kind of gruff, "woman of few words" type.
Not so.
She works as a tour guide, and was a fountain of information about Alaska. This was cool for the first hour or two. Then it was clear she was a compulsive talker, and given the long stretches of road we were on during the day and a half, it got wearing. Nell caught on by the second day, and I think had given Pam the directive to zip it after we were back on the highway after the ceremony, but that didn't do much good. I made the best of it, lightly chided Pam, and just flat out ignored her rambling at some points.
Joining the festivities was Pam's adorable eighty-year-old gay father, Charles, who was a hoot. He co-officiated the little ceremony with me at Talkeetna. Between him, Nell, Pam, and myself, we were all teared up at the end. You could tell when they were reading the vows that they weren't just repeating words after us, but feeling all of the emotions and experiences that had led them to there. So, her talkiness aside, I was exponentially glad that Pam and Nell had rediscovered one another.
The last day arrived, and I returned back to my beautiful Frisco Disco.
I used yesterday to take Shazaam to the vet where I learned he may have a stone and was overweight. They suggested I add canned food to his diet as the moisture will help with the digestion. I wish I had known this earlier on.
I took the day to also look at my current debt. I now have almost exactly the same debt as a I had a year and a half ago when I took out that mega loan to pay all of my credit cards. I was crestfallen to find out, but prompted to do so upon discovering I was nearing my max on many of my cards. I really didn't learn my lesson. Or it's that I've become so accustomed to a certain lifestyle. Even yesterday, between the cat's vet visit ($400), a hair cut ($52), moisturizer ($250), grocery shopping ($120), and alcohol and mixers ($75)--and yes, I even took the Muni to the stylist to save on cash--I couldn't believe how much I actually spend in a day's time.
So I applied for another mega loan from another company. It's approved, and I just got a call from them. I had been diverting a specific amount to paying off two cards and my mattress (which is now paid off), so I think I can manage the payments, and it's only for five years. And then I have to turn into Mr. Frugality, because I just don't think I'll get another shot.
I'd also had my heart set on taking my mom to England for her sixtieth birthday next year. I can put that on a card, then transfer the balance to a 0% interest plan for about a year, so that should be manageable.
Oh, what a tangled web we weave when we practice to be as bougie as can be.
I got up at the ungodly hour of 4:00 am, prepared myself, and trekked to the BART for a nice and easy trip to SFO. Now that Virgin has gone under and been bought out by Alaska, I wasn't exactly sure what I was in for. But it was a connecting flight, so the first leg was in one of the old Virgin jets with the nice violet lighting and the great stretch out seats. I ended up sitting next to a neat freak who legit took out a set of Lysol wipes and cleaned down every surface of his area. I guess that's better than the dude who took out his laptop and straight up started looking at gay porn.
Then from Seattle to Anchorage, I was on one of Alaska's Boeing jets--and in the vicinity of just the kind of people you would expect to be going to Alaska. A guy coming up the escalator in front of me had a duffel bag with "NRA" on it. Saw lots of dudes in shirts with American flags, and the regulation baseball cap with sunglasses resting on the brim. I took my seat in first class while southern accents twanged all around me, and the stewardess, sporting an '80s-styled short curly 'do and embodying the spitting image of a greasy spoon waitress, came and took everyone's drink orders. When I said I didn't want anything, she said, "Nothing? Are ya sure? Oh, you're just bein' difficult," and lightly swatted me on the back of the head with the menu.
Annoying.
Speaking of the menu, it was here on this connecting flight that I felt the difference between my cosmopolitan Virgin airlines and the homey world of Alaska Airlines as the two entree items offered were of the beef and chicken varieties. I hadn't eaten beforehand as the thought of food at 5:00 or 6:00 am is purely vomit-inducing. I also hate screaming my order over someone else, and prefer the more civilized online menu where you place an order without having to say a word, and the stewardess brings it to you.
So, I sat there and starved.
As we flew into Anchorage, I almost wanted to burst out laughing. All below me was white--pure, unadulterated white. Like, I expected it to be wintery, but knew it wouldn't be the arctic proper. We landed, I headed to baggage claim, found the only place that served something I could eat (a low-quality slice of pizza, chips, and Sprite), and waited for Nell and Pam to pick me up.
They arrived, I gave Nell a hug, and it was off to the hotel. From her pictures, and knowing Nell's preferences for butcher women, I had expected Pam to be a kind of gruff, "woman of few words" type.
Not so.
She works as a tour guide, and was a fountain of information about Alaska. This was cool for the first hour or two. Then it was clear she was a compulsive talker, and given the long stretches of road we were on during the day and a half, it got wearing. Nell caught on by the second day, and I think had given Pam the directive to zip it after we were back on the highway after the ceremony, but that didn't do much good. I made the best of it, lightly chided Pam, and just flat out ignored her rambling at some points.
Joining the festivities was Pam's adorable eighty-year-old gay father, Charles, who was a hoot. He co-officiated the little ceremony with me at Talkeetna. Between him, Nell, Pam, and myself, we were all teared up at the end. You could tell when they were reading the vows that they weren't just repeating words after us, but feeling all of the emotions and experiences that had led them to there. So, her talkiness aside, I was exponentially glad that Pam and Nell had rediscovered one another.
The last day arrived, and I returned back to my beautiful Frisco Disco.
I used yesterday to take Shazaam to the vet where I learned he may have a stone and was overweight. They suggested I add canned food to his diet as the moisture will help with the digestion. I wish I had known this earlier on.
I took the day to also look at my current debt. I now have almost exactly the same debt as a I had a year and a half ago when I took out that mega loan to pay all of my credit cards. I was crestfallen to find out, but prompted to do so upon discovering I was nearing my max on many of my cards. I really didn't learn my lesson. Or it's that I've become so accustomed to a certain lifestyle. Even yesterday, between the cat's vet visit ($400), a hair cut ($52), moisturizer ($250), grocery shopping ($120), and alcohol and mixers ($75)--and yes, I even took the Muni to the stylist to save on cash--I couldn't believe how much I actually spend in a day's time.
So I applied for another mega loan from another company. It's approved, and I just got a call from them. I had been diverting a specific amount to paying off two cards and my mattress (which is now paid off), so I think I can manage the payments, and it's only for five years. And then I have to turn into Mr. Frugality, because I just don't think I'll get another shot.
I'd also had my heart set on taking my mom to England for her sixtieth birthday next year. I can put that on a card, then transfer the balance to a 0% interest plan for about a year, so that should be manageable.
Oh, what a tangled web we weave when we practice to be as bougie as can be.
Monday, August 6, 2018
Off to the (not so sunshine-y) state!
I leave at the absolute butt crack of dawn tomorrow for Alaska for my old boss's wedding. She promoted me into my position in a new division in the department, and provided two additional nice increases during the nearly nine years she managed me. We had some fun times, and I'm very happy that she's found her soulmate and been able to retire early.
As for it being in Alaska, I reckon it'll be something like "Northern Exposure" meets "Sex in the City." I did a Google maps view of the hotel, and there's, like, nothing around it. We're doing some sight-seeing tomorrow, so should be fun. Then the wedding's on Wednesday (very cazh), and I fly back Thursday at noon. I guess it may not be all that wacky and wild a time since it's in the boondocks, and there's no one I know besides my boss and her fiance in the wedding, but hey, we'll make the best of it. If anything, it hits the reset button, and I get out in nature for a wee bit.
I kind of wish I'd taken the Monday after I get back off, as I'll just have three days off (one of which is earmarked for Shazaam's vet visit and a much needed haircut), but we're gearing up for things at work, so it was not advisable.
I'm hoping to get baptized later this month. I've put it off long enough. I'm just worried that when I meet with the pastor (different from the head pastor who I'd already given the gay schpeel to a few months ago), that he'll hint at sexual sins, and I'll have to get into it. But this is something I've wanted to do, or maybe felt compelled to do. I don't know anymore. I keep wishing for some revelation that will push me over the line to feel that I *need* to do this.
As for it being in Alaska, I reckon it'll be something like "Northern Exposure" meets "Sex in the City." I did a Google maps view of the hotel, and there's, like, nothing around it. We're doing some sight-seeing tomorrow, so should be fun. Then the wedding's on Wednesday (very cazh), and I fly back Thursday at noon. I guess it may not be all that wacky and wild a time since it's in the boondocks, and there's no one I know besides my boss and her fiance in the wedding, but hey, we'll make the best of it. If anything, it hits the reset button, and I get out in nature for a wee bit.
I kind of wish I'd taken the Monday after I get back off, as I'll just have three days off (one of which is earmarked for Shazaam's vet visit and a much needed haircut), but we're gearing up for things at work, so it was not advisable.
I'm hoping to get baptized later this month. I've put it off long enough. I'm just worried that when I meet with the pastor (different from the head pastor who I'd already given the gay schpeel to a few months ago), that he'll hint at sexual sins, and I'll have to get into it. But this is something I've wanted to do, or maybe felt compelled to do. I don't know anymore. I keep wishing for some revelation that will push me over the line to feel that I *need* to do this.
Monday, July 16, 2018
Retirement age ain't nothin' but a numba
I worked from home today, and it was lovely. It involved sleeping in 'til about eleven, answering a few emails, and then largely completing a few personal tasks like washing the dishes, working out, dropping off pants to be sewn, cancelling my phone service, and scheduling a dentist appointment. I went to Trader Joe's, too, and it was beautiful out, and the store was virtually empty.
This is what I imagine retirement to be like. I suppose this kind of quaint simplicity may get wearing after awhile, but it's one of the things I think I'll relish when time comes.
And if that time comes in twelve years versus sixteen, I can only just imagine the joy, the exquisite joy!
I'm doubtful that I'll get any more windfall pay increases in the remainder of my career unless my serpentine VP eventually relents and promotes me to manager when my current manager retires, which I suspect will be sometime within the next ten years. And the early retirement may not mean I'll have enough to move to San Diego, but we'll see. Just thinking about it and knowing how quickly time flies now makes me happy.
This is what I imagine retirement to be like. I suppose this kind of quaint simplicity may get wearing after awhile, but it's one of the things I think I'll relish when time comes.
And if that time comes in twelve years versus sixteen, I can only just imagine the joy, the exquisite joy!
I'm doubtful that I'll get any more windfall pay increases in the remainder of my career unless my serpentine VP eventually relents and promotes me to manager when my current manager retires, which I suspect will be sometime within the next ten years. And the early retirement may not mean I'll have enough to move to San Diego, but we'll see. Just thinking about it and knowing how quickly time flies now makes me happy.
Wednesday, July 4, 2018
Future forecast
I have today off because it's Independence Day (not that I'm feeling even remotely patriotic), but it's sort of idiotic because it's a Wednesday. As a result, I've decided to take off tomorrow and Friday, and pull in a five-dayer. I had planned for this about a month or so ago, and had hoped to fast for three days. But alas, that plan fell through, as I somewhat suspected it would, and will be replaced by cocktailing and YouTubing. I'm a little disappointed at this unsurprising turn of events, but am hoping God'll give me a pass on this one.
If nothing else, it certainly won't do wonders for my figure, which has ballooned up this year due to several of these little extended weekends. It might be best if I just powered through the remaining weeks of July without any more three-day weekends until Corrine's wedding in August. I've added more weights to my workout regime, but it's getting to the gym more than two days a week that's a challenge when my overall morale has been quite watered down.
I started thinking today about retirement, something never too far from my mind even though it's still sort of far away. What made me think about it was Justin Timberlake. I was watching a YT video (natch) of this dude and his mom at a club, and a remix of "Can't Stop the Music" was playing, and I thought to myself, Didn't that just come out last year? I looked it up, and lo, it came out two years ago this past May. I can specifically remember hearing it for the first time on the radio in an Uber on the way to work, and immediately looking it up on my phone.
That seems like it was just six or so months ago. My point, as I've always said before, is that the passage of time feels expedited when you're older.
Adding to this, I've always insisted I will stay in SF until the end of my days, loving the City as I do, and relishing in the benefit of living in a rent-controlled apartment. But today, I started toying with the idea of moving back to San Diego after retirement. I could take my pension, earned on SF market dollars, to a cheaper area of the state, and it might go further. Indeed, I may even be able to retire earlier. Heck, that was what Corrine did when she hightailed it to Alaska at fifty three. Plus, I would be near my sister and nephew, and my mom during her golden years. My high school chum Aaron plans to move back there after retirement as well, and Roula and Raina are there, too.
Then I actually started looking up apartments--of course in the more enviable areas like Kensington and downtown--and saw they were more than I was paying now. Even ones further inland were more.
Truly the housing crisis has even extended to the city I fled from like a bat outta hell.
Corrine joked with me more than once that once I got older, my affection for the City would likely diminish. As I see article after article about used needles on the street, and bags and suitcases of feces left on sidewalks, I can only wonder what my beloved City by the Bay will be like sixteen years from now.
Hey, two or three years ago, I wouldn't have imagined I'd call myself a Christian. Contemplating myself as a citizen of San Diego in the distant future doesn't seem too far off considering.
If nothing else, it certainly won't do wonders for my figure, which has ballooned up this year due to several of these little extended weekends. It might be best if I just powered through the remaining weeks of July without any more three-day weekends until Corrine's wedding in August. I've added more weights to my workout regime, but it's getting to the gym more than two days a week that's a challenge when my overall morale has been quite watered down.
I started thinking today about retirement, something never too far from my mind even though it's still sort of far away. What made me think about it was Justin Timberlake. I was watching a YT video (natch) of this dude and his mom at a club, and a remix of "Can't Stop the Music" was playing, and I thought to myself, Didn't that just come out last year? I looked it up, and lo, it came out two years ago this past May. I can specifically remember hearing it for the first time on the radio in an Uber on the way to work, and immediately looking it up on my phone.
That seems like it was just six or so months ago. My point, as I've always said before, is that the passage of time feels expedited when you're older.
Adding to this, I've always insisted I will stay in SF until the end of my days, loving the City as I do, and relishing in the benefit of living in a rent-controlled apartment. But today, I started toying with the idea of moving back to San Diego after retirement. I could take my pension, earned on SF market dollars, to a cheaper area of the state, and it might go further. Indeed, I may even be able to retire earlier. Heck, that was what Corrine did when she hightailed it to Alaska at fifty three. Plus, I would be near my sister and nephew, and my mom during her golden years. My high school chum Aaron plans to move back there after retirement as well, and Roula and Raina are there, too.
Then I actually started looking up apartments--of course in the more enviable areas like Kensington and downtown--and saw they were more than I was paying now. Even ones further inland were more.
Truly the housing crisis has even extended to the city I fled from like a bat outta hell.
Corrine joked with me more than once that once I got older, my affection for the City would likely diminish. As I see article after article about used needles on the street, and bags and suitcases of feces left on sidewalks, I can only wonder what my beloved City by the Bay will be like sixteen years from now.
Hey, two or three years ago, I wouldn't have imagined I'd call myself a Christian. Contemplating myself as a citizen of San Diego in the distant future doesn't seem too far off considering.
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