jaysaint Getting it all down on paper…

Courtesy of TiVo I’m watching today’s Oprah. I sit in the comfort of my cozy living room learning about the life of people who make minimum wage.

Years ago as part of a book club I read Nickeled and Dimed by Barbara Ehrenrich, which left a sour taste in mouth. I felt like she took an important point and put it through the mangler of her self-important, liberal artist agenda. Her legit contention that lots of people are not making a survivable wage, despite working full time got subsumed by her horror that anyone would have to do something as demeaning as scrub a toilet or wrap a sandwich. I will give her an “amen sister” that many many of these people are treated in dehumanizing, inexcusable ways. But she lost me with her attitude that that work is inherently humiliating. My cousin is a cleaning lady. My friend’s mom works at Wal-Mart. My very own husband has done demolition work. For years I was a nanny. And I think that was all honorable work that we could be proud of.

But I digress.

So these folks on Oprah today… I will go to sleep tonight thinking about the woman who works full time as a medical assistant. She looked to be about 40. She’s the person who takes your blood pressure and fills out your chart before you see the doctor. She’s got one kid. And she can’t pay her bills. Not because she got into credit card debt. Not because she’s frivolous. But because she makes $5.15 an hour (federal minimum wage — which hasn’t gone up in 10 years) BEFORE taxes. She sat there justifying herself, saying “I never never never go out to eat.” It was just unbearable. I have no good solution other than to support (demand?) a rise in minimum wage, even if it’s covered by yet another rise in my taxes. It doesn’t seem like enough. I do know guaranteed health care would make a big difference. It would be nice if a person didn’t have to spiral into total financial flatline before she got a little government help.

You know what else I want to know? They keep showing woman after woman going by, trying to support herself and her kids. Where the hell are all their daddies? I know there are men out there in the same position, and I know there are righteous men who do right by their kids. But the number of those who don’t really seems to be stacking up.

I’m not one for prosthelitizing in my journal. But it’s all I’m thinking about right now.

Now begins the two-week wait. What a weird limbo. The egg has either packed it in, or is working on rapidly zygote-ifying. But there’s no way for me to know for the next two weeks.

Damon has resumed the “Do you feel pregnant?” refrain. Some might find that annoying, but I enjoy the indicator that he’s excited to be a dad.

We did our best. But when the temperature goes up and the cervix comes down there are always a few things I second guess about when and how often we have sex.

Oh, for a crystal ball.

Today at work our production team celebrated a really difficult close by throwing an ice cream social. So I have now officially cheated on the sugar fast. I kept myself to a small taste, but there was no way I was going to be that annoying person who says, “Oooooh noooooo. I don’t eat sugar.” I hate that. As a vegetarian (or, pescatarian) of 17 years I am always chagrined when someone makes a big to do of it. I am a grown up, reasonable woman. I can feed myself. I do not need any fuss made over me. Invite me to your party, suggest any restaurant you like, I will do just fine. The only time I give a heads up is when someone is cooking dinner, as I’d hate for someone to, say, make a chicken breast with my name on it. I’ll soften up on the sugar diet for work camraderie, but there’s no flexibility when it comes to meat. So warning in that case is in order. None of this is to say I won’t talk about the practical, philsophical or ethical issues of my vegetarianism, I’ll do so happily. But I don’t want to do it in the context, “What on earth can we feed Jillian??”

You know what I love more than sugar? Hobbits.
I’m watching the director/writer commentary for The Two Towers right now.

The final unrelated bit for this entry is that all I need to do is clip the appropriate W-2s and the like to our taxes and we will be all done and ready to mail. This has been a huge undertaking and frustrating beyond belief. But, it was also an education and I believe in taking control of our own financial life. So, glutton for punishment that I am, I will probably do it again next year. Actually, next year will be much easier because (lord willing) Damon won’t be earning income in three different states.

I wonder what the best night of the week to hit IKEA might be. It’s most assuredly not on the weekend. Monday? Thursday? My guess is Monday, but I’m going to go for it on Thursday because I’m impatient. I won’t be going tonight because every Wednesday is a tv free-for-all. Now that Amazing Race has moved to Wednesday everything we watch (that and Lost) is handily packaged into one night.

That doesn’t count the stuff we Tivo, which isn’t appointment viewing. I like to stock up shows like Good Eats and Airline to watch whenever. If they expire before I get to them then that’s no problem.

I semi skipped school today by working from home. And I use the word “working” lightly as I did a healthy bit of goofing off. I did get things done, but usually whether at home or the office I really plow and today I did not. I’ve been feeling that tension backup that I get every once in a while and felt today was a good chance to open the valve and get back to normal. It seems to have worked nicely. I’m of a generally serene disposition, but sometimes my worry switch gets stuck and suddenly things look very bleak. I should note that feeling to generate empathy for people who seem prone to depression and anxiety. I really do believe it’s dumb luck that I’m not. I come from happy stock.

I am justifying sitting here on the couch, rather than getting up off my behind and getting something done, because Sam has propped his chin up on my foot and has cranked his motor up to 10. I can’t resist.

Good thing I can get some things done on the laptop. I’ve got us all set for Jason and Jacki’s New Orleans wedding extravaganza and I just about can’t wait for that. Even though the wedding is in August and I’m confident we will burst into flames the second we step off the plane. Damon has never been and doesn’t understand that NOLA in the summer can redefine “hot.” I have, literally, not felt anything like that (I’ve done this once before) outside the Sahara.

I love New Orleans. I’ve been there a handful of times and I’ve never felt better about going anywhere to throw around my tourist dollars (paltry though they may be) and assert my faith in a city.

Damon’s in the wedding. I’ve never seen him in a tux before.

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On the nightstand: The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis and Tales of the City by Armistead Maupin
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