I’m still trying to get used to the fact that my tenure at the Day Job is ending next Tuesday on the 31st of this month. I mean, I figured I’d be bailing sooner or later, but the fact that I’m leaving on a less than peaceful note is not something I’d planned. I’ve only done that once before, way back in 1994. Most every other job I left was out of mutual agreement or due to Life Changes.
But either way, I’ve been handed an opening. One that I’d kind of hoped would come sooner or later, and I’m not about to let it pass me by. I don’t know what my next Day Job will be, whether it be at another bank, or doing AP/AR work for a company, or even something unrelated to finance. My only hard and fast rule, as it’s always been, is that I need to be able to balance it with my writing career.
I know it’ll be tough, considering everything going on in the world at the moment, but I’m not going to let that stop me. It’s reminding me of things that I’d been thinking at the end of 2018, when I was posting about saying goodbye to things. Positive leave-taking of things I should have said goodbye to ages ago. I should have done this years ago, fought past my inclination for comfort and avoidance of conflict and moved forward, but now that it’s here I’m ready for it and I’m not afraid.
…and to be honest, I’m kind of glad it’s nearly over. I’ve had to remain brave and determined the entire time, standing up for principles and common sense while putting myself through an extremely stressful and life-changing situation, all while my city goes from state of emergency to shelter-in-place because of COVID-19, and everyone starts panic buying all the TP.
I’m doing just fine, by the way. Tired and strangely calm, but otherwise I’m fine.
Mayor Breed put out the shelter-in-place announcement on Monday morning, effective at midnight that evening. My company, on the other hand, had demanded that I — working from home full time for the last seven years — had to come into the office as an ‘essential worker’. I argued with upper management about it. I stated my case clearly and calmly. I followed their suggestion of going to HR — who bounced the decision back down to my management. Long and stupid story short, we were at an impasse. I refused to go into the office when there was a possibility I could catch this virus, or worse, be a carrier and give it to someone else in the building. They refused to let me stay at home.
On Tuesday, I gave my two weeks’ notice.
I think I scared them by my actions. By Wednesday they changed their tune and started letting people stay home. I took a hit for the team, but I’m glad that I won that particular fight for them.
I’m looking at it this way: this break from this Day Job was bound to come sooner or later…I didn’t hate it, but I didn’t care much for it either. It was a steady (if small) paycheck, and I got along just fine with my coworkers, that’s all. But I wasn’t exactly happy, especially after they got rid of working remotely. I needed to break free of it. I’m seeing this as a perfect opportunity to focus more on a career that’s more my style and liking. It’s the break I’ve long wanted. It’s also the perfect time for me to make some long overdue changes in my life as well, now that I can do so.
And I’m still writing just as I always have, so there’s that.
Now if we can just get past this virus pandemic and the social fallout caused by it, then we’ll be groovy.
Everything is still groovy here in the northwest corner of San Francisco. A and I have a well-stocked fridge (thanks to multiple weeks’ worth of shopping instead of panic buying), the only thing bothering our health at the moment is allergies from the airborne pollen, and we know well enough to was our hands thoroughly and frequently.
While I’m still concerned about having to continue going into the office at this time (as Sunday evening I have not heard any updates from the Day Job), I’m not overly worried. I sit somewhat away from a lot of other people — purely by chance — so my social distancing has been working out reasonably well so far. If they finally call it and we end up working remotely, I am totes fine with that.
I’m still working on my writing, regardless. I’m doing an edit of the Diwa & Kaffi synopsis that should be done by the end of next week, and I’m hoping to squeeze in some new words or at least new ideas for the possible new story ideas I have milling about in my head. My writing schedule is continuing as normal.
I do, however, remember the occasional winter evenings back in my Belfry days when I felt annoyed and frustrated when I was too sick to be productive. This was the end result of trying to hit a deadline, continue my streak of writing a thousand words every day, having a smoking habit, downing multiple Mountain Dews daily, and working extended hours during fourth quarter at a shipping warehouse. Guaranteed by late December my immune system was shot, my sciatica kicked in, my head was spinning, and my sinuses were pounding. The most I could do is play a game or two of FreeCell and call it done.
I know better now. I try to be creative about my writing time (read: I take it where and when I can get it, including slow moments at work), not give myself deadlines I can’t possibly keep, and I’m a hell of a lot healthier. I’m okay if the only writing I can manage is a paragraph or two in my personal journal. I’m annoyed, but I’m not hung up about it. I write when I can write.
Being healthy is just a tad bit more important, especially right now.
And yes, I time my hand washing via running through the twenty-seven seconds of The Beatles’ “Her Majesty.”
I remember going to see this movie back when it came out in 1991, when it played briefly at Coolidge Corner theater in Brookline, just a short-ish trip on the T from Charlesgate dorm near Kenmore Square. I remember it being a long-ish movie — the US version was apparently two and a half hours — but for some reason I also seem to remember somehow seeing the European cut, which is closer to three hours. It’s visually gorgeous, filmed in eleven different countries.
The director’s cut, however, is closer to five hours, and I sat through it all this past weekend during our flight back from New England. And I enjoyed every single minute.
It’s one of my all-time favorite movies, but I can totally understand why others might question my sanity, as it’s not a movie for everyone’s tastes. From the beginning it has a slow and deliberate pace — not a glacial one, which quite a few European art films tend to suffer from, but a novel one. I say ‘novel’ because that’s what it feels like: reading a novel, playing it out on the screen. It takes place in the final days of 1999 when a nuclear-powered satellite is spinning out of control and threatening to crash somewhere on the planet’s surface. But the story is not about the satellite; that’s just the framework of the more personal stories that unfold. There’s Clare, a young and emotionally lost French woman trying to find meaning and stability in her own life; there’s Sam, an American on the run from the government after stealing top secret hardware; there’s Eugene, Clare’s ex and a writer who still loves her; there’s Henry, Sam’s scientist father who focuses more on his projects than his son. And there are even more secondary and tertiary characters who also have their own storylines. It’s about dreams, love, loss, and hope.
It’s kind of hard to explain everything that goes on with this story, though not because it’s confusing or convoluted; it’s more that what we think is the story is only the surface of a much deeper and more important one that involves every single person on the screen. It goes in quite a few unexpected directions but does so deliberately and always for a reason.
I was first drawn to the movie due to its fantastic soundtrack featuring numerous well-known bands of the early 90s performing songs that, on the request of director Wim Wenders, were to evoke what each band would sound like at the other end of the decade. It features songs by Depeche Mode, U2, Can, Lou Reed, Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, REM, Elvis Costello, and more. The soundtrack alone is worth picking up, even if you’re not interested in the film!
I mention the movie here on my writing blog, not just because I’d sat through the marathon five-hour director’s cut (which, to Wenders’ credit, manages not to drag at all), but because one of the reasons it’s my favorite movies is because it was an extremely important influence on my writing. From this movie I learned pacing; I learned that not every story needs to be going at a tangible constant speed, nor does it even have to hit high and low points at specific times within the story. This is a slow-burner that starts off calm and introduces new plot points at a leisurely pace, until we get to a point where we suddenly realize we’ve been going at a pretty damn good clip for the last hour or so. It’s a perfect example of how pacing can help tell the story by way of playing with our emotions and expectations.
Until the End of the World has just been released as a remastered Criterion dvd, and I highly suggest watching it if you have a full weekend afternoon.