Time & Punishment: The Dreaded Commute

No...but really...THIS IS MY LIFE

Almost one year later of participating in the 9-to-5 grind, and I can't say that I've become accustomed to my commute or work-week schedule. When I first started coming to work, I was assured that the mind-numbing hours spent in traffic would eventually become so ingrained into my everyday life that the overwhelming irritability and anxiety I was (and still am) experiencing, trapped inside my car twice a day to-and-fro, would become a distant memory. Well, just shy of hitting my one-year-mark of Boston traffic, I beg to differ. If anything, the anxiety continues to mount as my car inches along the highway -- a discouraging 50MPH under the speed limit -- cursing myself for listening to those previous naysayers. Trapped in my Hyundai, staring at fellow commuters through their windows, hoping not to see anyone pick their nose, I hope that my right foot doesn't give out on me. Even worse, I try not to let my mind wander, while sitting in this temporary highway parking lot, for fear that I will put my car in park and see if I can run home faster than my car can drive there.

Inevitably, when you're stuck in a little steel casing for over three hours a day for your commute, you tend to wonder what you're doing, well, with those three hours a day that you will never get back. I am left having a "Sisyphus" moment, wondering about the futility of it all -- driving back and forth to work, only to wake up the next morning and do it all over again without any sense of purpose or mission. Ah yes, typical Angela, veering towards over-dramatic and revealing all of her neuroses -- but when you're spending all of this travel time to drive towards an entry-level job with an entry-level salary with entry-level work... Well, not to sound ungrateful for having a job (I am lucky to have a good job), but you might become a bit frustrated. 

I have to make tentative time commitments after work -- frequently falling victim to the spontaneous and unexplainable two or two-and-a-half-hour commutes home, causing me to cancel appointments scheduled after-hours. I've missed dinner reservations, been forced to make friends wait over a half an hour for me, and ultimately, arrived home giving me only 12 hours before I needed to get back into the car to drive back towards work. Sure, the 9-to-5 is filling up my wallet, but it certainly has emptied out my bank account of time. A stressful drive means I arrive to my destination aggravated, stressed, irritated and ultimately, fuming. My free time -- my life -- is pushed to the wayside all so that I can arrive at a cubicle, answer phone calls and click my mouse around a few times a day. While I appreciate my job and the opportunity it is giving me, I feel as though I fight to figure out what this is all really for and if it is worth this much anxiety.

Again, I don't mean to sound like a whiny brat (although, I'm sure I do right now) -- but I think this draws upon a bigger issue for post-grads accepting these entry level jobs. We essentially end up putting up with less than desirable conditions (low salaries, long hours, bad commutes) because we simply want to have jobs. We graduate with degrees that provide this illusion of security and success. Our degrees promise us that we will find something for which we are qualified and at which we will use all of our learned skills, drawing upon so much potential. And yet, we wind up doing data-entry for eight-hours a day. Is this okay? I don't know, really. After all, you need to start somewhere, and it isn't going to be at the top. You need to put in time and hard work before you can expect to be sitting pretty. That's the way things work. Certainly, I am still here putting up with my commute, but I can't say I am happy with sitting my car for upwards of 20 hours a week.

Clearly, having a job with a bad commute comes at the cost of my personal life (and, more importantly my sanity.) Like I said before, I can't always commit to something after work. Even when I do, I have to make sure it's late enough to insure that I am not inconveniencing other people. The longer I sit in traffic, the more irritable I become and the less likely it is that I even want to do anything -- just feeling defeated and useless. My commute ends up taking away the free time I need to insure that I arrive at work the next morning feeling refreshed and ready to be productive. Instead, I feel as though I wind up being resentful and exhausted -- definitely not the fore-bearers of efficiency and productivity. (You can even ask my mom...you do NOT want to talk to me while I am in traffic or after a long ride home...)

So what is the solution? Obviously, many people would suggest either moving closer to my job or find a new job closer to my current living situation. Is that possible though? With my budget being what it is (and my meager salary), an apartment closer to the city means having to forego food and furniture (are those things really that important anyway?). And finding a new job? Well, that is opening a whole other can of worms (dive through my blog's earliest posts of yesteryear). Then, there's always the option of working earlier hours; however, that doesn't actually solve anything -- it merely shifts my time in traffic and forces me to wake up earlier and go to bed later. I wish I could opt for telecommuting, but that seems to be an option allowed for employees with seniority rather than plebeians living life at the bottom of the food-chain.

And that leaves me... here...heading back to my car to fight traffic per usual. So tell me, how do you preserve your sanity while in traffic? What do you think is the best option for those of us who deal with lengthy and tiring commutes? Is there any option?

Or should I just stop ranting now?

This has been a public service announcement sponsored by my over-listened-to-playlists and tired right foot.

The Sands of Time

I gained some momentum the past few weeks with the blog posts -- I know, I know, you were impressed -- but clearly, I have slowed down. Blame my post- Valentine's Day haze. It was probably all of the chocolate I ate.

Get excited, though. I have a series (yes -- you heard me -- series) of posts coming up all having to do with the most elusive and mysterious of all things: TIME. Each installment will focus on an aspect of time management and having a busy schedule: the stuff of grown-ups. Fun stuff, right?

Be there or be square.

In Defense of Valentine's Day

from someecards

Single ladies, get your Netflix queued up with chick flicks and have the wine handy. Non-single ladies, be prepared for a sub-par romantic attempt on behalf of your significant other to acknowledge my favorite (and only) time of the year to binge on heart-shaped, chocolate-covered marshmallows. Rejoice – it’s everyone’s favorite holiday: Valentine’s Day!

PSYCHE! Of all of the year’s holidays, I’d be willing to bet that Valentine’s Day is the most hated – not because it kicks the single population while they’re down (assuming they’re even “down” – being single ain’t so bad, kids), but because it seems to exist for no real apparent reason other than to fuel greeting card sales during an otherwise dismal month. Aren’t we supposed to celebrate love every day? Shouldn’t we be buying cheesy teddy bears and heart-shaped boxes of chocolates for our loved ones at all times of the year?

Last night, a good friend of mine called me up to chat as we were both stuck in horrendous Boston traffic. He told me that he hates Valentine’s Day – despite the fact that he has a girlfriend. He just doesn’t see the point. Of course, he cited my previous reasons (as many other guys do): he does nice things for his girlfriend every other day out of the year, so why does he, deliberately and preparedly, have to do something just because it is February 14^th? Certainly, St. Valentine wasn’t going around marrying people in hopes that one day his act of kindness and courage would be commemorated with the exchange of Justin Bieber greeting cards between lovestruck tweens.

My friend has a point. All of one’s romance shouldn’t be saved up for one occasion, just because CVS has lined its aisles in pink- and red-themed candy on a particular day in February. However, I told my friend that he couldn’t not acknowledge Valentine’s Day – especially when his girlfriend had already remarked that she loved the holiday. Sure, there is no law that says Valentine’s Day must be observed, but we all know it’s happening, so why not indulge a little bit? If you enjoy doing nice things for your significant other, then why would you be bothered about doing another nice thing for him/her (however small or grand the gesture may be)?

I’ll admit, it’s always better when one’s motives for being romantic are a bit more organic, but Valentine’s Day has carved out a specific time in the year for some QT with you and your partner-in-crime. What's wrong with one day out of the year that encourages and endorses romance and acting on romance? Don’t take it all so seriously and just use it as an excuse for more loving, touching and squeezing.

As my title suggests, I'm sure it’s clear that I actually like Valentine’s Day. Granted, I like all holidays in general. Let’s be serious – do I strike you as someone who would turn down a celebration of any sort? I actually don’t have any Valentine’s Day plans tonight, though. Yes, I do currently have a boyfriend, but things come up, people are busy, and there just isn’t the time for that horse-drawn-carriage around the ‘burbs after a long shift at work. However, we will be celebrating Valentine’s Day at a later date, because I do think it is important to carve out time for the ones you like/love (whether it is a new beau, all of your closest pals, or a furry friend).  In the meantime, if you are looking for me, I will be at CVS buying their entire stock of Valentine’s Day themed chocolate.

And I will leave you with this...

I suggest you do what the video recommends at the end...

Nothing says "I love you" like emailing your sweetheart a cat video via YouTube.

If You're Lucky Enough to Get a Date While Living at Home...

I don't like looking at this picture very much...
but it seemed relevant... sadly.

By now, you should know that I live with my parents – if not from the fact that you have read multiple blog posts, then from the tone of self-pity and shame that haunts each of my posts. And while this actually doesn’t pose many problems, it does become a bit of an issue with one certain aspect of my life: dating.

Now, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I am not a female lothario. I could hardly be classified as a man-eater unless you want to get into the consumption and gender of my breakfast, lunch and dinner.  However, if you have even semi-interested and involved parents, then you might see how living at home can be the cause of chronic “awkward turtle” moments at the beginning of whatever budding relationship makes its way to my front door.

Any time I have gone on a first date that involves a suitor picking me up, my polite date has (usually) had the common decency to come to my door. If I lived alone or with other 20-somethings, this would not be any sort of production. In fact, it would probably be standard practice. But with my parents? This seemingly innocent moment in my fledgling of a relationship becomes fair game for them. What should be the moment my date and I lock eyes and ignite some sort of romantic fire instead becomes a verbal assault and battery as this male suitor faces my inquisitive “roommates.”

Once I can finally maneuver past my parents, shuffling my date past their barrage of questions and threats, I can breathe. Sort of. At least now, if anything embarrassing happens, it’s my fault. The date is back within my control (for the most part) and the only person I have to blame for its subsequent failure is myself. If he managed to look past my sort-of innocently-curious parents and then later seems to be exiting out of the restaurant bathroom window after I talk to him? Well, we all know the cause of that.

For the most part, he and I can laugh it off and attribute it to my parents’ always-endearing love for me, and then move on to our inevitable awkward chit-chat and sizing-up of each other… Until my date brings me home.

As he will pull up in front of my house, I make sure to check for any possible beady eyes peering out of windows. My second-check is for my dog, whose first reaction to anything within his line of vision from the window (or front yard) is to bark – loudly. When he does this, I know that whoever is within even a mile’s earshot will be notified that I have probably returned home and am experiencing that awkward moment at the end of a date where we need to decide if we’re going to shake hands, hug, kiss or just run as fast as possible away from each other. If this last parting moment between me and my date happens in the car, then at least I have a steel casing protecting me from the vision of my parents, dog and hopefully neighbors. However, if my date is really trying to step up his chivalry game and takes me to the door? I cross my fingers  and hope that my brother isn't positioned just so on the couch that he can see out the window and onto our front doorstep – a front row audience member to some guy’s attempt to end the date with something more than a nice pat on the back and “call you never.”

If I manage to make it through those final parting moments without any witnesses, I still am not yet in the clear. Believe me, I have tried to dodge past my family’s almost-meddling interest while en route to my room – but it somehow seems that I can never make it into my room before being met with a “so how was it?” And I’ll be honest, I usually don’t mind this. In fact, I do enjoy a little recap of the day/night’s events – if not just because I probably like to hear myself speak, then because I need someone to know all of the events to later help me overanalyze everything. But in those rare moments when I want to savor my experience all by myself? I will inevitably have to share something to appease the curiosity of my parents. I can’t spend a few hours with some person they have never met and then NOT tell them even a smidgeon of information– is that even possible? Any silence on my part may lead them to believe that I have just spent an hour playing mini-golf and getting ice cream with a sociopath.

Trying to keep things from my parents in general is nearly impossible for me. Not only am I a terrible liar, but I respect and love my parents and want them to know what is going on with me. I will admit, though, that there are times that this can be difficult. After all, I cannot separate what I want to share with what I don’t want to share because I live with them. They see the events of my life unfolding simply because they’re around and they can see who picks me up, who’s calling me on the phone and even who sends me flowers (even though that rarely happens -- they can still see it!).

Let's be real here. When I order something online (usually shoes... always shoes), my parents are usually the ones who retrieve it from the front doorstep and know about its arrival before I do. I can't even keep the new purchases in my life a secret from them -- how am I supposed to keep a budding relationship, something that is decidedly more important than shoes (barely), from them?

It is one of the trade-offs of living at home. Although I have been living back at home for over a year now, I am still trying to find a way to balance my new adult (sort-of) life with the comforts that come from moving back in with your parents. I am not the same person I was when I lived there back in high school and my dating patterns are certainly more different. No -- I definitely do NOT bring anyone back to my house after a successful date -- but still, even if I felt the need to extend my date to an evening romp, do I really even have a choice? (And, parents, I know you are reading this, I am not trying to offend you! -- side note: they are probably the majority of my readers) I guess the issue here is that I do not have the choice to choose the information and potentially filter it or share it the way (and on the timeline) that I want to because they see everything happening in real time.When I am hurt by a guy or when I go through a breakup, they see the tears and the pain -- so even if I want to keep it to myself, I really can't. Of course, I always eventually tell them what's going on, but I never have a moment where something can be just mine when I'm located just down the hall from them. I do not have the luxury of having a first date, processing it and then calling up my mom to tell her the highlights because there is no time to process.

I am forever grateful to my awesome "roomies" for letting me stay at home and save a few bucks, so I don't mean to sound unappreciative -- because I am! But I do think that part of growing up and becoming more independent means having to work through situations and sift through information on your own. You will be able to formulate your own resolutions to problems and your own opinions about people and information before it becomes offered up for dinner table conversation. However, it is part of the experience of living at home and learning to manage with current circumstances.

I'd also like to point out I realize that I also am cramping my parents' "dating" habits. My mom said to me, "Did you ever think that maybe you get in the way of us wanting to...[be romantic]" (I'm editing her sentence, but you can interpret that as you wish) to which I could only reply TOUCHÉ!

Thoughts? Comments? Smacking your forehead with your hand? Doh?

SNOW DAY?!

Unfortunately, this post is less about the movie and more about the actual  day itself.
from movies.tvguide.com

Let me first start off by saying: I am not a cold-weather-loving gal. I am cold for about eight months out of the year, hate piling on layers of clothing and can barely navigate through snowy weather – regardless of whether it’s on foot or by car. However, as a kid, bound to the seemingly intolerable structure that my school schedule demanded of me, I would eagerly anticipate the snow fall and its implications of potential freedom from what I then considered the “daily grind.” Never one to tempt fate, I would do all of my homework the night before while keeping my eyes glued to the scrolling queue at the bottom of the TV, which seemed to grant every other young student their wish for a day filled with sleeping in, sledding, hot chocolate and movie marathons. Every time the list would get closer to the Bs (the first letter of the town I lived in), my heart would race, palms would sweat and I’d offer up a plethora of sacrifices to the Snow Gods in exchange for the beloved “snow day.”  Once I saw my school’s name stretch across the screen, I was immersed in a single moment of pure euphoria.

However many years later, I still experience that same aching anticipation at the prospect of a “snow” day. This time, though, instead of avoiding a six-hour-day filled with geometry, the joys of physical education and twenty-minutes surviving the socially-abhorrent and “click”-ridden cafeteria, I would be avoiding a ten-hour-long-commute and eight-hour slavery to my computer screen. At the first sign of snowfall, my mind races with thoughts of “working from home,” enabling me to cuddle up on my couch and go about my usual work business, all while watching the entire first season of Downton Abbey. Of course, I realize this “snow day” is a bit different from the ones I was used to in those earlier years; however, I still feel a reprieve from a demanding work schedule and find that a little disruption in my routine goes a long way in making me feel refreshed for the next day of work. I know that some people do this every day, but when you’re chained to an excessively long commute and less-than-desirable office position, the opportunity to be uprooted and welcome a bit of “chaos” from the norm is enough to make you jump up and down in your onesie you have probably specifically saved for the cold and snowy occasion.

With the impending blizzard upon New England, I find myself treating Thursday like it’s Friday (just like I used to in the pre-post-grad era!) and looking forward to answering work emails in the company of my dog. Sure, this snow day is pre-empted by my company’s wish to keep its employees safe and out of the potential danger that associates itself with obnoxious amounts of snowfall – but the euphoria is no different from that I felt in yesteryears.

Stay warm peeps.