the (sometimes) bleak midwinter

Seattle is living up to its rainy reputation; it's not that cold but we've scarcely seen the sun this week, and I am getting tired of damp feet. I'm thoroughly exhausted; the last two weeks have been taken up by a whirlwind trip to DC for interviews (I hit it off fantastically with an organization I'd love to work for, but the committee funding the fellowship that would have paid for me wanted someone with background in a different field, sigh), then many days of tiring 8-9 hour shifts at my oh-so-delightful seasonal retail job, and finally the emotional distractions attendant upon holidays with my extended family (ill grandparents, the usual unpleasant battles over my long-term estrangement from my father; the stress of trying to not get into arguments with relations who think G.W. Bush is the lord's blessing upon this country, etc.) Thankfully, I have a few days off from the job, although I'm spending too much of it working on freelance projects (saving up for the move back East) and job applications (so I'll have something to do once I get there, besides waitress. Not that I have anything against waitressing per se, but it'd be nice to actually make some use of the two master's degrees, at some point).

Despite one or two moments of champion-league passive-aggressive emotional blackmail, Christmas actually went quite well; no fights, very good food, and a reasonably cheerful time had by all present. Also, I got a subscription to the New Yorker (hurrah! the international subscriptions are just too expensive, so for the last few years I've had to sit & read it in Borders, or steal dear S's copy) and a very awesome hat. My sweet little sisters fed with my additions, with Burt's Bees goodies (I have, at last count, three separate tubes of their menthol-beeswax lipbalm floating around my various bags and pockets) and Green & Black's organic chocolate (which we sold in the store where I worked in England, and is finally becoming available in the US, hallelujah). And Christmas Eve midnight service at my mother's church was a blessed moment of peace and music. I may have to write a post about this place and its people at some point, and why they give me hope that the statistics saying only right-wing evangelical churches are growing in size are wrong. Also, the carols were marvelous; I love singing Christmas carols, and am a brutal traditionalist--none of the saccharine chestnuts roasting, silver bells, frosty the snowman musical trash for me. I had to put up with entirely too much annoying Christmas music at work last week, although at least it was slightly offbeat (i.e., no boy bands singing "All I Want for Christmas is You," thank heaven). The high point of my workweek was that somehow the Pilate cover of the truly awesome Pogues/Kirsty MacColl song Fairytale of New York had got snuck onto the playlist, and played three times (until a customer finally complained) during the shift I worked from 8-5 on Christmas Eve. I'll take drunken Irishmen and the NYPD choir over a winter wonderland anyday.