April 11, 2017 (Tuesday)

by Yule Heibel on April 10, 2018

This afternoon W. goes to [company B] for an extended interview and possibly a whiteboard / software hazing. All day yesterday we discussed, off and on, these developments (of company A’s offer and company B’s continued interest in pursuing W.), and I kept saying that it’s not going to be an easy decision. There are a whole bunch of factors pushing him towards [company A] – some of us are actively rooting for that scrappy startup underdog…

We will probably finally go out for dinner tonight. Probably. I spent the whole day yesterday on laundry, four big loads, including all our bed linens, which meant ironing, too, for what seemed like hours. Ironing sounds moronic, but the duvet cover as well as the pillow cases (shams) with the big floppy seams look impossible unironed, though, and an hour of making them look sharp (literally) is worth it when weighted against a week or two of looking at them daily crumpled.

Crumpled, I just realized, is a great word. It’s a very ugly word, thus conveying perfectly its opposition to what it denotes: an absence, a sudden and possibly calamitous absence, of clarity, sharpness, maintenance, care, rectitude, and attention. Lack of attention, more so than merely rumpled. The added “c” is like a sly assassin who snuck in when you weren’t paying attention, and crumpled your things, your world, like some bully kid in the daycare who kicks over your carefully assembled tower of blocks. Rumpled can happen through everyday wear, tear, and use. Crumpling happens in acts of deliberate violence – like pulling sheets and covers off beds and duvets and pillows, throwing or stuffing them into washing machines, then tumbling them dry, tossing them about in heated steel drums until desiccated. I am tired of inflicting all this violence on my household’s things, but needs must. And so I was a despot, a tyrant, all day yesterday.

Thank god there was leftover stew to eat, we could just put the crockpot back on, steam some broccoli on the side, eat bread I’d baked on Sunday night, drink a glass of red wine.

And it was hot. In the afternoon, when it also tends to be warmest, we took a long walk through the cemetery, to the beach, back through downtown. I was sweating. The temperature was in the mid-70s, and today might be even warmer. It’s really nice, after all this cold, but, typically New England, it’s too sudden. We just went from winter to summer in one step. Well, by the end of the week it’s supposed to cool off a bit, but I think this is it, the starting of summer heat waves. Not so bad now, but in short order in the 90s, I’m sure.

There’s always an explosive increase in traffic when it warms up. How they love to run their cars when it finally warms up around here. Funny, in places like Vancouver, they also love to run their bodies. You’ll see many more people out, running, walking, cycling. Here, you’ll see more cars. I hate cars, really.

While the last load tumbled in the dryer yesterday late afternoon, we Skyped with E. One could ask, “Why use the dryer? Why not hang the laundry up outside?” I think it’s partly because I still couldn’t quite believe how warm it really was. I also wanted the laundry to get beaten into softness by the dryer. My everyday violence…


Leave a Comment

Previous post:

Next post: