Double duh! to self
I'm suffering a mild case of computer schizophrenia.

I'm using PC and Mac almost simultaneously and that, boys and girls, may not be all the fun you think it is. See, at home, with my drop dead gorgeous Tablet laptop, i type away easily and i have absolutely no trouble dragging my mouse up to the top right hand corner to close a window.

Then i go to work and i discover they use Macs there. eMacs, to be precise. Mine is white and runs the Mac OS 10.3.2. It's cute and sassy. But the keyboard is hard to press and i'm having issues with Safari. I've downloaded Firefox (omg do i love me a firefox) but some of the problems are still there. For one, i can't type into the url field when i'm using tabs. Sometimes. And i tend to forget how to minimize the window. I double click the top bar and it works. I get the hang of it and then i go home. I double click the top bar there and the window gets bigger. I say 'Duh' to myself.

At home, right hand side closes the window. At work, left hand does the job. At home, i look for applications on my dock. But of course there is no dock. At the office, i keep wanting to press the right button on my mouse. Double duh to self.

Is there a cure, doctor?

30 days
I'm here. Sort of. I'm near this spot, in any case. You were thinking i had completely lost interest in ambivalence, yet here i am, and no, i haven't. I am considering shutting the baby blog. But that would bring all my ramblings about Bruno in here and then a large percentage of you would fall asleep on the keyboard, thus spelling the world's longest word with the tip of your nose. And no vowels. So maybe i'll keep the other blog open and i'll simply stop stopping by. As for ambivalence, i'm on hiatus. As i told New Boss last week, i've given myself a grand total of thirty (30) days to let everything fall back into its place. I need an entire month to adjust to this craziness of 'getting up working not working seeing people for lunch thinking writing arranging talking listening taking buses taking the subway spending money going back home to babs giving bruno his bath feeding him laughing with him playing he's asleep now so let's see what i can invent for din din'. Two weeks left on the meter and i'll be my regular silly self. Tomorrow i will probably post a little more about the new job. And what it feels like to have a heart torn between a PC and a Mac. I'm thinking Firefox will be the bottom line.
See, i'm almost here.

VD in advance
The job is going well and i'm hectic, so i'll give you my Valentine's message in advance. It comes in two parts. I took the first one from here.



I was going to say "Beware of Valentine's Day" or something like that, but, really, does anyone actually celebrate it anymore? Not in my city. Not any of my friends. Not the coworkers i've met. Not the guy who drives and pushes buttons in the subway. Not the bartenders. Not me. I didn't do it.

And in case people around you do celebrate Valentine's Day, breathe. Don't get carried away. Don't snap naughty comments (it will burst their imaginary love bubbles and, who knows, some sticky fluid may come out of them). Don't feel lonely. Don't hide. Don't get violent. Get going.

My men wish you a peaceful valentine's.

Separation anxiety (in reverse)
I'm back at business as usual. Today was my first day at work, boys and girls. The big morning. It's funny to think i hadn't had a single sleepless night in something like 15 months. Baby nights don't count. Nights of crying and soothing and feeding are different, because you tend to your baby in a sort of drunken yet lucid stupor. I'm talking about true shakes here, tossing and turning in bed, not breathing right, not finding the good position to rest, feeling guilty and a little nervous and overwhelmed by, well, life and its lively events.

I cried myself into bed. There was nothing anyone could say to me to get that awful feeling out of my chest. All i could think of for the entire Sunday was that i'd be leaving Bruno behind, which might be all right for him (he gets to grin at his grandma for the entire evening -a fave activity) but it was a devastating thought for me. Pablo would come over and hug me, and every time i rationalized it, knowing i shouldn't be crying. But the tears were just screaming to get out. Getting Muffin's bottle ready, putting out his clothes for the next morning, wondering if i'd cope. Crying for babs and for myself.

After the flood and the restless night i woke up this morning and slipped into the First Day At Work Outfit. Note to self: Don't wear killer heels on your first day at work. Second note to self: Don't wear those killer heels. Ever. Again. I splashed the make up on, ate my lipstick about six minutes after applying it and proceeded to the office.

It's an old building near the posher-than-posh district in Madrid. The job is interesting, it can be hard but it will mostly be light and the people seem extremely nice. Psycopaths and/or future lifetime friends are yet to be discovered. The office comes with a kitchen, which is not that common in my work history, and i shall soon fill it up with tuppered chicken, avocado sandwiches and hearty coffee conversations.

It was an ok day all along. Except for a while this afternoon when i had to bite my lip and not roll on the carpet laughing at coworker for repeatedly explaining to me that the computer technicians had to "find the HTLM code for the table". She kept on saying it. HeichteeElem. HTLM. Am i geek or is that just really funny? Or maybe i was just nervous: sitting there with my killer heels, my pitch black circles around the eyes and a baby far, far away from me.

Pardon my French
I'm starting the new job on Monday. I need to brush up a little on my French and work on my social skills, which must be ready for some action after so many months of, well, mellow chit chat. As for the rest of the work requirements, no panic. Same ol' thing, right on my career path, except perhaps on a sunnier spot.

The French. I can speak French. I laugh at the jokes, get into the pace of movie talk after about 9 minutes of screening, i read, i understand, i practice by muttering under my breath and by singing the bunch of songs i still remember from my year in Quebec.

But i cannot for the life of me write a line of French without making 67 mistakes. The grammar and oh those accents drive me up the wall. I also have some trouble striking up a conversation because i'm always uncertain of how it will all come out and i keep thinking what i want to say instead of just saying it.

It's got to a point where i don't even write emails to my French-speaking friends anymore, which is terribly stupid for all the obvious reasons: i am losing a precious contact with fantastic people and, come on, i can speak the language. It's just that years have gone by and i'm a bit shy now. It's time to turn my ugly head towards French, boys and girls. Excusez-moi.