7 Quick Takes: Not Knowing

1.

The bookshelves in the living room are halfway installed.  (The “during” picture is too depressing.  Sorry no photo.)  SuperHusband complains that my method for organizing books is incomprehensible.  I was determined to load these new shelves in some orderly way that even an engineer could understand.  I’m already having trouble.  Hrmph.

2.

We found a long lost library book!  Someone had helpfully shelved Changes for Kit in the magazine file for Invention and Technology.  I don’t know why I didn’t think to look there.

3.

Do you know what I hate about submitting work to editors I don’t know?  Wondering if they even received it.  New experience for me this year.  In the past I’ve always written for people who had already hired me to do the writing.  People you could just e-mail or pop into their office and ask, “Did you get my thing? Let me know when you’ve had a chance to look at it.”  And it’s not pestering, because those people know you and wanted your work and told you exactly what they wanted.  They aren’t dreading looking to see what you’ve sent.

(Strangers rightly dread.  With people you don’t know? You just don’t know.)

So of course the solution to the wait-a-thon is to move on to the next project, which is easy enough when you are too busy anyway.  And then it’s helpful to already have a back-up plan for “What will I do if this editor isn’t interested?”.  Again, pretty easy.

But at 5AM when you wake up with a busy brain, and you feel bad about always using The Doctors of the Church as your insomnia remedy, because you know it’s going to influence your book review unfairly?    That’s when the weird fears kick in:  “What if my submission got lost in the spam filter?”  “What if I accidentally did something that causes me to look like a completely different kind of idiot than the one I actually am?  Because the one I am, an editor can work with, but maybe I came across like a different, less-manageable kind?”

The solution to that is to think up more likely and less ominous reasons, such as, “The editor has a lot of other work to do.”

But I also think up other things, like, “Maybe his farm was hit by a tornado,” or, “Maybe she’s come down with a pox and won’t be able to work for a month.”  Which leads to a weird prayer life revolving around things like, “If my editor’s house has fallen into a sinkhole, please let everyone be okay, and console him with Your peace, and let my file be safely stored at the office where he’ll eventually get to it sometime this spring.”

UPDATE:  But it is so lovely when you get an e-mail back saying, “My house did not fall into a sinkhole.”  (Actually it said, “Thanks, got it, we’ll get back to you.” )

4.

My typoese is getting weirder than ever.  I begin to suspect a rogue “auto-correct” function.

5.

Mr. Boy’s been having a hard time waking up lately.  Winter + Night Owl + Early Adolescence + School Is Not Fun = Low Motivation.  SuperHusband has started rousing him from bed to take the dog for a brisk walk as soon as it’s fully light out.  The first day he went straight back to bed after and slept two more hours.  Second day I cleared a work area for him in front of a window that gets direct sun all morning.   He hates it.  But it works.

Also I am working on dimming the lights after dinner so it isn’t so bright inside at a night.  Jon bought the house in the mid-90’s.  Early this century he managed to diagram most of the wiring.  I am still being surprised by which switch does what.

6.

Good news! Allie Hathaway’s gotten 2nd and 3rd opinions that offer a much better prognosis.  (And they agree with each other and seem to be the real thing. Yay.)   Alleluia.  Thank you for praying.  Don’t stop.

7.

Why is it that we act as if we’re omniscient, when we know that we are not?  We kick ourselves for guessing wrong about this investment or that career choice, or the new outfit or the right haircut.  Even when we had honestly made the effort to make a good decision.  Even when we cannot know the outcome of our decision, because it involves events beyond our control, or variables that can only be known with time.

And then we are mortified by the ignorance and immaturity our younger selves — selves who had no way of knowing what can only be learned by time and experience.  And note:  Those of us still breathing  are, still, younger selves.

It’s nonsense.  Bad habit.  Rooted in bad theology no less.  I wonder if it’s easier to quit than the complaining thing?