I'm sorry in advance to take your time with this post, if you're not interested, please feel free to move along for the day... I'll have something more upbeat tomorrow, I promise. :)
An anonymous poster asked me to "let everyone know you've weasled out of your obligation." I will not do that, because I remain committed to publishing dog eared magazine. Turtle Arts is still going strong. dog eared magazine is still in production. Personally I feel horrible at the delay. I've tried to be honest with you all about the fact that there has been a delay, that I'm as upset as you are about the delays, and that yet we WILL STILL be honoring ALL SUBSCRIPTIONS. We will, we are, we shall.
We've had plenty of issues, and life has certainly been interesting. I feel like I shouldn't go on about the details, but I'd like you to know that we haven't been vacationing in Mexico instead of working on the magazine. We haven't been vacationing anywhere, in fact... I'm surprised that I still know how to spell "vacation." We haven't run away, haven't weaseled, haven't disappeared off the planet.
SO, if you've been worried about dog eared magazine, please don't worry about it. There are other things to worry about instead. You'll get as many issues of dog eared in your mail box as you signed up for. Please, please, I don't want your blood pressure to go up over this. Try not worry. There are other things more concerning to worry about. dog eared will be in your future. Take a deep breath and think soothing thoughts. Try to resist any cravings for worry. It'll all be OK. Leave the worrying to me.
Oh, and I don't know what's up with the web site. I'm not surprised that another crisis has hit, the web site has not been kind to us. I'll get it fixed as soon as I can.
Soothing chocolate for everyone...
Showing posts with label crisises. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crisises. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Saturday, January 19, 2008
transitions, coming soon to a blog near you
I know that it’s ridiculous to try to figure out what you want to do when you “grow up,” but because my indenturtude Americorps term is nearing it’s final hours, I have been thinking about it.
Of course, I know what I WANT to do. I want to make art and write and make magazines and books and zines and all that… but as us annoying grown ups know, there’s want and need. It’s nice to have money to pay the rent, it’s nice to have fancy luxuries like health insurance and other benefits. And, it’s nice to be able to depend on these things as just being There. I need a place to live and because of my health, I need medical insurance.
Right now, I do have the health insurance, but the money is supertight. Which is fine. Part of the reason I wanted to do Americorps is because I was going to learn new things, plus I really embraced the idea of service to the community in a way that I wouldn’t have been able to do without the support of my Americorps program. So, as I think I’ve written here before, the payment goes so far beyond money. I’ve learned so much. I’ve encountered so many people, and hopefully helped them. Wait, no, I KNOW I’ve helped them. They say so.
BUT. My transition is coming up and I have to decide what to do next.
I think that beyond the art and writing and zines and little curiosities, I’d like to get more involved in tenant rights. There, I said it out loud. Well, wrote it out loud, anyway. The amount of turmoil that people have to go through in dealing with their landlords and rental situations is just appalling. I hear about it every day at my current job, and want to be able to do so much more to help them. My current position only lets me go so far, though…
Dear universe, please help me find a job in tenant rights. Thank you, love Kerrie.
Of course, I know what I WANT to do. I want to make art and write and make magazines and books and zines and all that… but as us annoying grown ups know, there’s want and need. It’s nice to have money to pay the rent, it’s nice to have fancy luxuries like health insurance and other benefits. And, it’s nice to be able to depend on these things as just being There. I need a place to live and because of my health, I need medical insurance.
Right now, I do have the health insurance, but the money is supertight. Which is fine. Part of the reason I wanted to do Americorps is because I was going to learn new things, plus I really embraced the idea of service to the community in a way that I wouldn’t have been able to do without the support of my Americorps program. So, as I think I’ve written here before, the payment goes so far beyond money. I’ve learned so much. I’ve encountered so many people, and hopefully helped them. Wait, no, I KNOW I’ve helped them. They say so.
BUT. My transition is coming up and I have to decide what to do next.
I think that beyond the art and writing and zines and little curiosities, I’d like to get more involved in tenant rights. There, I said it out loud. Well, wrote it out loud, anyway. The amount of turmoil that people have to go through in dealing with their landlords and rental situations is just appalling. I hear about it every day at my current job, and want to be able to do so much more to help them. My current position only lets me go so far, though…
Dear universe, please help me find a job in tenant rights. Thank you, love Kerrie.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
messes
Tired beyond belief and I feel like everything is a mess.
Well, it IS a mess.
I realized that I have way to much stuff. This stuff is really bogging me down.
I never really thought of myself as being someone who had a lot of stuff. I mean, I'm not a materialistic type of person. I like used items, recycling is second nature, and I'm totally into finding a used dresser on the side of the road or getting a cast-off chair from my boss. I had times in my past, mostly when I was in my early 20s, when I was a total idiot about money, and I did buy some moronic things. A purple coat that never fit. A hat that made my head look like a mushroom. Chocolate cake. A lot of chocolate cake.
But I thought I'd gotten over all of that. Well, I have been working through money issues for quite some time now, and I know I have a long way to go. I don't know how to deal with money very well. I think that I can blame it on a lot of things now that I'm older and wiser, but that age and wisdom hasn't necessarily made me good with money.
Anyway, as careful as I've felt like I've become with money, it never goes far. Part of it is choices as to work. Believe it or not, owning your own business doesn't usually make you into a Bill Gates or a Donald Trump. I never expected to get rich from the businesses, though, just like I knew I was going to be superpoor if I chose to take the other job I'm currently working at, which pays very slightly more than not much at all. (It's an Americorps job. Nuff said.)
My education is where I'm earning, though. I'm learning a LOT, but not earning much.
So, where the hell did all of this STUFF come from?
Boxes of art supplies.
Boxes of dishes.
Boxes of pens.
Boxes of books.
Boxes of mementos.
Boxes of photos.
Boxes of boxes. Seriously.
Boxes of magazines.
Boxes of yarn. Yarn! I didn't think I had enough to fill boxES!!!
Faced with moving into an apartment that is half, yes HALF the size of my old apartment, and faced with all of this STUFF, I was then faced with myself having a major freak out.
This is big. Too big. I mean my stuff, it takes up too big of a space on this planet. I'm bogged down with all of this extra weight. Gone is the girl who dreamed of packing her backpack and taking off to move across the country. Nope, that girl is feeling stuck by all of her stuff. It has to change.
I realized, while packing and freaking out and crying and tantruming and packing and feeling like it's all never going to end, that so much of this stuff isn't around because I even need it anymore. It's stuff I've maybe lost interest in, but don't want to have lost interest in it. It's like the ADD is conflicting with this sentimentality, and even though the brain has gone on to the next 14 thinks down the path, the heart still thinks that I want to make stuff out of Fimo.
Then. Here's what I need to figure out. How do you convince your heart that it would actually be happier if the Fimo wasn't even around to remind you of your Fimo history? Maybe the memory of Fimo is good enough, and the talisman of 34 unopened packages in various colors is actually not necessary.
Physically, I have to figure this out. Or else I'm going to end up a packrat old lady with piles of yarn and wire and photo paper and pens and strips of rags for rag rugs and paint and books on architecture and painting and the history of vampires and mandalas and Native American myths and more magazines to cut up someday and collage with and DVDs and and and... all around me, with no room to move or look ahead.
So, yeah, it's a mess right now. That's what I've been up to.
Well, it IS a mess.
I realized that I have way to much stuff. This stuff is really bogging me down.
I never really thought of myself as being someone who had a lot of stuff. I mean, I'm not a materialistic type of person. I like used items, recycling is second nature, and I'm totally into finding a used dresser on the side of the road or getting a cast-off chair from my boss. I had times in my past, mostly when I was in my early 20s, when I was a total idiot about money, and I did buy some moronic things. A purple coat that never fit. A hat that made my head look like a mushroom. Chocolate cake. A lot of chocolate cake.
But I thought I'd gotten over all of that. Well, I have been working through money issues for quite some time now, and I know I have a long way to go. I don't know how to deal with money very well. I think that I can blame it on a lot of things now that I'm older and wiser, but that age and wisdom hasn't necessarily made me good with money.
Anyway, as careful as I've felt like I've become with money, it never goes far. Part of it is choices as to work. Believe it or not, owning your own business doesn't usually make you into a Bill Gates or a Donald Trump. I never expected to get rich from the businesses, though, just like I knew I was going to be superpoor if I chose to take the other job I'm currently working at, which pays very slightly more than not much at all. (It's an Americorps job. Nuff said.)
My education is where I'm earning, though. I'm learning a LOT, but not earning much.
So, where the hell did all of this STUFF come from?
Boxes of art supplies.
Boxes of dishes.
Boxes of pens.
Boxes of books.
Boxes of mementos.
Boxes of photos.
Boxes of boxes. Seriously.
Boxes of magazines.
Boxes of yarn. Yarn! I didn't think I had enough to fill boxES!!!
Faced with moving into an apartment that is half, yes HALF the size of my old apartment, and faced with all of this STUFF, I was then faced with myself having a major freak out.
This is big. Too big. I mean my stuff, it takes up too big of a space on this planet. I'm bogged down with all of this extra weight. Gone is the girl who dreamed of packing her backpack and taking off to move across the country. Nope, that girl is feeling stuck by all of her stuff. It has to change.
I realized, while packing and freaking out and crying and tantruming and packing and feeling like it's all never going to end, that so much of this stuff isn't around because I even need it anymore. It's stuff I've maybe lost interest in, but don't want to have lost interest in it. It's like the ADD is conflicting with this sentimentality, and even though the brain has gone on to the next 14 thinks down the path, the heart still thinks that I want to make stuff out of Fimo.
Then. Here's what I need to figure out. How do you convince your heart that it would actually be happier if the Fimo wasn't even around to remind you of your Fimo history? Maybe the memory of Fimo is good enough, and the talisman of 34 unopened packages in various colors is actually not necessary.
Physically, I have to figure this out. Or else I'm going to end up a packrat old lady with piles of yarn and wire and photo paper and pens and strips of rags for rag rugs and paint and books on architecture and painting and the history of vampires and mandalas and Native American myths and more magazines to cut up someday and collage with and DVDs and and and... all around me, with no room to move or look ahead.
So, yeah, it's a mess right now. That's what I've been up to.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
A Thread
One of my most unfavorite things in the universe is dealing with people who don't live up to what they say they'll live up to. A salesperson tells you one price, but when you check out it's a totally different price. Your neighbor tells you that she'll bring your mail in during your vacation, but you find letters from that week scattered all over your yard for the next year. The landlord tells you that he won't raise the rent for a year, your boss tells you that she'll give you a raise, your room mate says she'll do the dishes in the morning. Don't they realize that it would be better for everyone if they just would stick to what they know they can do?
Everyone has a time in their lives when they don't follow the marketing wisdom from the experts: under promise and over deliver. As human creatures, we want to be liked. So we want to tell people around us that we can reach our highest goals when it comes to making them happy. Yes, dear husband, I'll make you cookies tonight. Yes, mom, I'll remember to leave my muddy clothes outside. Yes, of course I'll remember the anniversary, birthday, national holiday. Yes, yes, yes. Of course I'll do all of those things. I want to do all of those things! I'll call you at exactly 10:00. I'll take good care of this book while I borrow it. I'll pay the cable bill. I will.
By having all of these things that we want to do, that we long to do with the highest, greatest, most dramatic intentions, we might occasionally be over promising and end up under delivering. We might be able to take care of everything we want to do and need to do, by dancing along a tightrope of commitment. One slightly slippery moment, though, and the tightrope becomes a time bomb. One minute lost while we recover from the fact that our toe landed slightly offcenter becomes an hour, a week, a year.
And we realize what it means to not live up to what we said we'd do.
This is what happened to me. But, like a typical human being, I still haven't realized it. I still think I can get my feet planted under me, bake those cookies and start overdelivering again.
Maybe I can.
Yeah, it really sucks to expect something from someone, and then worry that they're not going to do what you want them to do. I hate it, hate it, hate it.
So, you can imagine how much I super-hate the idea that I've become the neighbor who wanted to help, wanted to pick up your mail, but somehow your entire vacation slipped by, and I didn't have a chance to do everything I'd hoped. Not only did I want to pick up your mail, but I wanted to leave you flowers on the table and fresh muffins on the counter. I wanted to make sure that you had enough coffee for a fresh pot. I even wanted to check your refrigerator and make sure that there wasn't anything too frightening in there, reveling in your absence. Nothing is worse than coming home from your vacation to find sour milk in the refrigerator, right?
I've always felt bewildered about people who make any kind of a commitment, then complain about some life crisis, and use that life crisis as a get out of jail free card. I admit, I've ordered products that never arrived, subscribed to a postcard series that never was produced, sponsored a marathon runner who never ran. In an alternative universe, swaps that I participated in are actually distributed, items I loaned out are returned, and my mailbox is stuffed with zines that suddenly start publishing again.
Because of this bewilderment, I knew that I didn't want to be one of those kinds of people. When my own magazine fell behind schedule, I didn't want to make excuses. I didn't want to act unprofessional about it. I didn't want to tell you about the crap going on in my life that dragged me away from my other commitments. Then, as more and more crap kept testing the limits of my own personal crisis-magnet, it started to become a little ridiculous to see me trying to stay up on that tightrope. I didn't want you to see me underdelivering. I didn't want to sound like I was whining about my life. I didn't feel like it mattered, really. All that mattered was that I wasn't doing what I wanted to be doing, what you wanted me to be doing, what I feel like I'm meant to be doing.
I'm sorry about that. There's nothing I want more than to publish dog eared magazine. I'm sorry it's late. I'm sorry if you wanted more personal information about why it is late, if it would have been better to be more open about all of the crisises going on in my life. I'm also sorry if this is too much information for you, and if you really just want to know when I'm going to get an issue out.
Here's the deal. I think about you every day, many times a day. I think about you while I'm taking care of my mom. I think about you while I'm working at my other job. I think about you when I'm trying to fall asleep. And I think about how I want to make it all better. I'm going to do my best to make it all better. I can tell you right now that we're still publishing. We still will be publishing. If you have a subscription, you'll be getting as many issues as are left on your subscription. We're going to come out with an issue before the end of the year. Maybe issue(s) before the end of the year.
Here's the rest of the deal.
I'm going to allow myself to start blogging again. And I'm going to allow myself to not like the people who post or comment or email me that I have no right to be blogging when I should be spending time on the magazine. Instead of sending such emails, commenting such comments, or posting such posts, I'm going to suggest that these people go read The Artist's Way, and remember that the art stuff is all interconnected. Dudes, if I don't fill the well a little, there's not going to be the spark that I need to create the magazine. Being in touch with you guys is so important to me, that having avoid blogs and online forums has been tough. I want to be able to write without earning the wrath of those who think that I need to be punished. Folks, I punish myself way more than you can, anyway, so please just bear with me here.
The same goes for art. I'm going to make some art, so there! I am beyond "making time to make art," since really there is no time around here to make. But, I'm going to dabble at it a little. And give myself permission. If someone mean has the nerve to say something like, "Well! It's nice that you have time to make ART! Instead of working on your MAGAZINE!" then I'm going to, well... tell their neighbors to not collect their mail when they go on vacation. Again: interconnected. Art's gotta happen or else nothing will happen.
One more thing—yes, we are a small business, and I can’t even begin to tell you how much we appreciate your patronage. You, truly, have kept us getting out of bed in the morning. THANK YOU for your friendship and for being so good to us.
I'm sorry if you feel like I left sour milk in your refrigerator. I'll try to do better.
Everyone has a time in their lives when they don't follow the marketing wisdom from the experts: under promise and over deliver. As human creatures, we want to be liked. So we want to tell people around us that we can reach our highest goals when it comes to making them happy. Yes, dear husband, I'll make you cookies tonight. Yes, mom, I'll remember to leave my muddy clothes outside. Yes, of course I'll remember the anniversary, birthday, national holiday. Yes, yes, yes. Of course I'll do all of those things. I want to do all of those things! I'll call you at exactly 10:00. I'll take good care of this book while I borrow it. I'll pay the cable bill. I will.
By having all of these things that we want to do, that we long to do with the highest, greatest, most dramatic intentions, we might occasionally be over promising and end up under delivering. We might be able to take care of everything we want to do and need to do, by dancing along a tightrope of commitment. One slightly slippery moment, though, and the tightrope becomes a time bomb. One minute lost while we recover from the fact that our toe landed slightly offcenter becomes an hour, a week, a year.
And we realize what it means to not live up to what we said we'd do.
This is what happened to me. But, like a typical human being, I still haven't realized it. I still think I can get my feet planted under me, bake those cookies and start overdelivering again.
Maybe I can.
Yeah, it really sucks to expect something from someone, and then worry that they're not going to do what you want them to do. I hate it, hate it, hate it.
So, you can imagine how much I super-hate the idea that I've become the neighbor who wanted to help, wanted to pick up your mail, but somehow your entire vacation slipped by, and I didn't have a chance to do everything I'd hoped. Not only did I want to pick up your mail, but I wanted to leave you flowers on the table and fresh muffins on the counter. I wanted to make sure that you had enough coffee for a fresh pot. I even wanted to check your refrigerator and make sure that there wasn't anything too frightening in there, reveling in your absence. Nothing is worse than coming home from your vacation to find sour milk in the refrigerator, right?
I've always felt bewildered about people who make any kind of a commitment, then complain about some life crisis, and use that life crisis as a get out of jail free card. I admit, I've ordered products that never arrived, subscribed to a postcard series that never was produced, sponsored a marathon runner who never ran. In an alternative universe, swaps that I participated in are actually distributed, items I loaned out are returned, and my mailbox is stuffed with zines that suddenly start publishing again.
Because of this bewilderment, I knew that I didn't want to be one of those kinds of people. When my own magazine fell behind schedule, I didn't want to make excuses. I didn't want to act unprofessional about it. I didn't want to tell you about the crap going on in my life that dragged me away from my other commitments. Then, as more and more crap kept testing the limits of my own personal crisis-magnet, it started to become a little ridiculous to see me trying to stay up on that tightrope. I didn't want you to see me underdelivering. I didn't want to sound like I was whining about my life. I didn't feel like it mattered, really. All that mattered was that I wasn't doing what I wanted to be doing, what you wanted me to be doing, what I feel like I'm meant to be doing.
I'm sorry about that. There's nothing I want more than to publish dog eared magazine. I'm sorry it's late. I'm sorry if you wanted more personal information about why it is late, if it would have been better to be more open about all of the crisises going on in my life. I'm also sorry if this is too much information for you, and if you really just want to know when I'm going to get an issue out.
Here's the deal. I think about you every day, many times a day. I think about you while I'm taking care of my mom. I think about you while I'm working at my other job. I think about you when I'm trying to fall asleep. And I think about how I want to make it all better. I'm going to do my best to make it all better. I can tell you right now that we're still publishing. We still will be publishing. If you have a subscription, you'll be getting as many issues as are left on your subscription. We're going to come out with an issue before the end of the year. Maybe issue(s) before the end of the year.
Here's the rest of the deal.
I'm going to allow myself to start blogging again. And I'm going to allow myself to not like the people who post or comment or email me that I have no right to be blogging when I should be spending time on the magazine. Instead of sending such emails, commenting such comments, or posting such posts, I'm going to suggest that these people go read The Artist's Way, and remember that the art stuff is all interconnected. Dudes, if I don't fill the well a little, there's not going to be the spark that I need to create the magazine. Being in touch with you guys is so important to me, that having avoid blogs and online forums has been tough. I want to be able to write without earning the wrath of those who think that I need to be punished. Folks, I punish myself way more than you can, anyway, so please just bear with me here.
The same goes for art. I'm going to make some art, so there! I am beyond "making time to make art," since really there is no time around here to make. But, I'm going to dabble at it a little. And give myself permission. If someone mean has the nerve to say something like, "Well! It's nice that you have time to make ART! Instead of working on your MAGAZINE!" then I'm going to, well... tell their neighbors to not collect their mail when they go on vacation. Again: interconnected. Art's gotta happen or else nothing will happen.
One more thing—yes, we are a small business, and I can’t even begin to tell you how much we appreciate your patronage. You, truly, have kept us getting out of bed in the morning. THANK YOU for your friendship and for being so good to us.
I'm sorry if you feel like I left sour milk in your refrigerator. I'll try to do better.
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