Long day

Left the house just before 7, got home at 6:30.  Clearly I need to find a different route back.  Except there might not be a better route - commuting by car in the Chicago area is just stupid and insane, but it's not like there are good alternatives, either.

First day at work was fine - not very busy.  The phone doesn't ring much until the association's annual meeting starts approaching in the spring, I was told.  Got a glimpse of some of the writing I might have to edit, and oh my God - and when you're talking about higher-ups in the organization, how are you supposed to tell them that they are just horrible, horrible writers?  Or (since that would be totally undiplomatic) at least to correct some of their writing?  (From what I've seen of what's been published in their newsletters, apparently no one does correct it - their stuff just gets published as is.  I'll have to have a talk with people about what they want from editing, when it comes time for me to do that.  Do they want it literate, or do they want it the way it was submitted?  Also, it would be nice if their website could consistently get the name of the organization correct, but I was warned during my initial phone interview that their website is awful.  Delved into it today and discovered he wasn't kidding.  Not sure when it's going to be redone.)

The building the office is in is in a residential area right up against an interstate and not far at all from O'Hare.  And there's nothing but a gas station and what I've been told is a bad restaurant that's in walking distance.  During the way-too-long hour I had for lunch I took a walk around the block, then sat in the "cafeteria" (a dining room attached to a depressing-looking deli) in the basement of the building and tried to read more of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.  I wonder if it reads this clunkily in Swedish.  I wonder what I'd be thinking of it if I didn't know it was a translation.  Everything seems just a bit off, just a bit forced.  (I hate to say this about a translation.  I wonder if my own translation work is this stilted.)  And I know people are just swept away by these books, but I'm still waiting to become interested (75 pages in).

The people at the office seem nice, although I'm stuck out in front in a separate room, so I'm not sure how much interaction I'll ever have with them, except as they walk by on their way to the bathroom.

(Oh, interesting, in a depressing sort of way: Jim, the executive director, mentioned that he likes hiring people with experience, and the fact that I've been out of this kind of work for 11 years was a factor in my favor.  He also said he could understand being nervous, and noticed my hands shook when I picked up a mug of tea during my interview.  Sigh.  Yes, my hands shook.  Because my hands always shake.  It's called Essential Tremor.  Puts me in the same category as Katharine Hepburn, which I suppose means that if I live long enough, I'll eventually shake as much as she did.  Anyway, I told him it was Essential Tremor, and if he doesn't know what that is, he didn't say so.  But it's not fair to be thought to be nervous even when I'm not... even though I probably was... but not as nervous as he thought I was.)

Anyway.  Drove home through drizzling rain, as it got dark, took an hour and a half to get home, and felt sadder and sadder that Jerry wasn't in the car next to me, that I wasn't coming home from Wood Bros., Inc. Custom Cabinetmakers, that Jerry wasn't home waiting for me.  I know I'm in the middle of several of the most stressful things that can happen to a person (death of loved one, change of jobs), and I know there will be ups and downs and more downs on this journey, as they always call it, but man, is it hard.  This job looks promising, albeit with the horrible commute and unappealing location, and it probably isn't wrong that I said yes to it, even though I just want to climb under the covers and stay there for the next few years.  But I got home this evening and drove into the garage and sat there in the car saying out loud "I want to go home."  Jerry was my home.  I want to go home.