My closet, which is on the side of the bed, has two panel mirrors on both of the sliding doors,
The apartment itself, at one time, was connected to the next-door one. Like hotel rooms, there was an adjoining door.
The door’s gone now, and in its place is now a huge floor-length mirror.
It’s a contrast from Morocco, where the only mirror in my house was a little 6-inch or so thing over my (outdoor) bathroom sink. My bathroom sink here, which is inside with the bathroom, is regulation-sized.
So everywhere you turn, it’s definitely “Mirror, Mirror on the Wall.”
And I’m not kidding myself. I might be the fairest in Indonesia based on skin tone, but after only one month of my little fitness routine, I’m not even close to the overall.
I am still proud of myself though. I haven’t missed a day yet.
And I learned how to maneuver the AC remote control, so it’s a bit less of a sweatshop in there.
I’m up to 25 minutes on the joggy thing to open and 15 minutes on the bike to finish. I then hit the shower and the pool, which was a bit uncomfortable today because there were two fathers in there with their kids.
Then it’s back to the mirrors. They’re very distracting, and not in a narcissist way. I’m 100 percent positive I’m alone and all of a sudden I catch a movement in the corner of my eye. My head jerks around, and I discover it’s either me, or some movement off the TV reflected in one or two reflections – or in that endless cycle of reflections on reflections.
It’s worse at night, when the mirrors no longer reflect sunlight and make the place bigger. Instead, it shrinks the 30-square-meter room by reflecting darkness but still distracts me when I can see the reflection of my back in one mirror through the reflection in another.
Which reminds me: I need a haircut.
But the thing that I really notice at night is the reflections of the lights in the room. Since it’s dark, there aren’t many. It’s not like I have outside lights, either, because I pull the shutters in my east-facing room so as not to be blinded in the morning.
I have three sources of light at night: two green lights and one red one on my AC unit, a blue light on the cable box and another red light on the TV.
These are constantly on, and in the spectrum of a normal-sized house, it’s nothing. But in this tiny space, with the endless reflections, it’s like that Captain Kirk’s red light: you cannot ignore it.
No matter which direction I face at night, I have some glimpse of Christmas lights. It’s amazing at how much light you can get off of reflections of all those little lights.
I’ve been here now for a month, and I’m somewhat acclimated. It’s very boring and very ugly, but I’ve adapted likely as much as I will.
I don’t speak the language and haven’t made any local friends, but that’s expat life, or so it seems to me. My building is almost all locals, though, and I see people, who are all friendly but it’s not like Morocco where you meet someone and have not only an instant friend but also a lunch invitation.
People here don’t invite people to their homes. Instead, they eat at cafes, restaurants or these little roadside stands that are sometimes permanent and sometimes they just appear during the afternoons.
I’m not big on going out to eat. Beyond Dunkin Donuts, which doesn’t count, I’ve been to dinner twice and lunch once. I really prefer to cook. It’s more relaxing to me than sitting at a restaurant or whatever.
This week, I am happy to report, is close to being over. I am still having a hard time at work but overall am doing better.
I had a little outburst the other day that might have helped. It’s to early to call. Basically, what happened was I turned in a story and the guy didn’t like the headline or the pull quote I’d selected. Not exciting enough, which made sense because the book review itself was burnt toast. It was horrible, and my headline was pretty much a straight news one. Not exciting.
So I changed it and the quote. The new quote came from a passage of the book (a book on essays, extremely boring) whereas the previous one had been from the reporter. Therefore, on the first quote I didn’t identify the reporter, since it went without saying, but when I replaced it, I forgot I needed to add the attribution. I forgot. Shoot me. This is why I am only a copy editor and not a copy chief. I make mistakes.
So I got called on that, and I immediately realized what I’d done and said I realized it was a mistake, here’s what happened and explained it.
Well, instead of listening to me, he jumped on me and went on about how it was in there previously. I said I knew that, but what had happened was….and then I explained it again. And then went back to my desk.
Well, he came by a minute later and said the attribution had been in the version two before the mine, why did I take it out? And I explained, for the third time, what happened. I basically raised said “I MADE A MISTAKE. HERE IS THE REASON I DID IT…IT IS NOT AN EXCUSE, BUT IT IS THE REASON.” And he *finally* listened to what I’d been saying, that I’d changed the quote he didn’t like and when I put in the new one, I simply forgot. I’m not sure if he got that I’d told him the exact same thing two previous times, but he finally understood it.
I finally just said “IT WAS A MISTAKE. AS FAR AS I CAN TELL, I’M NOT DOING ANYTHING RIGHT” or something like that and he finally backed off.
The past few days have been a little better. Tuesday, I got a blessed schedule and was off at 10, which was fabulous.
It shouldn’t make much of a difference, but the 3-11 schedule has been 3-12 regularly and getting off at 10 meant getting home two hours early.
Last night went all right, but I had another one of those frustrating things, which took place at midnight. And honestly, my give-a-damn shuts off at 11:30 or so. I am tired, hungry and frustrated by that time, so criticizing me when my brain isn’t functioning isn’t really welcome.
But I tried. One of the criticisms was the phrase “Until now,” which I had interpreted as, well, “until this point in time.”
Apparently that is not the case. Like Kirk Maltby’s “Fer sure,” it’s just filler that means nothing.
But this is what I am working with: When I asked, “So, should I just leave it out?” the answer was, “No.”
In trying to understand, I followed up with, “So, what do I do with it?” (I always try to ask questions so I can at least take something positive from these little demoralizing chats.)
And, as God is my witness, the answer, verbatim:
“Get rid of it.”
I suppose right now I could go on and on about how frustrating it is to ask if something’s right and be told it’s wrong and then be corrected to exactly what I had asked was right, but I think you get the point.
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