Living la vie boheme; or, Life imitates art

At last! After two weeks of sitting shivering in my makeshift home-office in front of the heating vent, fingerless mittens on, a scarf wrapped twice around my neck, and a blanket over my lap, I have located the source of the draft in our apartment. Unfortunately, all this gets me is a sense of accomplishment, since the draft is coming from our laundry room and I can't actually do anything about it. Later this week, I may stop by JoAnn to pick up some fleece to block the space between the door and the floor, because this is going to be ridiculous come Thursday.

A slew of knitting commissions rolled in suddenly a couple of weeks ago, and now I'm rushing to finish them all before Christmas. So far, the benefit of living in a cold climate seems to be an increased appreciation of warm hand-knit goods. In addition, there are two finished pairs of fingerless mittens about to be listed on my Etsy shop, and several purses worth of fabric to cut and construct. The sense of productivity helps my mood during the holiday season which, as usual, has its difficulties.

Here's the thing about the holiday season: every year, it seems as if society is scheming to make us all self-loathing between Thanksgiving and Valentine's Day. It's clearly no accident that the holiday season inevitably marks a sharp uptick in the amount of advertising money handed over to every major television channel by online dating services and weight-loss companies. The strategy is brilliant: as we head into a holiday characterized by gift-giving, we are told, as individuals, that we are somehow less complete because of our lack of material possessions. How do we regain our feeling of self-worth? By seeking out romantic relationships. What do we feel makes us more desirable to others? Weight loss. The  extreme self-denial required by most fad diets advertised on television leads to a feeling of physical emptiness, and to fill that void we purchase more material things, and so forth.

This is, of course, a long-winded explanation of (although certainly not a justification for) the utter Grinchiness I have been dealing with at work in recent days. Listen, I understand that most people don't have home phones any more, that text messaging has made us a more casual society, that fewer people are aware of the basic rules of etiquette, blah blah blah kids these days and their haircuts and their rock music, but there are a few important things to remember when working in an administrative setting and dealing with telephones. The doctor is in:

• When answering a telephone at your place of employment, please state its name, as well as your own name. This eliminates the need for the inevitable awkward "Have I reached the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? May I please speak with Albus Dumbledore?" exchange, in which the caller has not reached Hogwarts, but instead the Royal Philharmonic of Durmstrang.
• If you have questions, please ask them one at a time and allow a reasonable amount of time for a response between them.
• Never start a sentence with "I'm sure you're a lovely person, but . . . " because the second half of that sentence is rarely anything short of a thinly-veiled insult.
• It is rude to hang up on someone. It is rude to hang up on someone. Even if you said goodbye, if you cut the other person mid-sentence and did not hear them say "Goodbye" as well, you have still just hung up on someone. And you may just be a terrible person.

Do you know who I love so far, though? Every single person with whom I have spoken in Scandinavia, and most in Switzerland and Belgium. Attention, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Switzerland, and Belgium: the next time I have a party, you are all invited. Germany, you can swing by, too, but try not to start any fights--I've got my eye on you.

This new life as an Employed Person/Actual Productive Member of Society (as opposed to my previous state of Embarrassing Drain on Society) is nice, though. I'm tired almost all the time, but I'm insanely productive most of the time while still managing to cut down majorly on my coffee intake and sleeping the recommended number of hours per night. As a pleasant side-effect to getting enough sleep, the desire to punch someone in the face occurs far less frequently, which is important for reasons of I Don't Need An Assault Charge On My Record Right Now. At the moment, life feels a little bit like an indie comedy film, something between Garden State and Harold and Maude. And maybe a little bit like La Boheme, since I can't really afford to turn up the heating much above 65 degrees and, sometimes in my knitting, I make flowers that "ahimè, non hanno odore." My voice teacher said in my last lesson, "My God, so you're actually Mimi, huh?" Yes. Pretty much.