How Magic Works (One Case Study)
Jun. 9th, 2005 06:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
qosA frequent theme in the Notes from the Universe which I receive via email every morning is that necessity of picturing what one wants and not worrying about *how* to get it. That, according to "The Universe" is the universe's job.
So lately I've been focusing very specifically on the way I want my house to look, with all the improvements done. The next big step is re-doing the doors on the other closet in my bedroom, taking out the three standard doors and the bit of non-weight-bearing wall between them, and replacing them with sliding doors so I can actually get into and see my very big closet. This is an intimidating project, one that I can't do by myself, and with which I do not trust my well-intentioned but amateur home improvement friends. I was contemplating finding, negotiating with, and hiring a contractor, and etc., adding up to a big price tag.
That's apparently not going to be necessary.
Today, I started to eat the sandwich I purchased yesterday for lunch, the one which had been sitting in my thermal lunch bag in the refrigerator at work overnight. It should have been fine. Except that the "chicken" was not the usual slices of chicken, but something the consistency and flavor of tuna salad. Huh? I took two bites, disassembled my sandwich, stared at the entirely out-of-place filling, and tossed it in the garbage.
Try two: the Lean Pocket which also had been in the bag and fridge overnight. Except these are supposed to remain frozen. When I heated it up, the consistency was all wrong. I could barely eat one bite. Into the garbage it went.
There I was feeling frustrated, hungry and perturbed. I didn't really want to go out to lunch, but if I didn't go out, I was going to be useless because of hunger. So out I went. And it was a beautiful day. But nothing sounded good. Quizno's, Teriyaki Time, Red Robin. . . I had half decided on fish and chips at RR when I decided to stroll past Teriyaki, because it was closest. I didn't feel like Teriyaki, but it was close.
I walked past Teriyaki, got three steps, and found myself spinning around and going back. I went in and saw David, a man whose cube is within shouting distance of mine, sitting by himself. I usually eat by myself, with a book (and I had Promethea 4 in my purse and was looking forward to reading it), and I usually don't invite myself to eat with other people, but I was drawn across the room to David and asked if he was wanting to be alone, or if he wanted company.
He cheerfully encouraged me to sit down. . . and a few minutes later asked me how my home improvements were going. You see: David put himself through college as a contractor, and has remodeled and sold homes. I explained my closet situation, and he started asking a few questions. I got out my notebook, did a very rough sketch, and showed him what I had in mind.
Five minutes later, he was showing me how a different kind of door would work much better than what I had been thinking of, and he was talking about helping me do the job. He was getting all excited about it. Before lunch was over, he had explained how it would work, what kinds of materials we would need and how much they would cost, and how much time it would probably take. When I asked about labor charges, he waved it off. "No charge. I like to do this kind of thing. If I were going to re-do your whole house, then we'd come up with something, but for a little project like this? Nothing."
He's done some work for other people in our department, so after lunch I went and asked them how their projects worked out. They were unanimous in their praise of how well things had worked out. So I feel comfortable trusting him with this.
I'm going to get my closet re-done for only the cost of materials. By someone who seems to know what he's doing. Because my sandwiches malfunctioned, and I went to a restaurant I didn't plan to go to, and impulsively denied my usual tendency to eat alone.
In my book, that's magic.
So lately I've been focusing very specifically on the way I want my house to look, with all the improvements done. The next big step is re-doing the doors on the other closet in my bedroom, taking out the three standard doors and the bit of non-weight-bearing wall between them, and replacing them with sliding doors so I can actually get into and see my very big closet. This is an intimidating project, one that I can't do by myself, and with which I do not trust my well-intentioned but amateur home improvement friends. I was contemplating finding, negotiating with, and hiring a contractor, and etc., adding up to a big price tag.
That's apparently not going to be necessary.
Today, I started to eat the sandwich I purchased yesterday for lunch, the one which had been sitting in my thermal lunch bag in the refrigerator at work overnight. It should have been fine. Except that the "chicken" was not the usual slices of chicken, but something the consistency and flavor of tuna salad. Huh? I took two bites, disassembled my sandwich, stared at the entirely out-of-place filling, and tossed it in the garbage.
Try two: the Lean Pocket which also had been in the bag and fridge overnight. Except these are supposed to remain frozen. When I heated it up, the consistency was all wrong. I could barely eat one bite. Into the garbage it went.
There I was feeling frustrated, hungry and perturbed. I didn't really want to go out to lunch, but if I didn't go out, I was going to be useless because of hunger. So out I went. And it was a beautiful day. But nothing sounded good. Quizno's, Teriyaki Time, Red Robin. . . I had half decided on fish and chips at RR when I decided to stroll past Teriyaki, because it was closest. I didn't feel like Teriyaki, but it was close.
I walked past Teriyaki, got three steps, and found myself spinning around and going back. I went in and saw David, a man whose cube is within shouting distance of mine, sitting by himself. I usually eat by myself, with a book (and I had Promethea 4 in my purse and was looking forward to reading it), and I usually don't invite myself to eat with other people, but I was drawn across the room to David and asked if he was wanting to be alone, or if he wanted company.
He cheerfully encouraged me to sit down. . . and a few minutes later asked me how my home improvements were going. You see: David put himself through college as a contractor, and has remodeled and sold homes. I explained my closet situation, and he started asking a few questions. I got out my notebook, did a very rough sketch, and showed him what I had in mind.
Five minutes later, he was showing me how a different kind of door would work much better than what I had been thinking of, and he was talking about helping me do the job. He was getting all excited about it. Before lunch was over, he had explained how it would work, what kinds of materials we would need and how much they would cost, and how much time it would probably take. When I asked about labor charges, he waved it off. "No charge. I like to do this kind of thing. If I were going to re-do your whole house, then we'd come up with something, but for a little project like this? Nothing."
He's done some work for other people in our department, so after lunch I went and asked them how their projects worked out. They were unanimous in their praise of how well things had worked out. So I feel comfortable trusting him with this.
I'm going to get my closet re-done for only the cost of materials. By someone who seems to know what he's doing. Because my sandwiches malfunctioned, and I went to a restaurant I didn't plan to go to, and impulsively denied my usual tendency to eat alone.
In my book, that's magic.
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-10 02:43 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-10 02:53 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-10 02:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-10 03:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-10 05:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-10 02:41 pm (UTC)YAY for you!
(Good work, Universe, messing with the lunch...! =D)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-06-10 04:34 pm (UTC)