The brain doctor told me that friends weren't the people whom we wanted to unload all of our problems on. Friends, he said, are the people whom we just want to spend time with. Time going over the bullshit of the day. Time watching TV that you both enjoy. Time trying to make each other laugh. Sometimes, he said, you do unload your problems on them, but that it was their choice to offer to listen and stay because they also want to spend time with you. In the end, though, friends are about shedding off any outside crap and enjoying the time.
You were probably the best best friend I ever had.
For four years we were nearly inseparable. Where you went, I followed. Where I went, you followed. Any new people came into our lives and the decision to keep them was a mutual one. You not only had a license, but a car and were willing to pick me, and my brothers, up for school every single morning. We both liked cartoons well past the age we were supposed to. You had a biting, sometimes cruel, wit that always made me laugh. And for some reason, you liked me, too. (As I've gotten older, it's been getting harder for me to understand why you, or anyone else, like/d me. That's probably a mix of my no-self-esteem and depression, though.)
I had known you for a long time before I knew you were my best friend. About half of our lives. And during that time, we were friendly, but I'm sure if we were exactly "friends." During our time it was still considered wrong, or at least questionable, for a boy and girl of seven to be friends. Sure, we could all play tag in a huge group, but for me to encourage you to play Cat's Cradle and you to get me to play basketball, that was a rarity. So you mostly hung out with the girls in our grade and I mostly hung out with my one real friend, my best friend, at the time.
I've written about us before.
My favorite story of us as little kids is still you selling me curse words for fruit snacks. It's the best price I've ever paid for anything because I still smile when I think of that day.
Did you know that because we were together so much and got along so well that just about everyone we went to school with thought that we were dating? Did you know that our parents, or at least our mothers, expected that we would eventually marry? Or at least get close to marriage?
I certainly didn't, at the time. Hell, I didn't know until I was specifically asked if we were married, yet. It was a bit of a shock.
I'd be lying if I said I hadn't fantasized about my female friends. Can't be helped. I didn't fantasize about you, though. I've known you since we were seven. You were the sister I never had and better than any sister that I might have had. Also, by the time we were basically inseparable I knew you too well. I knew your quirks and crazies, you buttons and issues. I knew you and in knowing you I learned that there are things you can say, thing you can do, with friends that don't fly when you're also intimate with that person.
With you, though, as a friend anything went. That whole discussion we had, on the bus with one third of our classmates, about turning human breast milk into cheese and then selling it as an aphrodisiac? All the places sand gets and the problems that come with it? How the attack on the Death Star in the original Star Wars is all about sex? ("We're too close." "Stay on target!" "Loosen up!") There aren't that many people out there who would have let me just go off on those topis, let alone joined in.
So, what happened? Just saying college happened or growing up happened isn't really enough for me. Not enough at all.
During our senior year of high school you started pulling away, some. There were two others, girls, who you seemed to enjoy spending more time with than me. I understood because most people aren't like me and only want/need one or two really close friends; most people want more. I missed you, but I knew that your time was your time, not my time and not our time. But sometimes the relationship you had with those two seemed less and less like a friendship and more and more like a relationship. The three of you had these weird jealousies and reactions. And then the way it all ended with the three of you hating each other, that was just strange.
I did ask one of the two, the one I was closer to, what happened and I asked you, too. Neither of you wanted to tell me. You just got angry and she always told me to ask you. Mutual friends hinted around that there was a sexual relationship between the three of you. I don't know and probably never will. Still, if it wasn't sexual it was extremely intimate.
Anyway, exactly what the three of you meant to each other isn't the point. The point is that this was when things changed between us. Then college happened and you were in the north and I went south and you learned the joys of becoming a fag hag and I became more and more isolated. I started to get left out of gatherings when people were back from school because I didn't want to drink alcohol and you and they did. Did I make you feel self-conscience? I didn't judge you or them, it simply wasn't something that I wanted to do. As time went on you stopped coming back from school and if you did it was just for two days and we didn't always get to visit. I kept sending you e-mails, but you didn't always reply and I wrote you less and less.
After years and years of not hearing from you, not seeing you, you friended me on Facebook and I saw that you were engaged. I e-mailed you and your wedding was that weekend. Of course I had to be there even though I hadn't heard from you for years and didn't know the guy.
Your wedding day was the last time that I remember seeing you. That day I was horribly uncomfortable surrounded by people I hardly or didn't know, but for the ten minutes that we had to ourselves was like nothing had ever changed between us. Just the smooth flow of conversation.
That was the last time we spoke. I don't even think we've exchanged e-mails. I quit Facebook after that and since your account is only viewable to friends I can't see it. I don't, and probably never will, know you husband. I haven't seen the photo's of your children. Are they boys? Girls? One of each? Are you still a nurse? In the ER still, or have you moved to something less stressful? Are you still obsessed with fantasy books? Do you have plans to introduce you kids to Pinky and the Brain?
I miss you. I miss having a friend like you. The way I am nothing is going to change between us. I wish you and your family happiness.
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Thursday, July 03, 2014
Friday, May 09, 2014
Understanding Love, 2
Late one night, or early one morning, I told you I loved you.
This was the first time that I remember saying those words of my own choice and not just parroting them back after someone said that they loved me.
You had invited me to spend the night, which was rare for me. Not the spending the night where you lived, but that was usually a group thing; everyone was invited and everyone stayed over. Often I was only invited after people were already there -- an afterthought. This night, though, you had specifically invited me and that was different. That was special.
You had recently moved out of your old room and into a new room to get farther away from your problems. The new room not only had your bed, but a decent couch for someone to sleep on. Even though other people, other friends, were over we barricaded ourselves in your room after eating. I remember being surprised, the next morning, that no one came upstairs, no one disturbed us.
Talking is what we did that night. We talked about books we had both read and went over the things we liked and disliked. We talked about books the other hadn't read and made enthusiastic, but hollow, promises to read them for ourselves. We talked about spirituality and at that time you still sort of believed in a spiritual world; not necessarily God, but something unexplainable. We ranked our teachers and rated most of them as placeholders who just didn't care. We discussed various Dungeons and Dragons campaigns we'd played and decided that what we really needed was to play more D&D. We mocked our friends and verbally ripped apart people whom we didn't care for.
Eventually, as we both knew would happen, we worked our way to your recent split with your girlfriend of almost, I think, two years. I was curious about what had happened from your point of view because I'd heard the other side and didn't completely believe it. You seemed almost relieved to be able to talk about it with someone who thought the whole thing was fucked up and genuinely hadn't picked a side in the matter, but was leaning your direction. At that time it didn't occur to me that you may not have been allowed to talk out the things you needed to talk about because the whole mess with your girlfriend also involved your best friend and sort of, in a sideways way, involved another of your closest friends. You really had no one to talk to at that time, did you?
I'm forever thankful that you weren't looking for answers because I wouldn't have had any. (I probably wouldn't have any answers now.) You just needed to talk, to know that someone understood your side. Any question I asked, you answered. And I tried to be thoughtful; to not just go for the juicy stuff that would have made for horrible, but addictive, television. I also tried to make you laugh because laughter always seems to make horrible things easier.
When you finished, you seemed more relaxed than you had in a while. It must have been a great weight off of your shoulders. You also asked me not to tell anyone the things you said and in nearly 20 years, this is the closest that I've come to saying anything. I still remember some of the stories you told.
Then you asked me about my potential love life. I talked about some of the girls who I had crushed on for a while because they were intelligent and cute but ultimately talked too much and I learned that they were kind of horrible people when I got to know them. From there we talked about the girls at our school and who were, or at least seemed to be, decent people. You asked about my best friend and what was up with that and I told you the truth, that nothing was up with that, but I'm not sure you really believed me. Finally you straight out asked me if I ever loved anybody, that's when I said that I loved you.
And I did love you. I loved you like I loved all my friends. I loved you like I loved my brothers. You were one of the best people I had ever met up to that point in my life, how could I not love you? You thanked me, even though it wasn't exactly what you meant when you asked the question. You said that you loved your friends, too, and it was hard when that love was betrayed. I agreed, but told you that there were still people who cared for you.
Fortunately, we were both non-weepy guys because, looking back, this would have been the point for tears. Instead I moved on the couch and in the process let one rip. Windows were open, only partially as a joke, and the subject was changed. I don't know if you remember any of this and if you do how much, but it was a good and important night for me.
This was the first time that I remember saying those words of my own choice and not just parroting them back after someone said that they loved me.
You had invited me to spend the night, which was rare for me. Not the spending the night where you lived, but that was usually a group thing; everyone was invited and everyone stayed over. Often I was only invited after people were already there -- an afterthought. This night, though, you had specifically invited me and that was different. That was special.
You had recently moved out of your old room and into a new room to get farther away from your problems. The new room not only had your bed, but a decent couch for someone to sleep on. Even though other people, other friends, were over we barricaded ourselves in your room after eating. I remember being surprised, the next morning, that no one came upstairs, no one disturbed us.
Talking is what we did that night. We talked about books we had both read and went over the things we liked and disliked. We talked about books the other hadn't read and made enthusiastic, but hollow, promises to read them for ourselves. We talked about spirituality and at that time you still sort of believed in a spiritual world; not necessarily God, but something unexplainable. We ranked our teachers and rated most of them as placeholders who just didn't care. We discussed various Dungeons and Dragons campaigns we'd played and decided that what we really needed was to play more D&D. We mocked our friends and verbally ripped apart people whom we didn't care for.
Eventually, as we both knew would happen, we worked our way to your recent split with your girlfriend of almost, I think, two years. I was curious about what had happened from your point of view because I'd heard the other side and didn't completely believe it. You seemed almost relieved to be able to talk about it with someone who thought the whole thing was fucked up and genuinely hadn't picked a side in the matter, but was leaning your direction. At that time it didn't occur to me that you may not have been allowed to talk out the things you needed to talk about because the whole mess with your girlfriend also involved your best friend and sort of, in a sideways way, involved another of your closest friends. You really had no one to talk to at that time, did you?
I'm forever thankful that you weren't looking for answers because I wouldn't have had any. (I probably wouldn't have any answers now.) You just needed to talk, to know that someone understood your side. Any question I asked, you answered. And I tried to be thoughtful; to not just go for the juicy stuff that would have made for horrible, but addictive, television. I also tried to make you laugh because laughter always seems to make horrible things easier.
When you finished, you seemed more relaxed than you had in a while. It must have been a great weight off of your shoulders. You also asked me not to tell anyone the things you said and in nearly 20 years, this is the closest that I've come to saying anything. I still remember some of the stories you told.
Then you asked me about my potential love life. I talked about some of the girls who I had crushed on for a while because they were intelligent and cute but ultimately talked too much and I learned that they were kind of horrible people when I got to know them. From there we talked about the girls at our school and who were, or at least seemed to be, decent people. You asked about my best friend and what was up with that and I told you the truth, that nothing was up with that, but I'm not sure you really believed me. Finally you straight out asked me if I ever loved anybody, that's when I said that I loved you.
And I did love you. I loved you like I loved all my friends. I loved you like I loved my brothers. You were one of the best people I had ever met up to that point in my life, how could I not love you? You thanked me, even though it wasn't exactly what you meant when you asked the question. You said that you loved your friends, too, and it was hard when that love was betrayed. I agreed, but told you that there were still people who cared for you.
Fortunately, we were both non-weepy guys because, looking back, this would have been the point for tears. Instead I moved on the couch and in the process let one rip. Windows were open, only partially as a joke, and the subject was changed. I don't know if you remember any of this and if you do how much, but it was a good and important night for me.
Wednesday, May 07, 2014
Understanding Love, 1
I've heard it -- or read it -- said that if you think you've been in love, you haven't been in love.
Still, I think that at one time I loved you. I think I loved you hard.
I remember thinking about you when you weren't there and feeling happy and sad and a little sick to my stomach. I remember being with you, sitting, and feeling happy and a little sick to my stomach. I remember the rumors about you and your former boyfriend. I remember the day you transformed yourself into a very sad, very insane woman and handed out flowers. I remember how easy it was for you to slide from your social group to mine and then back to yours and how I'd already been rejected by your social group; I could have lived on the outskirts just to be close to you, but that would have been pathetic and I already had so many things working against me. I remember the day you saw the toys I carried around in my backpack and you found it amusing, not in a cynical or cruel way, but more in an I-understand-why-you-carry-these-things way; you understood that I liked what I liked and I used them to get reactions from people. I remember your kindness.
High school was not a kind place for me. It wasn't cruel, either. It was more indifferent. I was fat enough and nerdy enough that I put people off. I was smart enough, nice enough, and "normal" enough that no one attacked me, physically or mentally, for being different than they were. I was a place holder, a space taker, to most of the students, probably most of the teachers, too. I was an object to be walked around and a group member to be ignored.
To you, though, I wasn't just an object. You always greeted me, even when I was forced to sit alone in a group of four desks and I spitefully made sure I sat in the desk closest to the door. When, one day, you were rejected by your group and had to sit with me, you liked it enough that the next day you came back, even though there were empty seats elsewhere in the classroom. And you came back the next day and the day after that and each day until the school year ended.
There was a day, when we had a substitute teacher, when we sat at our desks, across from each other, and we talked about The Rocky Horror Picture Show. You had discovered it more recently than I had and were in the process of indoctrinating your friends. Just as the substitute teach came up to our desks you said that the weekend before you had "devirginized" your boyfriend, at the time. The sub said that he and a lot of young men were devirginized during their time in the Army, you turned red, and I bit back laughter. You stumbled and stuttered, trying to explain the movie and the tradition of the lipstick "V"s on a new watcher's cheeks. The sub said that if your boyfriend needed more help with the devirginizing he should join the Army; they have a lot to teach, he said. You looked down and said that he was actually joining the Marines. I snorted. Even better, the sub said. I burst out laughing and a half-second later, you started to laugh, too, still redder than a strawberry.
It was you kindness and your ability to laugh at your mistakes and your forgiveness to me for laughing at you before it was with you. It didn't hurt, too, that you were easily the most beautiful female in our class, if not the whole school. I remember how you kept your hair carefully tucked behind your ear, but when you were concentrating hard it would fall from its place as you leaned forward and the very tip of your ear would poke out of your hair. I remember your eyes flashing in anger at the idiots in the classroom and in joy when I could make you laugh. I remember your smile: your huge smile when you were excited; your sly smile when you had gotten away with something; and your small smile when you were simply content.
I knew that if you loved me at all it would never be the same way I loved you. There was someone, a friend, who was smarter than me, nicer than me, and much better looking than me who you said you couldn't like as anything other than a friend. What chance did a schlub like me have? It was okay, though, because I got to spend 50 minutes alone with you every day we were at school and I wouldn't want to give that time up for anything.
We went to the same school out first year of college. I didn't go hunting for you. I have this thing about social strata and not trying to shake it up and while I knew where I'd end up -- outside and alone -- I didn't know where you would choose to be. I knew you'd choose, though, because you were smart enough and acceptable enough to end up anywhere. I did call you a couple of times, though. Once to tell you a teacher had died, one who I really liked, and you helped me feel better. The other time was to see if you were headed home one weekend because I needed a ride back to school. You were and you did. We also ran into each other a few times and just chatted. Your roommate, who we went to school with, was not nearly so kind.
I held on to the feeling I had for you for a few years until it reached the point that I had to give it up. I was going to a different school and wasn't ever going to see you again. It was hard letting go, but I had to even though it made me feel good and safe.
You were the only person I wasn't in semi-regular contact with who I wanted to see at our ten year reunion. You didn't come. I'm not going to the 20 because once in a room with those people again and just being an object was enough. I've kept an eye out for you on Facebook, but cannot find you. Either you’re not there, or you've changed enough that I no longer recognize you when I see you. I don't know and I'm not going to be concerned about it because it probably wouldn't change anything anyway.
I hope your life is nice. I hope that even if you didn't become what you thought you were going to become you're something that you like. I hope your husband appreciates what he has and shows it to you every day even if it's just by taking your hand for no particular reason and giving it a small squeeze. I hope that any kids you might have got your smarts more than you looks, but I hope they have that same sly smile when they're up to mischief. And I hope that when you think back to high school and that fat guy you sat across from in English it's with fondness.
Still, I think that at one time I loved you. I think I loved you hard.
I remember thinking about you when you weren't there and feeling happy and sad and a little sick to my stomach. I remember being with you, sitting, and feeling happy and a little sick to my stomach. I remember the rumors about you and your former boyfriend. I remember the day you transformed yourself into a very sad, very insane woman and handed out flowers. I remember how easy it was for you to slide from your social group to mine and then back to yours and how I'd already been rejected by your social group; I could have lived on the outskirts just to be close to you, but that would have been pathetic and I already had so many things working against me. I remember the day you saw the toys I carried around in my backpack and you found it amusing, not in a cynical or cruel way, but more in an I-understand-why-you-carry-these-things way; you understood that I liked what I liked and I used them to get reactions from people. I remember your kindness.
High school was not a kind place for me. It wasn't cruel, either. It was more indifferent. I was fat enough and nerdy enough that I put people off. I was smart enough, nice enough, and "normal" enough that no one attacked me, physically or mentally, for being different than they were. I was a place holder, a space taker, to most of the students, probably most of the teachers, too. I was an object to be walked around and a group member to be ignored.
To you, though, I wasn't just an object. You always greeted me, even when I was forced to sit alone in a group of four desks and I spitefully made sure I sat in the desk closest to the door. When, one day, you were rejected by your group and had to sit with me, you liked it enough that the next day you came back, even though there were empty seats elsewhere in the classroom. And you came back the next day and the day after that and each day until the school year ended.
There was a day, when we had a substitute teacher, when we sat at our desks, across from each other, and we talked about The Rocky Horror Picture Show. You had discovered it more recently than I had and were in the process of indoctrinating your friends. Just as the substitute teach came up to our desks you said that the weekend before you had "devirginized" your boyfriend, at the time. The sub said that he and a lot of young men were devirginized during their time in the Army, you turned red, and I bit back laughter. You stumbled and stuttered, trying to explain the movie and the tradition of the lipstick "V"s on a new watcher's cheeks. The sub said that if your boyfriend needed more help with the devirginizing he should join the Army; they have a lot to teach, he said. You looked down and said that he was actually joining the Marines. I snorted. Even better, the sub said. I burst out laughing and a half-second later, you started to laugh, too, still redder than a strawberry.
It was you kindness and your ability to laugh at your mistakes and your forgiveness to me for laughing at you before it was with you. It didn't hurt, too, that you were easily the most beautiful female in our class, if not the whole school. I remember how you kept your hair carefully tucked behind your ear, but when you were concentrating hard it would fall from its place as you leaned forward and the very tip of your ear would poke out of your hair. I remember your eyes flashing in anger at the idiots in the classroom and in joy when I could make you laugh. I remember your smile: your huge smile when you were excited; your sly smile when you had gotten away with something; and your small smile when you were simply content.
I knew that if you loved me at all it would never be the same way I loved you. There was someone, a friend, who was smarter than me, nicer than me, and much better looking than me who you said you couldn't like as anything other than a friend. What chance did a schlub like me have? It was okay, though, because I got to spend 50 minutes alone with you every day we were at school and I wouldn't want to give that time up for anything.
We went to the same school out first year of college. I didn't go hunting for you. I have this thing about social strata and not trying to shake it up and while I knew where I'd end up -- outside and alone -- I didn't know where you would choose to be. I knew you'd choose, though, because you were smart enough and acceptable enough to end up anywhere. I did call you a couple of times, though. Once to tell you a teacher had died, one who I really liked, and you helped me feel better. The other time was to see if you were headed home one weekend because I needed a ride back to school. You were and you did. We also ran into each other a few times and just chatted. Your roommate, who we went to school with, was not nearly so kind.
I held on to the feeling I had for you for a few years until it reached the point that I had to give it up. I was going to a different school and wasn't ever going to see you again. It was hard letting go, but I had to even though it made me feel good and safe.
You were the only person I wasn't in semi-regular contact with who I wanted to see at our ten year reunion. You didn't come. I'm not going to the 20 because once in a room with those people again and just being an object was enough. I've kept an eye out for you on Facebook, but cannot find you. Either you’re not there, or you've changed enough that I no longer recognize you when I see you. I don't know and I'm not going to be concerned about it because it probably wouldn't change anything anyway.
I hope your life is nice. I hope that even if you didn't become what you thought you were going to become you're something that you like. I hope your husband appreciates what he has and shows it to you every day even if it's just by taking your hand for no particular reason and giving it a small squeeze. I hope that any kids you might have got your smarts more than you looks, but I hope they have that same sly smile when they're up to mischief. And I hope that when you think back to high school and that fat guy you sat across from in English it's with fondness.
Friday, April 18, 2014
Never Promised
When I was younger, like nearly 1/4th my current age, I was told that I should learn how to type because it was a useful skill. As time went on I kept being told by teachers and other authoritative adults that I should learn how to time. I didn't really care until someone said that when I started working I would only be typing and I'd never have to hand write something ever again.
Being the niave and trusting person I was, especially toward authoritative figures, I took learning how to type to heart and as a promise.
I don't really hate my handwriting, but I don't like it much either. It's chunky and inconssistant. Lines waver even when there are lines to write on. It just doesn't look good.
The problem is, the authoritative adult didn't make a promise and my chunky, inconsistant handwriting shows up all over the place at work.
Another reason life is unfair.
Being the niave and trusting person I was, especially toward authoritative figures, I took learning how to type to heart and as a promise.
I don't really hate my handwriting, but I don't like it much either. It's chunky and inconssistant. Lines waver even when there are lines to write on. It just doesn't look good.
The problem is, the authoritative adult didn't make a promise and my chunky, inconsistant handwriting shows up all over the place at work.
Another reason life is unfair.
Friday, August 26, 2011
"The bluest ink / Isn't really sky..."
I've spent a very large portion of my time at work (15-20%) this week to going through the duties and minimum requirements for a shit load of state jobs because I'd really like to get a fucking promotion. The problem with a lot of the jobs is that I need just a little more schooling, classes in specific subjects, to be qualified. Just 6 semester units. That's all. Two classes. That can be done in one semester, if the classes aren't part of a series. There is, of course, a problem.
I don't know if I want to do the jobs.
Do I want to be an accountant? Do I want to be an actuary? Do I want to work in IT? Do I want to be a paralegal?
I know I can, with the proper schooling/training, do any of these jobs, but do I want to do them?
Every time I ask myself if I want to, the answer is "no." I don't want to balance budgets. I don't want to create tables about death. I don't want to fix other people's computers. I don't want to research case law and slog through legalese.
So, what the fuck do I want?
...
And there's the problem. I'm not sure what I want.
I'd like be somehow involved with the telling of stories, but I'm not moving to the shiny, sparkly circle of Hell (AKA the greater Los Angeles area) or to the other coast. I'm not a city dweller. I live in a city with lots of buildings over five stories and I feel like I'm getting crushed. I can feel the people just pushing in on me from everywhere. (I met with a friend recently. She lives down in the sparkly circle of hell, but in the nicer part, the norther part near the coast. She said that she living near the coast helped. She only feels like she's being crushed from three sides.) And I hate it.
So, choosing not to live in a huge city sort of gets rid of working in a lot of story generating situations, doesn't it?
What do I want to do?
I spoke with my mother yesterday. I mentioned that if I get hired at a job in Cowcity I'm pretty sure that I'd go back to school for my Master's Degree. I won't do an online course because I need to have the give and take that sitting in a classroom provides. Message boards are not as good for me. I'd like an MFA in creative writing, but I'd also be interested in studying theater or film. Oh, and I thought that if I choose to just get a Master's in English wouldn't it be interesting to write a thesis on Fan Fiction? I think it would.
Anyway, she suggested that maybe I sit down with her and my father and discuss me quitting my job and going to school full time at Turkey Tech. For a few seconds it was a very nice offer, but I don't want to live with my parents. The only reason I'm here right now is because I don't want to enter into a lease while I'm looking to get the fuck out of my job. (Although it's been nearly 11 grueling month of this shit. Fuck, that's depressing.) I said that I didn't think it was a good idea.
I'm just going to wait in increasing misery until I find another job and hope that I won't hate it so much that I can't focus on things. Once I can comfortably read a book (I haven't finished one since I read The Phantom Tollbooth in June, I think. Christ, I can't even remember what I may or may not have read. Shit.) that's when I'll be more ready to move on to more mentally intensive things.
I don't know if I want to do the jobs.
Do I want to be an accountant? Do I want to be an actuary? Do I want to work in IT? Do I want to be a paralegal?
I know I can, with the proper schooling/training, do any of these jobs, but do I want to do them?
Every time I ask myself if I want to, the answer is "no." I don't want to balance budgets. I don't want to create tables about death. I don't want to fix other people's computers. I don't want to research case law and slog through legalese.
So, what the fuck do I want?
...
And there's the problem. I'm not sure what I want.
I'd like be somehow involved with the telling of stories, but I'm not moving to the shiny, sparkly circle of Hell (AKA the greater Los Angeles area) or to the other coast. I'm not a city dweller. I live in a city with lots of buildings over five stories and I feel like I'm getting crushed. I can feel the people just pushing in on me from everywhere. (I met with a friend recently. She lives down in the sparkly circle of hell, but in the nicer part, the norther part near the coast. She said that she living near the coast helped. She only feels like she's being crushed from three sides.) And I hate it.
So, choosing not to live in a huge city sort of gets rid of working in a lot of story generating situations, doesn't it?
What do I want to do?
I spoke with my mother yesterday. I mentioned that if I get hired at a job in Cowcity I'm pretty sure that I'd go back to school for my Master's Degree. I won't do an online course because I need to have the give and take that sitting in a classroom provides. Message boards are not as good for me. I'd like an MFA in creative writing, but I'd also be interested in studying theater or film. Oh, and I thought that if I choose to just get a Master's in English wouldn't it be interesting to write a thesis on Fan Fiction? I think it would.
Anyway, she suggested that maybe I sit down with her and my father and discuss me quitting my job and going to school full time at Turkey Tech. For a few seconds it was a very nice offer, but I don't want to live with my parents. The only reason I'm here right now is because I don't want to enter into a lease while I'm looking to get the fuck out of my job. (Although it's been nearly 11 grueling month of this shit. Fuck, that's depressing.) I said that I didn't think it was a good idea.
I'm just going to wait in increasing misery until I find another job and hope that I won't hate it so much that I can't focus on things. Once I can comfortably read a book (I haven't finished one since I read The Phantom Tollbooth in June, I think. Christ, I can't even remember what I may or may not have read. Shit.) that's when I'll be more ready to move on to more mentally intensive things.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Friday, January 21, 2005
Horrible Horror
I am a coward.
Anyone who knows me well should know that.
I rarely take risks.
I do my best not to stand out.
I fear confrontation.
I wrote that to help to explain the rest of this.
This evening/morning, I told my only teacher that I'm dropping one of his classes and had to see him look really disappointed. It was a look like he wasn't sure if he should feel like he was the failure or if I was. I had no idea how to answer that question, so I looked away.
I told him, quite honestly, that the reasons I had for leaving the class were the group I was placed in and my lack of knowledge.
I have had only one good experience working in a group in my whole life. Only one, out of more than I want to count. In every other group, I've had to do more than the fair share of the work. Maybe that's not true, but it sure felt like it. The group that I was put in was going to be one of these. They're going to be much concept, little production. They're aiming for perfect and don't want to hear that perfect can not be reached in nine weeks. One of the guys in the group think that because he's been working with the program the longest, he should be able to make all the decisions and really hates it when someone pokes holes in his ideas. (That was me, for those who need to know.)
And then there's the fact that I only know how to model objects and take pictures of still lifes. Supposedly, the class is designed to allow people who have no skill with the program, but I don't think it's practical. If I can't help with the animation of the character, objects, lights, and camera, I feel like I'm wasting my time. What's the point? What will I learn? The teacher suggested learning from osmosis, but not from the guy who wants to be in charge. He has no interest in teaching, only in doing. Too many times tonight I heard him mutter, "That's another thing that I'm gonna have to do." As if he has no choice in the matter. As if we don't want to learn. So, I don't think this class is the right environment for me to be in to learn anything.
So I told him this and he seemed disappointed. I assured him that I'm sticking with the character animation class. There's a lot for me to learn in there. Maybe, if I'm still in Cow City, I'll give this class a chance the next time it's offered.
He didn't seem any happier. He told me that I'm a creative guy and that I do really well with the modeling and that's always useful. He told me that I'd be welcome to come back if I wanted to in a week and he wouldn't hold it against me (which means he'd waive his absence policy for me and not lower my grade).
I said thanks, but I don't think that's going to happen and that I'd see him on Tuesday. Then I walked away.
What I didn't tell him was that when I registered for classes, I didn't think I should take this class. Not because of the late hour, but because I don't feel ready. If I can't pull my weight, what's the point of being there? Way back in November, I knew I shouldn't take it. I shouldn't have even signed up. And if I hadn't then I wouldn't be such a disappointment.
Anyone who knows me well should know that.
I rarely take risks.
I do my best not to stand out.
I fear confrontation.
I wrote that to help to explain the rest of this.
This evening/morning, I told my only teacher that I'm dropping one of his classes and had to see him look really disappointed. It was a look like he wasn't sure if he should feel like he was the failure or if I was. I had no idea how to answer that question, so I looked away.
I told him, quite honestly, that the reasons I had for leaving the class were the group I was placed in and my lack of knowledge.
I have had only one good experience working in a group in my whole life. Only one, out of more than I want to count. In every other group, I've had to do more than the fair share of the work. Maybe that's not true, but it sure felt like it. The group that I was put in was going to be one of these. They're going to be much concept, little production. They're aiming for perfect and don't want to hear that perfect can not be reached in nine weeks. One of the guys in the group think that because he's been working with the program the longest, he should be able to make all the decisions and really hates it when someone pokes holes in his ideas. (That was me, for those who need to know.)
And then there's the fact that I only know how to model objects and take pictures of still lifes. Supposedly, the class is designed to allow people who have no skill with the program, but I don't think it's practical. If I can't help with the animation of the character, objects, lights, and camera, I feel like I'm wasting my time. What's the point? What will I learn? The teacher suggested learning from osmosis, but not from the guy who wants to be in charge. He has no interest in teaching, only in doing. Too many times tonight I heard him mutter, "That's another thing that I'm gonna have to do." As if he has no choice in the matter. As if we don't want to learn. So, I don't think this class is the right environment for me to be in to learn anything.
So I told him this and he seemed disappointed. I assured him that I'm sticking with the character animation class. There's a lot for me to learn in there. Maybe, if I'm still in Cow City, I'll give this class a chance the next time it's offered.
He didn't seem any happier. He told me that I'm a creative guy and that I do really well with the modeling and that's always useful. He told me that I'd be welcome to come back if I wanted to in a week and he wouldn't hold it against me (which means he'd waive his absence policy for me and not lower my grade).
I said thanks, but I don't think that's going to happen and that I'd see him on Tuesday. Then I walked away.
What I didn't tell him was that when I registered for classes, I didn't think I should take this class. Not because of the late hour, but because I don't feel ready. If I can't pull my weight, what's the point of being there? Way back in November, I knew I shouldn't take it. I shouldn't have even signed up. And if I hadn't then I wouldn't be such a disappointment.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
Who Knew?
I want to eat food from somewhere that isn't this apartment, but I don't want to go out.
I could get pizza delivered, but I don't want pizza. Usually, the whole of my being is willing to accept pizza into it's small sphere, not today though. Maybe it was the pasta I had out on Friday with some friends. It was just okay. The sauce was too sweet for me. I suppose I like my red sauce tasting more like tomato and less like candy.
I've been on auto-pilot for the last several weeks. The basic day has been: wake up, shower, go to work, come back, eat a bit, watch some tee-vee, read, and sleep. All the days blend into each other. I only remember a few specific days since school got out. It seems like four weeks were removed from my memory because they were so similar. Which, I suppose, is why I haven't written much about myself, or anything for that matter, in quite a while.
School starts Tuesday, for me and everyone else that has classes on Tuesdays. My work schedule gets a drastic shift this week as well. I made it so I can only work early on weekends. Most of me thinks this is a good thing because there are more good people who work in the evenings now than there were before December. The smidge of me that doesn't think it's a good idea is the part that will miss GIESW and FLIG. They're the best reason to work early.
There are only two shift supervisors now because ASGG has stepped down to being a normal, for him, barista. The two shifts left are only available to work evenings, one because she's a mother and the other because she's a student at Cow City State. So, for this month, at least, all the managers have been scheduled to work mornings and early afternoons and working evenings/nights, I can avoid the managers and my life at work will be better. Well, for two weeks, at least.
In February, a few things are happening. First, JFCG, the one who goes to university, is transferring to a store closer to her apartment and school. Second, the other shift supervisor, SFMR, is taking three and a half weeks to go to Europe to visit her husband's family. Supposedly, two people in the store, neither one me, are being promoted to supervisor, but, as usual with this store, there's a problem. One of the people, GGWB, is gone for two and a half weeks, which started this Thursday, because of some surgery. That means she won't be able to start training until the beginning of next month and, I think, it takes two weeks to finish everything. The other person, DFFB, has been dicked around with this promotion thing since before Christmas. He's been interviewed by the evil District Manager twice, both times DFFB was told that he was awful young to be a shift. DFFB told me that The Manager said that before he got promoted he has to train two people, which is a job shifts are supposed to do. DFFB told me that he didn't thing he was going to be a supervisor. DFFB told me that all the managers should go to hell. He is, however, still doing all he can to be promoted, even though his training hasn't started.
I looked up prices for plane tickets to Pittsburgh yesterday, or was it the day before, I can't remember. Round trip, on the three sites I saw, would be between $300 and $400, depending on where I left from. I want to go in June to visit Mr. Logic and Ms. Heels, not that I've actually communicated this with them, but I'd like to. If Heels isn't yet in the "family way," perhaps a trip to roller coasters could be arranged, I'd probably be willing to pay for gas and admission. Who knows what'll happen.
I'm getting to be very uncomfortable here. I live in a city and I'm not much for cities; they make me claustrophobic. I work at a place I hate, but can't seem to get hired elsewhere. Something has to change. Either a change of place, somewhere with less people, or a change of job. If there is no change, I'm afraid of what might happen.
Still haven't decided what I'm going to do about food. Maybe I'll just call a place and pick-up. Maybe I'll eat the ice cubes in the freezer. Maybe I'll just curl up in bed and sleep until I have to be at work in the morning and not eat until after work.
Who knows?
I could get pizza delivered, but I don't want pizza. Usually, the whole of my being is willing to accept pizza into it's small sphere, not today though. Maybe it was the pasta I had out on Friday with some friends. It was just okay. The sauce was too sweet for me. I suppose I like my red sauce tasting more like tomato and less like candy.
I've been on auto-pilot for the last several weeks. The basic day has been: wake up, shower, go to work, come back, eat a bit, watch some tee-vee, read, and sleep. All the days blend into each other. I only remember a few specific days since school got out. It seems like four weeks were removed from my memory because they were so similar. Which, I suppose, is why I haven't written much about myself, or anything for that matter, in quite a while.
School starts Tuesday, for me and everyone else that has classes on Tuesdays. My work schedule gets a drastic shift this week as well. I made it so I can only work early on weekends. Most of me thinks this is a good thing because there are more good people who work in the evenings now than there were before December. The smidge of me that doesn't think it's a good idea is the part that will miss GIESW and FLIG. They're the best reason to work early.
There are only two shift supervisors now because ASGG has stepped down to being a normal, for him, barista. The two shifts left are only available to work evenings, one because she's a mother and the other because she's a student at Cow City State. So, for this month, at least, all the managers have been scheduled to work mornings and early afternoons and working evenings/nights, I can avoid the managers and my life at work will be better. Well, for two weeks, at least.
In February, a few things are happening. First, JFCG, the one who goes to university, is transferring to a store closer to her apartment and school. Second, the other shift supervisor, SFMR, is taking three and a half weeks to go to Europe to visit her husband's family. Supposedly, two people in the store, neither one me, are being promoted to supervisor, but, as usual with this store, there's a problem. One of the people, GGWB, is gone for two and a half weeks, which started this Thursday, because of some surgery. That means she won't be able to start training until the beginning of next month and, I think, it takes two weeks to finish everything. The other person, DFFB, has been dicked around with this promotion thing since before Christmas. He's been interviewed by the evil District Manager twice, both times DFFB was told that he was awful young to be a shift. DFFB told me that The Manager said that before he got promoted he has to train two people, which is a job shifts are supposed to do. DFFB told me that he didn't thing he was going to be a supervisor. DFFB told me that all the managers should go to hell. He is, however, still doing all he can to be promoted, even though his training hasn't started.
I looked up prices for plane tickets to Pittsburgh yesterday, or was it the day before, I can't remember. Round trip, on the three sites I saw, would be between $300 and $400, depending on where I left from. I want to go in June to visit Mr. Logic and Ms. Heels, not that I've actually communicated this with them, but I'd like to. If Heels isn't yet in the "family way," perhaps a trip to roller coasters could be arranged, I'd probably be willing to pay for gas and admission. Who knows what'll happen.
I'm getting to be very uncomfortable here. I live in a city and I'm not much for cities; they make me claustrophobic. I work at a place I hate, but can't seem to get hired elsewhere. Something has to change. Either a change of place, somewhere with less people, or a change of job. If there is no change, I'm afraid of what might happen.
Still haven't decided what I'm going to do about food. Maybe I'll just call a place and pick-up. Maybe I'll eat the ice cubes in the freezer. Maybe I'll just curl up in bed and sleep until I have to be at work in the morning and not eat until after work.
Who knows?
Saturday, December 11, 2004
More Renders
Since I'm not going to be posting any comics this week, (DAMN!) here are thumbnails of the other renders I turned in to my teacher, click 'em to see 'em. Hope you like 'em.
The last one here was the last one I did, and it was more for me than for the class.
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The last one here was the last one I did, and it was more for me than for the class.
Friday, December 10, 2004
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
Problem!
Yesterday, I had decided to not go to school next semester, right? Well, today, I'm not so sure.
I woke up early, for a day off, and headed straight to campus to try and finish my project. Around 1:30ish, a guy came in and was interested in what I was doing. He stared giving me some advice to make it look better and it really helped. Then he turned on his laptop and started showing what he's done in the character class. Gorgeous. What he's doing is only one step away from why I took this class in the first place. Now I'm questioning whether I made the right decision. Maybe I'll go back for another semester and learn more, get better, and still work for 'Bucks.
*sigh*
It's the last one that's a killer.
Slackbastard mentioned getting a bonus on his last paycheck, I didn't get one. I didn't expect to get one because I had left 'Bucks for a few months last year and I figured that one of those months would be where they started to measure the year of employment from. The month they choose was September. So, no extra $250 for me.
I am a Charlie Brown.
I woke up early, for a day off, and headed straight to campus to try and finish my project. Around 1:30ish, a guy came in and was interested in what I was doing. He stared giving me some advice to make it look better and it really helped. Then he turned on his laptop and started showing what he's done in the character class. Gorgeous. What he's doing is only one step away from why I took this class in the first place. Now I'm questioning whether I made the right decision. Maybe I'll go back for another semester and learn more, get better, and still work for 'Bucks.
*sigh*
It's the last one that's a killer.
Slackbastard mentioned getting a bonus on his last paycheck, I didn't get one. I didn't expect to get one because I had left 'Bucks for a few months last year and I figured that one of those months would be where they started to measure the year of employment from. The month they choose was September. So, no extra $250 for me.
I am a Charlie Brown.
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
Some Stuff
For the few of you who seem to care, I won't be posting a comic until Thursday, if all goes well, or Friday, if all does not. Finals are upon us and my project is due Friday because they decided to make the Friday classes short by a week (not counting Thanksgiving or Veteran's Day), and I have to rush to render my pictures. I'm spending all day tomorrow at school and all day after work on Thursday at school, working. It should turn out well, though.
There are two classes that I want to take next semester. Unfortunately, they both start after 5PM, and I'm not so great at the night class thing. I'm thinking, maybe I won't take any classes next semester. (The first regular semester I haven't been in school since I was in Kindergarten.) Maybe move away from Cowcity. Where to? Unknown. Where are there jobs for me that will pay me enough that I won't need a roommate anymore?
On another note, I reading the Wheel of Time books again. Twice, since I started the first book, people have stopped me to tell me that I'm reading a good book. I let them tell me all about how good it was and didn't say that this is my third time reading (most of) them. I can't say that to people anymore. When I read the Deathgate Cycle again earlier this semester, a girl got all excited and wanted to tell me about the other books, but I said that I'd already read the books and just wanted to read them again. She looked at me like I had called her a moron or something. So I don't say things like that anymore, when I think about it, at least.
There are two classes that I want to take next semester. Unfortunately, they both start after 5PM, and I'm not so great at the night class thing. I'm thinking, maybe I won't take any classes next semester. (The first regular semester I haven't been in school since I was in Kindergarten.) Maybe move away from Cowcity. Where to? Unknown. Where are there jobs for me that will pay me enough that I won't need a roommate anymore?
On another note, I reading the Wheel of Time books again. Twice, since I started the first book, people have stopped me to tell me that I'm reading a good book. I let them tell me all about how good it was and didn't say that this is my third time reading (most of) them. I can't say that to people anymore. When I read the Deathgate Cycle again earlier this semester, a girl got all excited and wanted to tell me about the other books, but I said that I'd already read the books and just wanted to read them again. She looked at me like I had called her a moron or something. So I don't say things like that anymore, when I think about it, at least.
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
School Work
Anyone, other than me and my parents, interested in seeing the work I'm doing in school?This is my favorite thing (click on it to see it much larger) I've done in the computer painting (or whatever it's called in the catalogue) class. We use a program called Painter and use a stylus to do the drawing. Even after two months, I'm not comfortable using a stylus. I'm less comfortable using it to draw than I am a regular pencil, but I'm doing it. That counts, right?
In today's updates: I jumped in five puddles which sent the water cascading in every direction. I also watched a woman, driving a car, creep up to a puddle, that was at least six inches deep, then peel out. She created quite a wave. Through the windshield, I could see her hysterically laughing. I applauded.
Tuesday, October 12, 2004
Schoolie
Today, I thought about not going to school anymore. I'm tired of the classes I'm taking this semester.
One class is making me do research on artists for "inspiration." This "inspiration" just makes me feel like a child. We had to draw still lifes for this class, mine looked like a four-year-old's pictures compared to the rest. The teacher liked the idea that I was using, but was not impressed with the actual artwork. I left very unhappy.
The other class requires a lot of outside work. I like the class. I like what we're doing. When I'm in front of the computer, building the models, the time disappears as if it were just an abstract notion created by man to force order on a chaotic universe. If the teacher doesn't lecture, the four-and-a-half hours of class are gone in an instant. If I had the program at the apartment, I don't think I'd be feeling so crushed. I could spend time after work on the projects, but I don't have it (cost $500+ for the student edition), so, if I want to work outside of class, I have to go to school and hope that there's room in the class for me to work.
I need someone out there to tell me that this is all for my own good, that it's a learning and growing experience, and that everything will get better. I need someone to do that so I can spit in his or her face and demand that he or she stop spreading such lies.
One class is making me do research on artists for "inspiration." This "inspiration" just makes me feel like a child. We had to draw still lifes for this class, mine looked like a four-year-old's pictures compared to the rest. The teacher liked the idea that I was using, but was not impressed with the actual artwork. I left very unhappy.
The other class requires a lot of outside work. I like the class. I like what we're doing. When I'm in front of the computer, building the models, the time disappears as if it were just an abstract notion created by man to force order on a chaotic universe. If the teacher doesn't lecture, the four-and-a-half hours of class are gone in an instant. If I had the program at the apartment, I don't think I'd be feeling so crushed. I could spend time after work on the projects, but I don't have it (cost $500+ for the student edition), so, if I want to work outside of class, I have to go to school and hope that there's room in the class for me to work.
I need someone out there to tell me that this is all for my own good, that it's a learning and growing experience, and that everything will get better. I need someone to do that so I can spit in his or her face and demand that he or she stop spreading such lies.
Monday, September 27, 2004
Materials
I used school material to print up my comic strips today. There's no printer attached to my computer, so I had to. I needed to see what these things look like on paper, in black and white so I can get them fixed before next spring.
Why? Well, those who need to know, know, and I don't want to announce anything here until I've laid down the money and can't back out because I'm a coward.
I also wanted to be able to mail a set to a friend of mine so I can get her opinion on them. She's one of those people, usually, who is honest, sometimes to the point of brutality, and will give feedback. She's someone I trust when it comes to art, as well. Hopefully, she'll also show them to her husband, and I'll get his opinion as well, since he's my friend too.
I'm also trying to write a decent letter to go along with the printings, it's only proper.
Why? Well, those who need to know, know, and I don't want to announce anything here until I've laid down the money and can't back out because I'm a coward.
I also wanted to be able to mail a set to a friend of mine so I can get her opinion on them. She's one of those people, usually, who is honest, sometimes to the point of brutality, and will give feedback. She's someone I trust when it comes to art, as well. Hopefully, she'll also show them to her husband, and I'll get his opinion as well, since he's my friend too.
I'm also trying to write a decent letter to go along with the printings, it's only proper.
Thursday, September 23, 2004
What day?
I woke up this morning to the belligerent buzzing of my alarm. I sat up and asked, "What day is it?" I slid out of bed and groped at the drawers under it so I could get some clean clothes.
"What day is it?" I asked myself again, out loud, as I headed off to the shower, where I sung songs from Annie. (It's a sickness, I know.) Eventually, the sun came up, and I stepped out.
I dressed, combed my hair, and headed back to my room. The light was off, so I flicked the switch. Finally, the calendar was visible, Thursday. Work first then straight to school.
Work is... well, I'm not sure how to explain it when I'm not miserable. It just is. I go, make coffee-based drinks, try to please people who don't want to be pleased, sing songs to myself, and hold back the urge to throw beans at everyone. Work is like--Have all of you seen Garden State yet? Did anyone else watch that new show Veronica Mars last night? They both have perfect examples of what I'm going to describe.--these scenes in movies and TV shows where there's one person sitting on a couch or a bench staring and the people around this person are in fast-forward, obviously doing something, going somewhere, moving. That's what work is like, me standing still and everyone else in fast-forward. Once in a while, the world slows down to my pace, breaks into my thoughts, but only for an instant before it whizzes away without me. In the end, I make sure to say good-bye to everyone working, using each person's name, before I walk out the door. I'm not sure why I do it. I sometimes fantasize that maybe I'll disappear if I don't remind people that I do exist, maybe that's why.
I like school.
For those who don't know, and since I can't remember if I've actually written it in this experiment in narcissism, I earned myself a BA in English some two and a quarter years ago. I seriously thought about teaching High School for a while there. I didn't really want to teach, I didn't think it would give me the energy most teacher seemed to get. I thought it would sap my strength, test my patience, and increase my stress without any personal or monetary rewards. At the time, though, I thought it was my only real option (since I fear that great standardized test we call the GRE). I went to the university (that didn't end in the phrase "of Phoenix") to my parent's house, since I was living there at the time, to discuss this teaching thing with a professional. In the end, she asked me if I wanted her honest opinion. I always prefer honesty, I said. She told me that she thought that I could make an excellent High School English teacher because I had an obvious passion for literature and a desire to see this passion spread to other. This made me happy. Then she said that she didn't think I should be a High School teacher because it didn't seem like the place for me. She recognized that I am a person who doesn't really have a lot a patience for people who don't want to be where they are. "The kids in High Schools are forced to be there," she said. "If you're lucky, three out of the thirty will be interested in what you're teaching, and I don't think those are the kinds of odds a person like you would need to stick with this profession. Honestly, Josh, I don't think you should pursue a career in teaching."
I shook her hand, thanked her for her time, and left. Everything she said was right and, most importantly, she gave me a good reason to stop thinking about my teaching credential.
That fall, while living with my parents and working at 'Bucks, I started attending the local JC part time. I took ceramics (my artistic passion that I have neither the money nor the truly astounding skill to pursue) and a class learning to draw on the computer with Adobe Illustrator. Illustrator is probably my favorite computer program. I like it more than my word processor. I like it more than QuickTime. I like it more than my internet browser. There's something so wonderfully artistic and mathematical about the program that captures my imagination. It's what I create all those weird comics about me in. I liked the class, I liked the teacher, and something inside me said I could turn it into a way to make money without serving evil.
Okay, I've gone off topic and I'm leaving it all there. Anyhow...
I like school. The class I have on Tuesday and Thursday is called Digital Painting. We're using Correl Painter and it's hundreds of different brushes to create odd drawings. (On assignment was to use a brush that has the illusion of heavy paint strokes, think of van Gogh's paintings, using complementary tertiary colors using the strokes to create depth. I drew a blue-green t-shirt on a field of red-orange, then used a tool to pull the "paint" in such a way that it look like it's on fire. I like it more each time I look at it.) The teacher gives really boring lectures that feel more like art history than anything else, and I'm not looking forward to the obligatory self portrait, but the rest is fun. How can I be so sure? Today, class started at 2:45 and ten minutes later it was 4:45 and time to go. A good time was had by me.
Today was Thursday. I went to work and school. I'm here now and going to watch mediocre television and eat ginormous, frozen grapes.
You have a good night as well.
"What day is it?" I asked myself again, out loud, as I headed off to the shower, where I sung songs from Annie. (It's a sickness, I know.) Eventually, the sun came up, and I stepped out.
I dressed, combed my hair, and headed back to my room. The light was off, so I flicked the switch. Finally, the calendar was visible, Thursday. Work first then straight to school.
Work is... well, I'm not sure how to explain it when I'm not miserable. It just is. I go, make coffee-based drinks, try to please people who don't want to be pleased, sing songs to myself, and hold back the urge to throw beans at everyone. Work is like--Have all of you seen Garden State yet? Did anyone else watch that new show Veronica Mars last night? They both have perfect examples of what I'm going to describe.--these scenes in movies and TV shows where there's one person sitting on a couch or a bench staring and the people around this person are in fast-forward, obviously doing something, going somewhere, moving. That's what work is like, me standing still and everyone else in fast-forward. Once in a while, the world slows down to my pace, breaks into my thoughts, but only for an instant before it whizzes away without me. In the end, I make sure to say good-bye to everyone working, using each person's name, before I walk out the door. I'm not sure why I do it. I sometimes fantasize that maybe I'll disappear if I don't remind people that I do exist, maybe that's why.
I like school.
For those who don't know, and since I can't remember if I've actually written it in this experiment in narcissism, I earned myself a BA in English some two and a quarter years ago. I seriously thought about teaching High School for a while there. I didn't really want to teach, I didn't think it would give me the energy most teacher seemed to get. I thought it would sap my strength, test my patience, and increase my stress without any personal or monetary rewards. At the time, though, I thought it was my only real option (since I fear that great standardized test we call the GRE). I went to the university (that didn't end in the phrase "of Phoenix") to my parent's house, since I was living there at the time, to discuss this teaching thing with a professional. In the end, she asked me if I wanted her honest opinion. I always prefer honesty, I said. She told me that she thought that I could make an excellent High School English teacher because I had an obvious passion for literature and a desire to see this passion spread to other. This made me happy. Then she said that she didn't think I should be a High School teacher because it didn't seem like the place for me. She recognized that I am a person who doesn't really have a lot a patience for people who don't want to be where they are. "The kids in High Schools are forced to be there," she said. "If you're lucky, three out of the thirty will be interested in what you're teaching, and I don't think those are the kinds of odds a person like you would need to stick with this profession. Honestly, Josh, I don't think you should pursue a career in teaching."
I shook her hand, thanked her for her time, and left. Everything she said was right and, most importantly, she gave me a good reason to stop thinking about my teaching credential.
That fall, while living with my parents and working at 'Bucks, I started attending the local JC part time. I took ceramics (my artistic passion that I have neither the money nor the truly astounding skill to pursue) and a class learning to draw on the computer with Adobe Illustrator. Illustrator is probably my favorite computer program. I like it more than my word processor. I like it more than QuickTime. I like it more than my internet browser. There's something so wonderfully artistic and mathematical about the program that captures my imagination. It's what I create all those weird comics about me in. I liked the class, I liked the teacher, and something inside me said I could turn it into a way to make money without serving evil.
Okay, I've gone off topic and I'm leaving it all there. Anyhow...
I like school. The class I have on Tuesday and Thursday is called Digital Painting. We're using Correl Painter and it's hundreds of different brushes to create odd drawings. (On assignment was to use a brush that has the illusion of heavy paint strokes, think of van Gogh's paintings, using complementary tertiary colors using the strokes to create depth. I drew a blue-green t-shirt on a field of red-orange, then used a tool to pull the "paint" in such a way that it look like it's on fire. I like it more each time I look at it.) The teacher gives really boring lectures that feel more like art history than anything else, and I'm not looking forward to the obligatory self portrait, but the rest is fun. How can I be so sure? Today, class started at 2:45 and ten minutes later it was 4:45 and time to go. A good time was had by me.
Today was Thursday. I went to work and school. I'm here now and going to watch mediocre television and eat ginormous, frozen grapes.
You have a good night as well.
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
A Farewell to August
I'm exhausted. Not sure what it is, but ever since I woke up, I've wanted to fall back asleep. Maybe I should have, but there were things to do that needed to be done.
Things like school.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have a class that's supposed to be about digital painting. So far, I've used it to draw my left hand three times and my glasses four. Strangely enough, I'm having a lot of fun in there. My drawings aren't great, but people can recognize what I draw, that's good.
Usually, after doing something fun, I feel energized, but not today.
Maybe it's this "celebration" thing for work and once it's over tonight I'll be able to get rest. Okay, it won't happen tomorrow. Tomorrow, I'll receive lots of guilt for not showing up. Lots of people will tell me how great it was and how much food they ate and how I missed out. Well, I don't care how great it was, I'm not hungry, and I doubt I missed out since I would have sat, silent, on my chair with a false grin plastered on my face and the occasional force laugh. No, I'm not missing out because there's no one at that store worth going to this thing for. No one. I'll be asked what I did, and I'll say that I slept, that I climbed in bed at six-thirtyish and slept. Once they get all of that "it was great" bull out of their systems, I hope I'll be able to really sleep, I feel like I've only gotten a few hours of sleep in the last week. I hope they get it out of their systems quickly.
Until they do, I'm going to get in bed and try to sleep until seven tomorrow morning.
Wish me luck.
So, good-bye Second Caesar Month. Seeing you again, in 334 days.
Things like school.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have a class that's supposed to be about digital painting. So far, I've used it to draw my left hand three times and my glasses four. Strangely enough, I'm having a lot of fun in there. My drawings aren't great, but people can recognize what I draw, that's good.
Usually, after doing something fun, I feel energized, but not today.
Maybe it's this "celebration" thing for work and once it's over tonight I'll be able to get rest. Okay, it won't happen tomorrow. Tomorrow, I'll receive lots of guilt for not showing up. Lots of people will tell me how great it was and how much food they ate and how I missed out. Well, I don't care how great it was, I'm not hungry, and I doubt I missed out since I would have sat, silent, on my chair with a false grin plastered on my face and the occasional force laugh. No, I'm not missing out because there's no one at that store worth going to this thing for. No one. I'll be asked what I did, and I'll say that I slept, that I climbed in bed at six-thirtyish and slept. Once they get all of that "it was great" bull out of their systems, I hope I'll be able to really sleep, I feel like I've only gotten a few hours of sleep in the last week. I hope they get it out of their systems quickly.
Until they do, I'm going to get in bed and try to sleep until seven tomorrow morning.
Wish me luck.
So, good-bye Second Caesar Month. Seeing you again, in 334 days.
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Hmmmm...
I can't remember too much from today. That probably means that I didn't do anything, which is nearly the truth. What I do remember is going to Wal*Mart to try to buy a backpack, but getting creeped out by the new one here in Cowcity. (It has an escalator in it. It's not a Super Wal*Mart, but it has a second story and a freezer. Next to the people escalator is a shopping cart escalator.) So, I followed my father's advice and went to REI, where I found one. I even used it today when I went to school. Hooray for me.
Hope your day was more interesting.
Hope your day was more interesting.
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Whelp...
The Manager came into work, looked at me, smiled a big Manager smile, and said, "Hi." to me. This was disappointing to me. I was all ready to make reasonable requests and maybe do some OWGAWE bashing. (OWGAWE was actually early this morning! Last Friday, I overheard a conversation between her and The Manager, and The Manager had suggested that OWGAWE should be demoted since OWGAWE doesn't fulfill shift supervisor duties. I'm guessing that OWGAWE is trying to make a good impression to keep her position. If I were a betting man, I'd set up a betting pool at work about the day she'll start being late again.)
Mornings are starting to get busy again, which means there's so much work that I don't really have time to think, just do. Maybe it's all my thinking recently that makes the job seem so horrible. Do you think that's possible?
School started, for me, today. I think my class will be cool, but one day is hardly time enough to judge. My biggest problem is that we're going to use a stylus and tablet. In the past, I've had problems using a stylus. Keep your fingers crossed for me and my work.
Mornings are starting to get busy again, which means there's so much work that I don't really have time to think, just do. Maybe it's all my thinking recently that makes the job seem so horrible. Do you think that's possible?
School started, for me, today. I think my class will be cool, but one day is hardly time enough to judge. My biggest problem is that we're going to use a stylus and tablet. In the past, I've had problems using a stylus. Keep your fingers crossed for me and my work.
Monday, August 16, 2004
Front Is Back
My front is back in Cowcity. I braved the 100 degree valley to drive back today because I have to open with OWGAWE tomorrow. Tomorrow is also the first day I will see The Manager since she had her meeting with The Wraith and had to show him the papers five of us had to fill out and sign, but I didn't sign. Will she speak with me about it? I don't know, and I don't really care.
School also starts tomorrow. I have my parking permit, but no books yet. I still have no backpack, or other bag, yet. Hopefully, it'll be a good class.
The friends I have who are going to China are leaving this week. If I had stayed in Cowtown until sometime this evening (maybe now?) I would have been able to say good-bye face to face, but that isn't going to happen. This is disappointing, but I stayed as long as I could and still make it here in time to catch many hours of sleep, which is what I should bet too now.
School also starts tomorrow. I have my parking permit, but no books yet. I still have no backpack, or other bag, yet. Hopefully, it'll be a good class.
The friends I have who are going to China are leaving this week. If I had stayed in Cowtown until sometime this evening (maybe now?) I would have been able to say good-bye face to face, but that isn't going to happen. This is disappointing, but I stayed as long as I could and still make it here in time to catch many hours of sleep, which is what I should bet too now.
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