I realized that I had a handful of not-finished entries lying around this site that I hadn’t posted. And because the original inspiration behind them is long gone, I figured I’d compile them in one Meta-Entry because I’ll probably never get around to finishing them, anyway.
Here we go:
Last modified: Sometime in March…
I’ve spent most* of this weekend deep** in thought. Yes, I’m still questioning the composition of Sarah Palin’s ‘do and yes, I’ve done a sizable (wow, that word doesn’thave an ‘e’! Who knew?) amount of The Daily Show-watching in an attempt to find my answer, but allow me to be realfor a sec, here, ‘k?
Okay, folks, get ready for it-the Big Question to end all Big Questions:
What do I want to do with my life? (meaning, in the next few months. Not, like, until I die. That requires far too much planning).
Here’s a snippet, Gentle Reader, of my Interior Monologue from the past hour-or-so:
I like my job. Do I like this city? I kinda don’t like this city. Why don’t I like this city? Is it because I hate the bus? Why do I hate the bus? I’m just being lazy. Do I want to go back to school? Yes, but what do I want to study? Where do I want to live? Do I want to go back part time and find a job somewhere else? Do I have the money to go back to school? How much do I still owe in student loans? I should be at least halfway paid off by now, right? What the hell is my DOE password so I can log in and check? They’re apparently still taking money out of my account. How come I haven’t gotten this stupid Economy Stimulus Payment yet? Why does the IRS hate me? How can I make a living just typing out rants like this? I don’t think that I can. I really like Cheerios. Maybe I’ll eat Cheerios for lunch today.
I’d list out the many Options I’m Considering, but I don’t feel like testing the Word Count limit of a WordPress blog entry.
*a few hours-or-so
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Title: Sunshine (Go Away)
Last modified: March 29, 2009
I’ve heard this song a hundred-or-more times, and yet, I never noticed these lines:
Working starts to make me wonder where
The fruits of what I do are going…
My last day working here is officially June 5 and from there, there is a sizable possibility that I’ll be “retiring” from the line of work that has sustained me for five years and for which I worked two long, hard years for a Master’s degree. Uh, poorly constructed sentence. Moving on.
I’m past the “why did I work for two years for a career I’m abandoning in another two years?” part. Now I’m at the “what the fuck do I do now?” part. I mean, I know what I’d love to do, but I don’t really know if I actually can.
I also struggle with what I want to do is actually a use of what I’m supposed to be doing. One of the dangers of Facebook is the random Friend Requests from old pals or colleagues who’ve since moved on to other things. I see that So-and-So is now doing Such-and-Such and I immediately go back and view my own profile, through their eyes, to see if what I’m doing now is worth anything compared to what I see as their own lofty achievements. Oh, so you’re married and have a family? You’ve moved away to a far-off city to work with the homeless? That’s nice. I still live in a dorm and I don’t pay rent. After I quit this job, I’ll probably live with my parents for awhile.
This post has no point, mostly because it’s 2:00 and I’m starting to shake from too much coffee and no lunch yet in my belly. I’ll continue it later.
Til next time…
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Title: You’ll have to follow through, every single day*
Last modified: I don’t know, I accidentally deleted it after I copy-and-pasted it. Shit.
If I had to name one thing that all of humankind has in common–one singular goal that everyone on Earth has set for themselves at some point or another, it’d probably be this:
Be a better person.
I’m not going to speculate why this goal seems to be so pervasive (albeit in wildly different incarnations: a 40-something stockbroker’s “better man” is drastically different from that of a starving woman in a war-torn developing country), but I think it’s safe to say that it’s generally universal–right? It’s vague and amorphous enough to be all-encompassing like few other statements (even those made by politicians and other elected officials) can be; though each person might not verbalize it using those exact words, the sentiment is the same.
I want to be a better person.
It’s the epitome of self-centeredness to explain, in great detail, exactly how I want to be a better person, but hell, it’s also the epitome of self-centeredness to create a personal Weblog, eh?
For me, being a better person means keeping promises–both those I make to myself and to other people. When I tell someone (or myself) that I’m going to do something, I need to do it.
It’s both stupidly simple and extraordinarily complex.
I’ve struggled with this for as long as I can remember. When my brother was young enough to want me around to play with him, I constantly promised him that I would, “later.” And, without fail, I would disappoint him. “But you promised!” he’d say, and I’d feel terrible, because I had promised… and didn’t follow through.
And now my brother is 20 years old and lives in Minnesota and all I want to do is play “beanbag”** and “roadway” and “slap-ball” and catch and HORSE with him, all day, every day.
When I first went away to college, I tried desperately hard to keep in touch with my high school and hometown friends. We would stage elaborate group chat sessions on AOL instant messenger and communicate via an online message board (Oh, the days long before Facebook and MySpace and Twitter…). I went through phone cards like nobody’s business (Oh, the days before the pervasive use of cell phones…). I was lonely, and I missed seeing my friends every single day. But after a semester-or-so, I found my own core group of friends that would carry me through the next four years, and my communication with the old gang grew more and more sparse. We’d send e-mails or IMs or call, but I’d never remember to return the messages, always saying “I’ll do it tonight” or “Next weekend, I’ll set aside time to call.”
And now we’re all spread around the country, with our own lives and jobs and families, and I want nothing more than to just hang out with them every weekend, sitting in someone’s basement or kitchen or family room, spending hours talking about nothing, or cruising Lindbergh in someone’s car, looking for something to do.
* “Follow Through” / Gavin DeGraw (Remember him? Oh-so-popular my senior year of college, he seems to have all but disappeared from my musical radar. This is a shame, because Chariot was good–real good.
**”Beanbag” and “Roadway” were two of his favorites: Mushing around my red beanbag chair into some complex, mountainous terrain for his Hot Wheels (“Beanbag”) or carefully driving said Hot Wheels over me, my blankets, and my pillow as I lie very still in bed, or on the floor, or wherever I happened to be at the time he decided I was his personal “Roadway.” “Slap-ball” was an blend of four-square and volleyball and tennis and any game played with one ball and two sides. We played with a massive blue-and-white swirled bouncy ball (which we called “the Earth ball” due to its coloration) in the paved area behind our house–or, if a car was parked back there, the driveway).
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Title: Happy Father’s Day, Dude
Last modified: June 21, 2009
My brother calls my Dad “buddy,” as in “Hey, Buddy, how’s your dinner?” or “Hey, Buddy, can I borrow your car?”
This drives my mom nuts. “Oh,” she’ll say, “So Dad’s your buddy, huh? Then what am I?”
Well, a crazy woman, but that’s aside from the point at hand.
I have known Dad for 27 years, minus the nine-ish months before I made my grand entrance when we had not yet been formally introduced in person, and this much is certain to me: to say that he is a tough nut to crack would be the Understatement Of The Century (other phrases in this category: “Lance Armstrong can kinda ride a bike” and “I’d prefer an irate chimpanzee doesn’t remove my eyelids by force”).
I’m not sure anyone has ever really known the guy, even my mom or his sister. The thing is, I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing. I mean, I’ve never known a more patient being. Hell, he has to put up with my mom, myself and my brother. Job doesn’t have shit on this man.
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Title: More Disjointed Thoughts
Last modified: June 24, 2009
I can say with absolutely no sense of hypocrisy or irony that basketball games move waaaaaay toooooo sloooooooow for me and yet, I find some baseball games aren’t long enough for my tastes. I think it’s because of all the damn timeouts in basketball; the last three minutes of the game last anywhere from 3-6 hours. Ugh. No thank you.
It’s been two weeks since I interviewed for the job at SLU. Call me back already, people! In a related rant, I sorta-stalkerishly Google’d a few of the people with whom I interviewed, only to discover some interesting things about my potential direct supervisor. Namely, this quote on a message board (posted under her actual name!):
“anything that takes more than two days will take 6 months if no one is on me about it”
“What if I go some where else and they can’t overlook my missed deadlines, flakiness, and forgotten meetings? ” (on the topic of job security)
This both encourages and concerns me, and I can’t help but wonder if this has something to do with the delay in the call-back. Something to think about.