Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Stream of Consciousness (Read: Probably Incomprehensible)

I see things linearly. When I was younger I would think about my future, and always I would have marks along a line. This is where I am now.


This is where I imagined myself to be when I was seven, thinking about how hard college would be, but then assuring myself I would have it all figured out by then. Then, of course, the x looked much farther away because I was looking ahead at it, like a tiny, barely distinguishable building in the distance along the road I was on. Getting to the building actually doesn’t take that much time, it just looks impossibly far away. When I was seven I was here:

And, obviously,

was better than

So is

and better yet, there’s


Where I am never seems to be as good as where I will be, which presents two problems.
1. I cannot be constantly looking towards a better, brighter future and also be a reminiscent person. I am very fond of my memories.
2. The x inevitably moves towards the end, towards death, and an attitude that says progression is always preferable to standstill regardless of when it means a loss of life implies I am either
a) deeply depressed, potentially suicidal,
b) ungrateful,
c) stupid.

Clearly there’s some flawed logic at play. What happened to convince me of the superiority of the farther-along x? Why was that x happier? Sometimes I forget all about the x and the line and get caught up where I am, here, underneath the cement staircase, where it smells damp but the atmosphere’s friendly and we’re huddled like mice in a storm listening to guitar. Like when the music is impenetrable, and we’ve all had just enough to drink, a few have had more, and we are exuberant, stretching our limbs and throwing our hair and all the pictures turn out too blurry. Like when I was little, I woke up early on a summer morning and went outside to the blueberry bush, picked a bowlful and sat at the counter with my bowl of berries and my storybook called “Blueberries for Sal,” waiting for my mother to turn around from the coffeepot and notice my smug smile, thinking of how clever I was.

It takes a lot of practice to remember these things. Along the way there are countless times spent curled in the ball on the bathroom floor, forgetting your promise to keep sane and remember the small things. There’s a lot of bewildered examinations of your day planner, dedications to start color-coding your activities, commitments, work schedule, in order to make your life more manageable.

I spend a lot of time trying to remember my many promises to myself, the most important promise being to stop thinking about my promises and calm the fuck down. You could say that’s the ironic part about all of this. To be truthful I’d never much given the x and the line much thought. It wasn’t until I realized the flaws of the x-line thinking that I really considered how much the x’s position on the line meant to me. That’s when I saw how badly it needed to stop. The line doesn’t accommodate any time for standing still, the x is always plodding along with very little consideration for what I want. “Fine,” the x might say, “you go ahead and have your freak out, I’ll be a few miles up the road when you’re ready to catch up.” And I, mascara-stained and out of breath, will inevitably arrive at the x, slap it heartily on the neck and hop right on again.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

Between a Closet With No Shelves and Another Closet With No Shelves

So my promise to myself to blog ALL THE TIME THIS SUMMER clearly is not going as planned since its been 15 days since I blogged last and that obviously means I will NEVER reach my goals of becoming dooce. Oh well. A lot has happened and all of the sudden August is nearly over and I'm feeling the onslaught of fall/school/the end of summer for a WHOLE YEAR a little too soon. I truly don't know what happened, but even though school doesn't start until September 24th I'm still feeling overwhelmed with the upcoming quarter and depressed about the fact that its pouring outside and has been for the past four days. Boo.

I've been really busy doing a lot of things which DON'T include making money (except today, because I'm at work right now, isn't that fun?) and not making money is kind of a problem because I'm reals broke and can't seem to communicate that idea effectively to my hands as they keep pulling out my debit card to spend on even MORE pizza/sushi (at least, yum). Here's what I've done:

Moved into a new place with Tucker.
Gone home to visit my sister who's up from Utah for a bit.
Gone to the Radiohead concert.
Sliced my thumb open and gone to the ER.
Worked at a REAL job like, once. Today.

Moving has been exciting/gratifying/really drawn out. Its thrilling to put each thing away, watch our little house materialize into a real-life house, and decide where each item will live. But its also ridiculously slow, namely because our house has only a few closets, none of which have shelves (pantry included. What?). Tucker has been deemed the handyman, as always, and I have to pretty much hunker down and wait for him to finish the 3o projects I proposed to him. I suppose I could tackle The Closet of Stuff I Don't Want to Deal With, but that would be boring. And I would probably cry. So I'm procrastinating. Anyway, where should I store the printer that's out of ink (and whose cartridges cost $40) and the scanner whose cable I don't own? Sigh.

I was planning on Radiohead being the highlight of the summer- the tickets did put me out $55, but it was kind of a letdown. For one, it took four hours to get from our house to the amphitheater. Secondly, I'd never been to a seriously huge concert before and had no idea what I was getting myself into. The crowds (20,000? 30,000?), the painfully ill-planned parking arrangement (it took an hour to get from our parking to the road), the rain, the distance from our spots on the lawn to the stage...
Granted, I'm still glowing when I think about experiencing the music firsthand. I've been listening to Radiohead really loud and pondering the brilliance behind every song. But I would never do it again, for sure. I wish I could time travel to when Radiohead wouldn't consistently sell out shows in every town to 30,000 people, I wish I could go to a real venue and see them, but I can't, boohoo.

Sunday, August 10, 2008

Pros/cons of my workplace

I get to see babies, and babies make me smile.
Watching heart-wrenching parent-child interactions.
I get to draw.
I get to read books.
I get to read The Stranger as long as I cover up the extensive inappropriate ads.
I can do sudoku.
I can blog.
I can pretty much do whatever I feel like.
Good coworkers.
A lovely boss.
We get muffins at work meetings. Ooh!

Cute babies make me want one, too. This is unhealthy.
Nine year-old boys, the bane of my existence.
Parents who don't moniter their screaming, object-throwing, running nine year-old boys.
Explaining why we have to charge for adults. Over and over and over.
People who don't understand why we want them to leave at 5:00, when we close.
Blasting air-conditioner (though this could at times be a pro).
The TV that has no regard for the specific programming that I reprogram into it every morning.