Wednesday, August 18, 2004

Yeah, I can say the roadtrip was a success, I was on the road for 14 hours, circumventing the state, and I have the trophy empty bag of corn chips bought just over the border of Idaho. Yeah, I could have done potato chips. But that would be jejune, ya think? It was a great trip through a gorgeous state, and I had the road to myself most of the time. I felt cleansed, followed by a relaxing next day, and I even had notes from the road for the weekend's entries into the blog. I was ready for Saturday's 16 hours of work. So, of course, five minutes from the start of my double shift, and five strides across the street from my work, I stepped off the bus and had my foot go out from under me. I had sprained my ankle, and just now am back on my feet, well on one foot and one orthopedic boot.
Now that's comedy.
I'm fine. Really. Making the most of a forced vacation. Such is life.



Wednesday, August 11, 2004

No doubt about it now. Time to clean the psychic pipes, so to speak. I thought maybe I was questioning my progress, which would be the wrong direction, since I can't question how far I have come. The problem is not what I am doing, but how I feel about it. Or to be exact the lack of how I feel thereof.
It's not the full solution, but this will be a good start. I'm going for a drive. I'm renting a car tommorow and going... err... East-Northeast. Yeah. That's a good direction. Wonder how far I'll get.


Monday, August 09, 2004

I came. Ikea. I conquered. New desk, two bookcases, shelving unit, and chest of drawers. It reeks of permanence that should make me do the jig of joy. Then I get a weekend full of migraine, with a full-blown attack on Saturday night so bad that the Woman had to call in to work for the next day for me. I came to know the porcelain all too well that night. Anyway, I don't believe it was some random strike of heredity, even on the genetic family map, I am a cul-de-sac. I went out this morning to buy my monthly transit pass, and I found myself totally out of synch with the reality around me. Work is going to be interesting... if I don't get fired for missing yet more time, that is. I'd like to think they wouldn't since I'm "skilled" for the the site I work, but so could a crazed half-blind baboon, given three days of training. Well, if it could hold back on the flinging feces thing, and trust me, it's hard to fight the urge to toss your own poop at a supervisor some shifts.
I keep hoping all this ebb and flow is simply growing pains. That it is some linear development, leading upward to greater progress. But, then if three hours of reexperiencing my last two meals is just a minor stage, what is a major stage? Good grief. Oh well. Such is life, yes?




Tuesday, August 03, 2004

Just wanted to share this from yesterday, when I was sitting lobby watch at the security desk. I wrote these on wooden stirsticks found in a desk drawer.

"Wonder is an expression of the Spirit. Witness the Mundane with a Creative Eye. Comedy is within Wonder. Absurity is the Power over the Price of Normalcy. How absurd is business as usual. "

"Question why you question Authority. Rebellion for Rebellion's Sake is still Conformity. There
is no Box. Freedom is not coloring wildly outside the lines. Freedom is not ignoring the lines. Draw your your own lines."

"Quentin Crisp once said that Fashion is what you adopt when you don't know who you are. Appear Yourself. Forget Style over Substance. If Styles evokes Substance, They are not Style. They are Passions."


Sunday, August 01, 2004

If I am not for myself, who is for me? And being for my own self, what am I? If not now, when?"

- Rabbi Hillel "The Elder"

My supervisor, who shouldn’t be coming today, is coming, but not until the afternoon. This offers a small reprieve to maybe blog. Not like I’ve made much of any of my other opportunities to write, at work or elsewhere. My parents’ visit has gone unchronicled. Fragments of the high goofiness from my 64-hour workweek are lost to literary limbo. I missed even the chances to release a kvetchstorm on several petty confrontations. Hell, I passed on mocking the Democratic National Convention. The point is that I am not lacking for inspiration, but for just about everything else. Want to know what it’s like to have ADHD? Pretty much like this. You are a slave to your head. A mindwhore. You feel used like some cybernetic machine solely serving at the whims of your addiction for stimulus. Yeah, might sound like overdramatic. Then, you try to run the output of a Cray through a couple lousy abacuses. Not just that your internal processors work too much, more that all the input blows out the output lines unless your whole system is in synch with the programming language.

Filtered down more critically, and language is a core issue right now. Much as I wish I could just go old school dysfunctional, and blame it on biochemistry. When I try to write lately, what I put on screen and page feels so forced and contrived. Sometimes I feel like I don’t as much use words as I cook them. Words are ingredients, being nice alone, but best when combined properly and allowed to simmer. Just now, I am a lousy literary chef. I try too hard, and I end up with an overcooked pulpy mash, like bland pre-chewed grub stewed for a toothless Alzheimer’s patient. I let the prose flow too much and the paragraphs sit on screen like barely-kneaded dough left out too long to rise, raw and indigestible. Let alone that I’m dragging myself into the kitchen because I feel badly that I am not cooking as much as others wish, and don’t enjoy making a five-course dinner out of matzo meal just because I can.

(the stamp relates when I wrote this. I am posting it twelve hours later.)