I started writing a piece for a blog earlier today, but it isn't done yet. The four of you probably don't want to read an unfinished thought that spans 3/4 of a page. I mean, if you want, I can post it, but that only means I have to finish it soon so that I can post part two, which if you read the last blog that I didn't finish before posting, you know it doesn't work out so well.Enough about that. I'm going to sleep soon, but before I do, let me just say that I'm in the process of re-watching "Freaks and Geeks" on my roommate's DVDs (my brother used to have the deluxe super-cool version that came in the yearbook with two bonus discs, but someone fucking stole it), and I just have to say again how much I love this show. Yet more proof that people in charge of network TV hate everything I hold dear. It'll be great when I start writing for real. It'll be like Larry David's stint on SNL, where they only aired ONE of his sketches.
So, I was watching the Pilot episode, the one with the school dance. I thought about how I was always into the Lindsay Weir type girl -- smart and hot, but damaged and trying not to be smart. Sort of like the female version of how I viewed myself back then (although I didn't think I was hot...apparently, neither did the girls in my school). I'm pretty sure a cheerleader (and a senior at that!) did like me my junior year, and I know I liked her a lot, but I was too wrapped up in being an outcast listening to The Cure and The Smiths (before it was cool to like these bands outside of a John Hughes film). In particular, I remember a scene from the day we had a field trip to the Vanderbilt Planetarium. I may have even held her hand in the dark. All I remember is that while waiting for a ride home from the school, she looked at me longingly (I did not know what this meant back then) and I shit you not, she said "Why are you so far away?" probably not even realizing that she had just quoted my 7th favorite Cure song at that time ("Perfect Girl", "Pictures of You", "2 Late", "How Beautiful You Are" and "Charlotte Sometimes" outranked it, and "Like Cockatoos" fucking destroyed every other song on the planet to me at the time...O Robert Smith, wherefore art thou?).
I think that at the Planetarium, she and someone else had said that I should raise my hand and ask "Where's the Little Dipper?" or something at a weird moment. I probably could have made out with her if I had. Why was I such a stick in the mud? Did it have anything to do with being a "Mathlete?" Technically, it was called MESH (Math English Science History), and I was always more of a EH-xpert myself (math started eluding me in 7th grade, around the time the Space Shuttle blew up and I got a 49 on an algebra test. I thought my head was gonna explode after that). I never got to dance with her. Not like Sam danced with Cindy to "Come Sail Away." In fact, I'm pretty sure that any girl I tried to dance with turned her back to me as soon as I came near them.Wow, I have to be awake in 5 hours. Awesome!Oh, and in the one in 100, 000, 000 chance that you're reading this, Linda Cardellini, stop by and say hello.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Jonathan in Williamsburg and Margot At The Wedding
So far, I have lived in Williamsburg for three full weeks (this is my fourth week), and aside from having to stand most of the time for my entire ride on the L and A/C/E trains to get to and from work, it isn’t all that bad. I’m still getting my city legs, as it were. I mean, I love walking and it was one of the primary reasons I wanted to move out of the sticks (standup comedy, socializing and career options being the others), but I’m still adjusting to walking all the time again. Mind you, I’m no slouch. For shits and giggles last weekend, I walked from my apartment to Chinatown, crossing the Williamsburg Bridge in the process. It took me about 40 minutes, all told (I think I got where I was going in the same amount of time I would have had I taken the J train).
I’ve had a blast so far, having caught up with some friends from college that I haven’t seen in excess of a decade, and catching up with close friends I’ve missed since their own moves westward. Three full weeks and this is the first opportunity I’ve had to stop into a cafe for a bit to write down some thoughts electronically. Of course, most of what I was thinking I would type out is totally gone from my memory banks. Other things are too fresh to post now. In due time, there will be more stories. All just a part of life in the big city.
I’ve been going back and forth to Long Island on the weekends to pack up more and more of my crap. I am not into material possessions, as it were, but I AM a record collector. This puts me in kind of a quandary. I want to own less things, but all I own are records and CDs and tapes (well, and books and DVDs, to be fair, but if I had a smaller CD collection, like say, more normal people, it wouldn’t be an issue), and I am concerned that my furniture won’t fit in my bedroom in my apartment (although my bedroom is bigger than my previous occupancy, a quaint summer cottage on the water deep in suburbia that I lived in year-round, there was a living room and a front porch where all my CDs seemed to reside, all over everything). Mostly, I just want to have my bed and my TV in my room. And my other chair. I’ve been waiting for my other roommate to get back from tour to move the bigger items, because he has a van. I think he has returned from tour, but I haven’t seen him yet. I hope we at least stay in this place for a little while. Hauling all my belongings up three flights of stairs ought to last me awhile. Especially considering that I haven’t moved really in nearly seven years (I hardly count moving across the driveway, although my brother still managed to drop one of my speakers, breaking the peg that fastens the grille to the body of the speaker).
I made pretty good use of being on Long Island for the extended holiday weekend, though. On Thanksgiving, I saw “Margot At The Wedding” AND “The Giant Claw!” First off, I will preface my comments on “Margot” with the disclosure that I am a HUGE fan of Noah Baumbach, going back to several years ago when IFC would show “Kicking and Screaming” (not the Will Ferrell vehicle about kids playing soccer) in regular rotation, all because I heard that Dean Wareham did the music for his film “Mr. Jealousy.” As a big fan of Galaxie 500 and Luna, I knew it had to be good. Oh, and it was. Needless to say, I am a fan of Whit Stillman’s movies, as well. That whole Upper West Side intelligentsia thing that I had sort of mythologized and romanticized when I was a youngster (I envied my Uncle as I helped him move into his Chelsea co-op, imagining how amazing it must be to work and live in the center of the city).
Anyways, I had high expectations for “Margot” based on previous Baumbach excursions. I had heard some negative rumblings, but I held them in check until I could see for myself. First of all, let me say some nice things about the film. Jack Black was fantastic. He gets to show a serious, sensitive side that we should get to see more. Jennifer Jason Leigh is always wonderful, and her turn as Pauline is no exception. The actors playing the teenagers are superb as well. Unfortunately for all other parties involved, Nicole Kidman can’t even muster up enough emotion to portray a cold, neurotic bitch. Margot is a role that seems written for Parker Posey. Granted, that was probably what everyone would expect her to play, but I think the film would have been helped considerably by that casting choice. I mean, the film is a character study (it certainly isn’t an exercise in plot writing), so why bother employing an actor who can’t show depth? Margot is a complex woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She should vacillate between barbed insults and overly prodding suggestions and sheer lunacy. Ms. Kidman doesn’t really do this character justice.
What’s funny to me is that while I enjoyed watching this film, and I enjoyed a lot of the dialogue and pithy barbs tossed at a steady stream to whomever is in the room with whichever character opens his or her mouth, I was disappointed with the way it ended. The reason this is funny us because I am a big fan of Raymond Carver’s short stories, which are generally just snapshots of characters’ lives. They rarely start at the beginning or have a real end. Carver tended to fill in the colors, almost like a still-life with words. I love his approach. Yet, apply this approach to this film, and it left me perturbed. Is that a double-standard? Having said that, I would like to watch this again, and not just because Jennifer Jason Leigh gives the camera a little something something in one scene.
I’ve had a blast so far, having caught up with some friends from college that I haven’t seen in excess of a decade, and catching up with close friends I’ve missed since their own moves westward. Three full weeks and this is the first opportunity I’ve had to stop into a cafe for a bit to write down some thoughts electronically. Of course, most of what I was thinking I would type out is totally gone from my memory banks. Other things are too fresh to post now. In due time, there will be more stories. All just a part of life in the big city.
I’ve been going back and forth to Long Island on the weekends to pack up more and more of my crap. I am not into material possessions, as it were, but I AM a record collector. This puts me in kind of a quandary. I want to own less things, but all I own are records and CDs and tapes (well, and books and DVDs, to be fair, but if I had a smaller CD collection, like say, more normal people, it wouldn’t be an issue), and I am concerned that my furniture won’t fit in my bedroom in my apartment (although my bedroom is bigger than my previous occupancy, a quaint summer cottage on the water deep in suburbia that I lived in year-round, there was a living room and a front porch where all my CDs seemed to reside, all over everything). Mostly, I just want to have my bed and my TV in my room. And my other chair. I’ve been waiting for my other roommate to get back from tour to move the bigger items, because he has a van. I think he has returned from tour, but I haven’t seen him yet. I hope we at least stay in this place for a little while. Hauling all my belongings up three flights of stairs ought to last me awhile. Especially considering that I haven’t moved really in nearly seven years (I hardly count moving across the driveway, although my brother still managed to drop one of my speakers, breaking the peg that fastens the grille to the body of the speaker).
I made pretty good use of being on Long Island for the extended holiday weekend, though. On Thanksgiving, I saw “Margot At The Wedding” AND “The Giant Claw!” First off, I will preface my comments on “Margot” with the disclosure that I am a HUGE fan of Noah Baumbach, going back to several years ago when IFC would show “Kicking and Screaming” (not the Will Ferrell vehicle about kids playing soccer) in regular rotation, all because I heard that Dean Wareham did the music for his film “Mr. Jealousy.” As a big fan of Galaxie 500 and Luna, I knew it had to be good. Oh, and it was. Needless to say, I am a fan of Whit Stillman’s movies, as well. That whole Upper West Side intelligentsia thing that I had sort of mythologized and romanticized when I was a youngster (I envied my Uncle as I helped him move into his Chelsea co-op, imagining how amazing it must be to work and live in the center of the city).
Anyways, I had high expectations for “Margot” based on previous Baumbach excursions. I had heard some negative rumblings, but I held them in check until I could see for myself. First of all, let me say some nice things about the film. Jack Black was fantastic. He gets to show a serious, sensitive side that we should get to see more. Jennifer Jason Leigh is always wonderful, and her turn as Pauline is no exception. The actors playing the teenagers are superb as well. Unfortunately for all other parties involved, Nicole Kidman can’t even muster up enough emotion to portray a cold, neurotic bitch. Margot is a role that seems written for Parker Posey. Granted, that was probably what everyone would expect her to play, but I think the film would have been helped considerably by that casting choice. I mean, the film is a character study (it certainly isn’t an exercise in plot writing), so why bother employing an actor who can’t show depth? Margot is a complex woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She should vacillate between barbed insults and overly prodding suggestions and sheer lunacy. Ms. Kidman doesn’t really do this character justice.
What’s funny to me is that while I enjoyed watching this film, and I enjoyed a lot of the dialogue and pithy barbs tossed at a steady stream to whomever is in the room with whichever character opens his or her mouth, I was disappointed with the way it ended. The reason this is funny us because I am a big fan of Raymond Carver’s short stories, which are generally just snapshots of characters’ lives. They rarely start at the beginning or have a real end. Carver tended to fill in the colors, almost like a still-life with words. I love his approach. Yet, apply this approach to this film, and it left me perturbed. Is that a double-standard? Having said that, I would like to watch this again, and not just because Jennifer Jason Leigh gives the camera a little something something in one scene.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Blog Parts
blog parts 5/23/07
Dear Giant Ants,
Please stop hanging around in my bathroom, especially when I am sitting on the toilet. It is NOT cool, seriously. Climbing on my ass while i'm trying to take a poop is just crossing the line. It really eeks me out. Did I mention I found a can of RAID?
------------------------
6/18/07
Ever have that dream where you're at a kind of party with Seth Rogen and Paul Rudd and you meet them and start hanging out, having a good time and whatnot, and then sometime after that, you're living in a gas station in a desert with your mom? And then your grandma comes to visit and the first thing she does is break your brand new acoustic guitar because it freaked her out? And then you find your backup guitar and it's covered in three different kinds of tape -- clear packing, electrical and duct? And then you realize you're going to be late for work.
So, you walk into this big building and there's yoga instruction going on, but you forgot your coffee in the guitar-mutilation mayhem, so you go down the escalator to the Koffee R Us or whatever, and Seth Rogen is there, and he's getting a coffee, too. So, you're palling around, the hostess is asking him if he knows anyone on "the inside" who can help her with her acting career, and he's all like "yeah, no, I'm not really in touch with anyone "on the inside" because, um, that's prison lingo, and I'm a Canadian Jew, so I uh try to keep a low profile, because I wouldn't survive a night in jail. Besides, the only people I have an in with are the kind that can get you a good grilled cheese with bacon sandwich. Because I'm fat." The hostess is offended because this whole speech went right over her head, so she disappears in a huff.
Then, you get up to the counter to order your grande mocha, because, even in your dreams you order the same damn drinks, and the barrista just stares at you. Ten seconds later, and he starts doing a standup routine on the stage. And it's good! He's totally killing! And then he leaves the stage, filling his mouth with whipped cream and disappears. You're left with the option of making your own damned mocha or going to work without coffee. Is that a valid excuse when you're late to work?
---------------------
So, every commercial on the ION network is for a drug -- there's the one so you can breathe better, but it might prevent you from taking a crap. There's another one that helps your eyes produce tears if you've been born without working tear ducts -- but you can't take it if you have eye herpes! That's right, they actually say EYE HERPES in the commercial. Classy! (I know part of this was in the last blog, so eat it).
Dear Giant Ants,
Please stop hanging around in my bathroom, especially when I am sitting on the toilet. It is NOT cool, seriously. Climbing on my ass while i'm trying to take a poop is just crossing the line. It really eeks me out. Did I mention I found a can of RAID?
------------------------
6/18/07
Ever have that dream where you're at a kind of party with Seth Rogen and Paul Rudd and you meet them and start hanging out, having a good time and whatnot, and then sometime after that, you're living in a gas station in a desert with your mom? And then your grandma comes to visit and the first thing she does is break your brand new acoustic guitar because it freaked her out? And then you find your backup guitar and it's covered in three different kinds of tape -- clear packing, electrical and duct? And then you realize you're going to be late for work.
So, you walk into this big building and there's yoga instruction going on, but you forgot your coffee in the guitar-mutilation mayhem, so you go down the escalator to the Koffee R Us or whatever, and Seth Rogen is there, and he's getting a coffee, too. So, you're palling around, the hostess is asking him if he knows anyone on "the inside" who can help her with her acting career, and he's all like "yeah, no, I'm not really in touch with anyone "on the inside" because, um, that's prison lingo, and I'm a Canadian Jew, so I uh try to keep a low profile, because I wouldn't survive a night in jail. Besides, the only people I have an in with are the kind that can get you a good grilled cheese with bacon sandwich. Because I'm fat." The hostess is offended because this whole speech went right over her head, so she disappears in a huff.
Then, you get up to the counter to order your grande mocha, because, even in your dreams you order the same damn drinks, and the barrista just stares at you. Ten seconds later, and he starts doing a standup routine on the stage. And it's good! He's totally killing! And then he leaves the stage, filling his mouth with whipped cream and disappears. You're left with the option of making your own damned mocha or going to work without coffee. Is that a valid excuse when you're late to work?
---------------------
So, every commercial on the ION network is for a drug -- there's the one so you can breathe better, but it might prevent you from taking a crap. There's another one that helps your eyes produce tears if you've been born without working tear ducts -- but you can't take it if you have eye herpes! That's right, they actually say EYE HERPES in the commercial. Classy! (I know part of this was in the last blog, so eat it).
June 19, 2007 Day In Review, Part One
J-Ro’s Day in review Blog
6/19/07
So, instead of being the weird guy who goes to diners or coffee shops alone, writing and staring at people, I’m the weird guy who sits at the sushi bar alone, writing and staring at people. But hey, I’m hungry and want to be outside (it’s officially dine on the patio season), and my movie doesn’t start for another hour, anyway. And the best part of eating here is that the waitress looks like an Asian Jennifer Aniston. I don’t know how it’s possible, but it is. I want to call her Rachel. How great would it be if that was really her name? I would totally change my name to Ross just to go out with her. She’s probably way way too young. (side note: she can’t be WAY too young, because I saw her at the Nag’s Head on a Tuesday night)
A Myspace friend of mine had plans tonight, otherwise, I might possibly have had sushi not alone. But, such is not the case tonight. Maybe some other night. I have to say, though, that it might be nice to meet someone else. If I don’t end up moving soon, I might want to try that. Radiohead said that meeting people is easy. Which is a great joke, since someone who looks like Thom Yorke could not have gotten a lot of women if he wasn’t the singer in one of the biggest bands to come out of England in the 90s. I’ve been threatening to move for something like two years now. It really is time to shit or get off the pot, the pot being Long Island.
Boy, do I love sushi! I might try the Masago if there’s time. I should have ridden my bike again today, but I was actually cleaning my bathroom and vacuuming lightly. Hopefully this will keep me from getting sick all the time.
So, I had the sushi appetizer, which consists of one piece shrimp, two piece salmon, one piece yellowtail and one piece tuna (if I remember correctly). For a main course, I went with the Hotate roll, which is broiled eel, avocado and scallions, topped with spicy scallops. Hoo boy, was it tasty! When I finished that, I had one piece of Tako (octopus). Not bad. I did not get the Masago (smelt roe) this time. Maybe I will next time. I like trying different things, and so far, I’ve had the shitake rolls (great for vegetarians), the Red Bonbori rolls, the Louisianna Rolls...the sushi here is quite good. I also love Tomo Sushi in Smithtown (the Huntington location is good, too, and they even have hibachi there), but the sushi here is different.
Just in case you think that I will eat sushi anywhere and love it, that’s only almost true. Shiki in Smithtown is decent, but I’m not crazy about it. So, even though it is only down the street, most of my Tuesdays I get food from Tomo.
6/19/07
So, instead of being the weird guy who goes to diners or coffee shops alone, writing and staring at people, I’m the weird guy who sits at the sushi bar alone, writing and staring at people. But hey, I’m hungry and want to be outside (it’s officially dine on the patio season), and my movie doesn’t start for another hour, anyway. And the best part of eating here is that the waitress looks like an Asian Jennifer Aniston. I don’t know how it’s possible, but it is. I want to call her Rachel. How great would it be if that was really her name? I would totally change my name to Ross just to go out with her. She’s probably way way too young. (side note: she can’t be WAY too young, because I saw her at the Nag’s Head on a Tuesday night)
A Myspace friend of mine had plans tonight, otherwise, I might possibly have had sushi not alone. But, such is not the case tonight. Maybe some other night. I have to say, though, that it might be nice to meet someone else. If I don’t end up moving soon, I might want to try that. Radiohead said that meeting people is easy. Which is a great joke, since someone who looks like Thom Yorke could not have gotten a lot of women if he wasn’t the singer in one of the biggest bands to come out of England in the 90s. I’ve been threatening to move for something like two years now. It really is time to shit or get off the pot, the pot being Long Island.
Boy, do I love sushi! I might try the Masago if there’s time. I should have ridden my bike again today, but I was actually cleaning my bathroom and vacuuming lightly. Hopefully this will keep me from getting sick all the time.
So, I had the sushi appetizer, which consists of one piece shrimp, two piece salmon, one piece yellowtail and one piece tuna (if I remember correctly). For a main course, I went with the Hotate roll, which is broiled eel, avocado and scallions, topped with spicy scallops. Hoo boy, was it tasty! When I finished that, I had one piece of Tako (octopus). Not bad. I did not get the Masago (smelt roe) this time. Maybe I will next time. I like trying different things, and so far, I’ve had the shitake rolls (great for vegetarians), the Red Bonbori rolls, the Louisianna Rolls...the sushi here is quite good. I also love Tomo Sushi in Smithtown (the Huntington location is good, too, and they even have hibachi there), but the sushi here is different.
Just in case you think that I will eat sushi anywhere and love it, that’s only almost true. Shiki in Smithtown is decent, but I’m not crazy about it. So, even though it is only down the street, most of my Tuesdays I get food from Tomo.
Monday, April 04, 2005
Drowning In A Sea of Self-hindrance
Something very few people probably know about me is that I have very high expectations...not just for those around me, but for myself. Ok, maybe some of you knew that. In and of itself, not so much a problem; but the fact that these high expectations I have of myself often have a tendency to result in a paralyzing fear of doing anything at all, because I might not live up to these expectations tends to muddy the waters a bit. It really makes no sense at all as to how a fear of not accomplishing something perfectly can convince someone to not do anything at all. I know this. Nevertheless, I fall into this pattern fairly often, and have loads of trouble overcoming it. I am fairly outspoken with the ideas I have, and am great at strategizing, but often fail at the follow-through. I have people around me who want to and are more than willing to help me accomplish these tasks, but I tend to keep them at bay, because I feel I need to draw up grand schematics for simple activities. I often know what needs to be done, but have trouble making to-do lists. I often complain that I do not have enough time to do these things, but I can sit and watch lots of tv, claiming that I am so exhausted from my stressful 12-hour shifts at work. I often feel that my time off is spent sleeping and that I never seem to have a chance to catch up with the world around me that has seemingly changed so much while I was working for the better part of an entire week...
There are many things that I want to do with my life. I have been lucky in that I have done a couple of those things on a smaller scale. With my monetary assistance, an amazing band was able to record an fucking incredible, awesome-sounding record. I am very proud of mid-wiving this record. Unfortunately, I have yet to manage the strength and mobility to work any kind of substantial momentum to get behind the record the way the band deserves. But all the hassles of my job are starting to get to me. I feel like I spend so much of my off-time from work stressing myself out about the record stuff that I don't fully relax. I know that if I just spent some time concentrating on this work for the band, that I would feel less stressed and perhaps proud that I have accomplished anything at all, but the amount of energy it often takes me to get that far is draining in and of itself.
Right now, I just really want to cut myself off from the world, not work for a couple weeks, try sleeping on a normal schedule, getting myself that laptop computer I need so badly, and get back to working on my erstwhile novel-in-progress. It has been so long since I have worked on it that I cannot remember many of the anecdotes of my life that had originally spurred this on. I just feel like I am stagnating because of my "day job" on the night-shift, and that it eats up so much of what should be my productive time (I work better at nights, but if I am working at night, I can't be productive for myself, and that is a big fucking problem for me right now), and I have notbeen able to adjust after 2-plus years, which means I may never adjust. Something needs to change ASAP. I think it's my job. I don't need this stress in my life. I need a more-balanced life. I need to have a couple hours every day where I can sit and bullshit through my keyboard like I am now...share my thoughts and feelings somehow...communicate. Without this ability to communicate, I might as well be dead. I don't want to be dead. I want to be able to enjoy the wonderful parts of my life while I still have them -- my friends, music, my girlfriend, my family (who I have been neglecting the last couple of years, and this neglect has been spawning a giant guilt-monster inside me that may also be contributing to my decline at this point), and even quality time with myself. It has been 3 years since the last time I wandered aimlessly in NYC for the sole purpose of watching people being people and observing their interactions and their comings and goings, and translating all that into a written account of the world from my perspective...notes taken down whilst sitting in a café somehwere. These are things that make me happy. I have been denied this happiness for 3 years now. That is kind of fucked up. I can't deal with this denial anymore. I need to be allowed to be myself. Instead, I have a job that I don't even care about, but stress myself out over, even though they very clearly stated to me the essence that while under their employ, the notion of having a life is a PRIVILEGE, that I must earn by playing their fucking bullshit game of kissing a clown's ass. Anyone who knows me knows that I simply am not wired for ass-kissing, because I am programmed to automatically dispute anyone with authority over me, because anyone appointed to such a position is always full of shit and not qualified to tell me what to do. I learn very quickly how to do my job, and once I have a handle on that, refuse to take any directions from idiots. Somehow, these idiots are ALWAYS my boss. Anyways, as such, I end up dreading going to work, and because they make a big deal out of my being a minute late, I will subconsciously manage to make myself late as much as possible, because I cannot conceivably kowtow to such fascism.
This does not make a good personal essay for a future employer, that much is certain. But that is all for now. It is time to go bowling and relieve some of that stress.
There are many things that I want to do with my life. I have been lucky in that I have done a couple of those things on a smaller scale. With my monetary assistance, an amazing band was able to record an fucking incredible, awesome-sounding record. I am very proud of mid-wiving this record. Unfortunately, I have yet to manage the strength and mobility to work any kind of substantial momentum to get behind the record the way the band deserves. But all the hassles of my job are starting to get to me. I feel like I spend so much of my off-time from work stressing myself out about the record stuff that I don't fully relax. I know that if I just spent some time concentrating on this work for the band, that I would feel less stressed and perhaps proud that I have accomplished anything at all, but the amount of energy it often takes me to get that far is draining in and of itself.
Right now, I just really want to cut myself off from the world, not work for a couple weeks, try sleeping on a normal schedule, getting myself that laptop computer I need so badly, and get back to working on my erstwhile novel-in-progress. It has been so long since I have worked on it that I cannot remember many of the anecdotes of my life that had originally spurred this on. I just feel like I am stagnating because of my "day job" on the night-shift, and that it eats up so much of what should be my productive time (I work better at nights, but if I am working at night, I can't be productive for myself, and that is a big fucking problem for me right now), and I have notbeen able to adjust after 2-plus years, which means I may never adjust. Something needs to change ASAP. I think it's my job. I don't need this stress in my life. I need a more-balanced life. I need to have a couple hours every day where I can sit and bullshit through my keyboard like I am now...share my thoughts and feelings somehow...communicate. Without this ability to communicate, I might as well be dead. I don't want to be dead. I want to be able to enjoy the wonderful parts of my life while I still have them -- my friends, music, my girlfriend, my family (who I have been neglecting the last couple of years, and this neglect has been spawning a giant guilt-monster inside me that may also be contributing to my decline at this point), and even quality time with myself. It has been 3 years since the last time I wandered aimlessly in NYC for the sole purpose of watching people being people and observing their interactions and their comings and goings, and translating all that into a written account of the world from my perspective...notes taken down whilst sitting in a café somehwere. These are things that make me happy. I have been denied this happiness for 3 years now. That is kind of fucked up. I can't deal with this denial anymore. I need to be allowed to be myself. Instead, I have a job that I don't even care about, but stress myself out over, even though they very clearly stated to me the essence that while under their employ, the notion of having a life is a PRIVILEGE, that I must earn by playing their fucking bullshit game of kissing a clown's ass. Anyone who knows me knows that I simply am not wired for ass-kissing, because I am programmed to automatically dispute anyone with authority over me, because anyone appointed to such a position is always full of shit and not qualified to tell me what to do. I learn very quickly how to do my job, and once I have a handle on that, refuse to take any directions from idiots. Somehow, these idiots are ALWAYS my boss. Anyways, as such, I end up dreading going to work, and because they make a big deal out of my being a minute late, I will subconsciously manage to make myself late as much as possible, because I cannot conceivably kowtow to such fascism.
This does not make a good personal essay for a future employer, that much is certain. But that is all for now. It is time to go bowling and relieve some of that stress.
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