First and foremost, I need to apologize. One, for not finishing my 100 day challenge and two, for complaining about my job every other (or every) post. I am sorry.
Ironically enough, I logged on today to talk about how frackin boring my job has been and how awfully painful Monday’s are, but after reading over my past few posts, I have decide to spare you the mundane details. Isn’t that funny, my boring job has become mundane. Ahh, I could pull out my hair.
Anyhow, I sit here twiddling my thumbs trying to figure out how to entertain you all.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Back to basics (or a reminder)
Obviously, I suck at anything that requires me to do, well, anything. Schedules are out the door, having one specific way to do things is just plain boring, and well, daily activities of even brushing my teeth or posting to my blog obviously gets swept to the wayside. I’m a much more here-and-now person, which is why most of you can never get me on the phone. I’m much more content with what’s happening right now in front of me, than what happening in five states over with you. That sounds bad. I am not that self centered, it’s just hard to stop the present to deal with things that have happened in the past or things that might happen in the future. If that doesn’t make sense to you then you can assume I am that self centered. Really. Go ahead. Believe it. It’s okay with me. I’ll survive.
So this is Day nothing. This is not a daily writing prompt. This is not me trying to be a writer. This is not another ritual. This is a reminder. This is a reminder of why I started this blog in the first place.
On my commute home last night, I listened to NPR, as always. And as always, I was battling traffic and trying not to fall asleep, when a story peaked my interest. It was called Hope: A precious commodity in this job market. It spotlighted Randy Howland, who is one of the six Saint Louis residents NPR is following in the story: The Road Back to Work. And for the next 4 minutes and 54 seconds I listened to the soft voice of Randy Howland detailing his struggles with the job market. BTW, unemployment is now at 9.2%, it was 9.7% last year ago in June when I started this blog. Gives me hope. Does it not you? (read in sarcastic tone)
Randy is employed, making 10 dollars an hour working from 3 pm until the early hours of the morning. He says at one point all he wants is a normal job, with normal pay, and normal hours. God, he reminds me so much of myself. While my job has normal hours, that’s about the only thing normal about it. My pay is way below the normal wage, but I am thankful at the end of every month when I get a paycheck, even if it doesn’t stretch very far. My job is normal, for someone who does not have a college degree and can sit for hours in a gray cubicle staring at a computer screen. But then again, I guess this is our reality and I guess this new reality is now normality.
This reminds me of a shirt my sister had as a kid. It had a guy hanging upside down and the words “Normal is boring.”
I think about my work when I’m not there. I think about the people. I think about doing my tasks. And what’s worse, I dream about them too. So basically, what I am trying to say here is: work is on my mind 24-7, work is on my mind when I’m not there, work is on my mind when I should be relaxing and not thinking about work. Work. Work. Work. I asked my roommate the other day if he felt the same way, yes, he said, my work is always on my mind too.
If this is how its gonna be, if I’m going to always be thinking about work and dreaming about work, I want to do something I love. I don’t want my thought and dreams to be filled with something that bores me.
And these were the thoughts I was having as I drove home (from work) last night.
Are we all mutually unhappy with our jobs? Does it show? What would our society be like if we could all do what we loved?
So this is Day nothing. This is not a daily writing prompt. This is not me trying to be a writer. This is not another ritual. This is a reminder. This is a reminder of why I started this blog in the first place.
On my commute home last night, I listened to NPR, as always. And as always, I was battling traffic and trying not to fall asleep, when a story peaked my interest. It was called Hope: A precious commodity in this job market. It spotlighted Randy Howland, who is one of the six Saint Louis residents NPR is following in the story: The Road Back to Work. And for the next 4 minutes and 54 seconds I listened to the soft voice of Randy Howland detailing his struggles with the job market. BTW, unemployment is now at 9.2%, it was 9.7% last year ago in June when I started this blog. Gives me hope. Does it not you? (read in sarcastic tone)
Randy is employed, making 10 dollars an hour working from 3 pm until the early hours of the morning. He says at one point all he wants is a normal job, with normal pay, and normal hours. God, he reminds me so much of myself. While my job has normal hours, that’s about the only thing normal about it. My pay is way below the normal wage, but I am thankful at the end of every month when I get a paycheck, even if it doesn’t stretch very far. My job is normal, for someone who does not have a college degree and can sit for hours in a gray cubicle staring at a computer screen. But then again, I guess this is our reality and I guess this new reality is now normality.
This reminds me of a shirt my sister had as a kid. It had a guy hanging upside down and the words “Normal is boring.”
I think about my work when I’m not there. I think about the people. I think about doing my tasks. And what’s worse, I dream about them too. So basically, what I am trying to say here is: work is on my mind 24-7, work is on my mind when I’m not there, work is on my mind when I should be relaxing and not thinking about work. Work. Work. Work. I asked my roommate the other day if he felt the same way, yes, he said, my work is always on my mind too.
If this is how its gonna be, if I’m going to always be thinking about work and dreaming about work, I want to do something I love. I don’t want my thought and dreams to be filled with something that bores me.
And these were the thoughts I was having as I drove home (from work) last night.
Are we all mutually unhappy with our jobs? Does it show? What would our society be like if we could all do what we loved?
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Day 37 (or 43)
Make something with a stapler. You can staple things together or, heck, just work with the loose staples. Even the stapler itself can be transformed.
Um, I’m a little behind. I’m not sure what day I am actually supposed to be on, it may be day 43, but I can’t be for certain.
I went on vacation. Stuck my toes in the sand. Devoured sea creatures like I was a starving kid from Japan. Got some sun on my skin (and freckles on my cheeks). Overindulged. Precisely everything the doctor ordered. Oh, and I celebrated my 25th birthday by falling on my ass trying to skim board. I am not sixteen anymore and my body can feel it.
Anyhow, I did not think about staplers or this blog for that point (except for once and it went like this: “Holy shit I haven’t posted in forever, I wonder if my fan base, aka. All 3 of you, are hating me now. Hmmm, probably . . . not. OMG, I’m out of beer, much bigger problem.”) I did ironically think about work a lot, which is about as dull as a stapler. For an industry like tourism, you’d be surprised at how frackin bor-ring working a 8-5 day can be. Good god, I need to be an event planner or do something that actually requires a brain (or a college degree).
But then again if I changed jobs I wouldn’t be able to ramble on daily about my efforts to take over the world or at least live in unison with it. And, that giant ongoing game of scrabble I just started, what would happen with that? Loss by forfeit, I think not.
So, I keep staring at my stapler.
This is what I have for you today:
My job is like a stapler as:
a. Zebras are to pencils
b. Pineapples are to kites
c. Genghis Kahn is to feud
d. Spots are to ladybugs
P.S. I love this song.
Um, I’m a little behind. I’m not sure what day I am actually supposed to be on, it may be day 43, but I can’t be for certain.
I went on vacation. Stuck my toes in the sand. Devoured sea creatures like I was a starving kid from Japan. Got some sun on my skin (and freckles on my cheeks). Overindulged. Precisely everything the doctor ordered. Oh, and I celebrated my 25th birthday by falling on my ass trying to skim board. I am not sixteen anymore and my body can feel it.
Anyhow, I did not think about staplers or this blog for that point (except for once and it went like this: “Holy shit I haven’t posted in forever, I wonder if my fan base, aka. All 3 of you, are hating me now. Hmmm, probably . . . not. OMG, I’m out of beer, much bigger problem.”) I did ironically think about work a lot, which is about as dull as a stapler. For an industry like tourism, you’d be surprised at how frackin bor-ring working a 8-5 day can be. Good god, I need to be an event planner or do something that actually requires a brain (or a college degree).
But then again if I changed jobs I wouldn’t be able to ramble on daily about my efforts to take over the world or at least live in unison with it. And, that giant ongoing game of scrabble I just started, what would happen with that? Loss by forfeit, I think not.
So, I keep staring at my stapler.
This is what I have for you today:
My job is like a stapler as:
a. Zebras are to pencils
b. Pineapples are to kites
c. Genghis Kahn is to feud
d. Spots are to ladybugs
P.S. I love this song.
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