a postcard from the hedge
Far be it from me to complain much about anything. I've tried to cut that out of my life; I've been moderately successful and the the quality of said life has gone up quite a bit as a result. As Something To Do Before You Die, I would recommend it to anyone, really.
So please don't take this as me complaining. Regardless of the label attached to it, though, my work is boring to a degree that is ... well, mystifying. Stultifying, even.
Don't get me wrong -- I like the few people I work with; I love love love the low stress nature of it, I like being able to set my own hours. And most of all, especially given the current US economy, I love being paid to do something useful. To someone.
The man I work for is a doctor. He is fairly rolling in dough; I'll spare you the list of evidence though. Trust me. He is. I'm helping him to get more money. It's money that is doe him, to be sure, that's buried in mega-reams of charts.
But it's boring. Deadly boring. And I don't do boring well. I'm not suited for it. I need challenge and stimulation. I need to keep my brain active, and endlessly searching for needles in haystacks is causing many of my remaining brain cells to leap screaming from my ears.
This is part of the reason I've not been writing. Yes, writing is a challenge, writing is enjoyable for me, but between work and taking care of my 8 year old daughter Ariann, well ... it's difficult for me to switch gears. And I have the neuropsychological testing report that says yes, because of my TBI it is difficult for me to switch gears.
So yeah. Last week was full of "up" days, when I've been happy and feeling good. Better than I have in a while, really. Last two days, not so much. The times that I can hold on to a thought seem to come and go with the tides. The shortness of those times seem to be more suited to the microblogging I'm doing on Twitter and now plurk.
(I'm doing fairly well, now. I must be having a lucid moment. Fortified by chocolate, no doubt.)
And that's where I've been the past month or three. Where have you been? What have you been doing?
So please don't take this as me complaining. Regardless of the label attached to it, though, my work is boring to a degree that is ... well, mystifying. Stultifying, even.
Don't get me wrong -- I like the few people I work with; I love love love the low stress nature of it, I like being able to set my own hours. And most of all, especially given the current US economy, I love being paid to do something useful. To someone.
The man I work for is a doctor. He is fairly rolling in dough; I'll spare you the list of evidence though. Trust me. He is. I'm helping him to get more money. It's money that is doe him, to be sure, that's buried in mega-reams of charts.
But it's boring. Deadly boring. And I don't do boring well. I'm not suited for it. I need challenge and stimulation. I need to keep my brain active, and endlessly searching for needles in haystacks is causing many of my remaining brain cells to leap screaming from my ears.
This is part of the reason I've not been writing. Yes, writing is a challenge, writing is enjoyable for me, but between work and taking care of my 8 year old daughter Ariann, well ... it's difficult for me to switch gears. And I have the neuropsychological testing report that says yes, because of my TBI it is difficult for me to switch gears.
So yeah. Last week was full of "up" days, when I've been happy and feeling good. Better than I have in a while, really. Last two days, not so much. The times that I can hold on to a thought seem to come and go with the tides. The shortness of those times seem to be more suited to the microblogging I'm doing on Twitter and now plurk.
(I'm doing fairly well, now. I must be having a lucid moment. Fortified by chocolate, no doubt.)
And that's where I've been the past month or three. Where have you been? What have you been doing?