Who says I can't spend my day at work?
Ah, I had a long day at work. Worked out to be almost 9 hours at that ice cream place. However, I don't have the fatigue or the soreness. Then again, it was steady and I got a whole lot of shit done without running around like a wild animal. I ended up looking to see how many hours I worked this week and it turned out to be 36. And earlier today I found out I'm getting a raise! That kicks ass. Don't know how much it will be, but hey, a raise is a raise.
Lately, I've been going through a lot of files from the past, especially ones from high school on this one specific disk. Got the last of the documents on my computer, but I have to convert them to Word files instead of Works. That's the tedious part, but it's been cool reading a lot of it, whether it was academic or personal. Here's a sample of something I wrote in creative writing my senior year of high school:
Ode to the Pianoman (10/01)
Ivory white keys assembled in an orderly fashion,
Polished black keys scattered among the white.
Ten fingers touch the polished and smooth surface,
The major and minor tones cluttered in his mind.
A melody emerges into a smoke-filled nightclub,
Peaking the interest of a few curious souls.
Feeling disperses through an unemotional world,
Echoing music in the walls of a shadowy lounge.
A stranger approaches the musician with a request,
While the piano rambles on in an improvised way,
But the player doesn’t hear the presence,
He just disappears into his world of sharps and flats.
His life becomes the notes that he plays,
Intense and profound with each accent he emphasizes,
Somber and confused within each phrase he invents,
Deep and mysterious in the direction he pursues.
The pianoman yearns to master what he knows best
Because he puts his heart and soul in his hands.
He doesn’t allow one note to diminish,
Without its full control being in his fingers.
The smoke is clearing in the air,
Leaving behind a single man with his passion,
Playing for his own personal satisfaction,
That fills him with a special kind of delight and wonder.
Passion burns in those who desire it,
Putting themselves on the line,
To express the feelings buried deep down inside,
To show others who they are
As the music continues to play.
Lately, I've been going through a lot of files from the past, especially ones from high school on this one specific disk. Got the last of the documents on my computer, but I have to convert them to Word files instead of Works. That's the tedious part, but it's been cool reading a lot of it, whether it was academic or personal. Here's a sample of something I wrote in creative writing my senior year of high school:
Ode to the Pianoman (10/01)
Ivory white keys assembled in an orderly fashion,
Polished black keys scattered among the white.
Ten fingers touch the polished and smooth surface,
The major and minor tones cluttered in his mind.
A melody emerges into a smoke-filled nightclub,
Peaking the interest of a few curious souls.
Feeling disperses through an unemotional world,
Echoing music in the walls of a shadowy lounge.
A stranger approaches the musician with a request,
While the piano rambles on in an improvised way,
But the player doesn’t hear the presence,
He just disappears into his world of sharps and flats.
His life becomes the notes that he plays,
Intense and profound with each accent he emphasizes,
Somber and confused within each phrase he invents,
Deep and mysterious in the direction he pursues.
The pianoman yearns to master what he knows best
Because he puts his heart and soul in his hands.
He doesn’t allow one note to diminish,
Without its full control being in his fingers.
The smoke is clearing in the air,
Leaving behind a single man with his passion,
Playing for his own personal satisfaction,
That fills him with a special kind of delight and wonder.
Passion burns in those who desire it,
Putting themselves on the line,
To express the feelings buried deep down inside,
To show others who they are
As the music continues to play.