And, There's No Need For Me
Yipes, I've neglected this thing for awhile, haven't I, Sean? Well, wow, I mean, I don't even know where to start since last I left off -- so, instead of backtracking like other people would, and try to catch you guys up with what I've been doing, I'm, um, just not going to do anything, and save everyone the trouble -- mostly me.
With the whole "yikes, it's been a long time" speel out of the way, let me get down to business. While, it's pretty much apparent that I don't so much have "business" to get down to - I suppose I might try getting down to something else. Like what? Um, well, hmmm . . . Wow, I'm rusty. I recall the days when I'd get onto Live journal and I'd have a plan of action; I'd have pages of notes outlining entries and how I'd like to format them. I'd have a dream, and I'd dare to write it down. That was me of old. Now -- Now, Sean's just old. 23 years to be exact. I think -- and, don't dare correct me if I'm wrong -- 23's just about as old as a person can be and still be called a person by name. Seriously, I've got facts. But, I mean, at very least, nowadays I can breathe a little easier, no being a tad happier with the direction I'm moving in. Granted, in terms of being happier in my present direction, it might be something like a 2% change, right? But, I mean, who's keeping track of that stuff anyway, y'know. Well, I guess, besides me, since, apparently I do. And, I race tigers on my lunch break. True story. I've got facts to back it up: lion-clawed facts.
Presently, I'm starting at a new job that allots me Internet access -- which, in turn, actually provides me crazy time to update my journal again. Will I take advantage of this time, or will I waste it brooding over how I just completed the worst Fantasy Football season on record? Can't I do both? Well, no. Brooding's hard word. Although, my actual "job" is, um, not. Pretty much -- more or less, this job's an Air Force free version of the job I used to do back a few years back. It's better by three-fold. Like, one: we get to wear whatever we feel like. And, I mean, that sure beats, um, not wearing whatever we feel like, dig? Secondly, the job's way easier, and a lot more laid back -- which also covers fold number three. So, I mean, sure, I've only been here a grand total of two weeks, but, so far it doesn't seem entirely awful, y'know? Oh, and it's close to home. And, anyone who knows me knows that I hate driving lots, and this job works towards not enraging that trend.
Only problems that I seem to be coming across in the early parts of this job are, y'know, small stupid stuff: not remembering pretty much anyone's name. Within the entire staff that works here, I'd maybe say that I maybe know a total of five people's names. It's terrible, trust me, I know. It's just hard for me. Not to mention embarrassing. When it comes to time where I have to approach people with questions, instead of just simply approaching them, like a normal person, and going something like, "Hey, Judy, did you happen to get the memo about this bathroom strangler, no?" Instead, I have to do my best awkward-guy impression, awkwardly side-saddling unsuspecting people with rude-sounding "Hey, you," or some awkward variation of the same. Yep. I mean, obviously, I don't mean to be rude or brash. Well, okay, I do mean to be brash, since, being called brash sounds pretty awesome -- but, I'd rather people like me. I just hate that my whole forgetting-everyone-I-meets-name-thing gets in the way, as per always. See, there was one advantage to being in the military: everyone's name was written on their chest in the work environment -- which further proves that my whole "everyone should wear name-tags everywhere policy" is one heck of a policy. With balls.
I mean, sure, I have other stuff going on in my life that I may not have touched on -- but, I mean, you're not missing out on much, trust me. Life, for me, as a whole, is pretty much lame; all shades of lame. I swear that at one point in my life, I swear, I used to have lots of friends. But, I guess that's what happens when you're not all into making the investment of making new friends. It's like having a hockey franchise, right? Sure, you got your starting line of friends and some solid back-ups at first. But, if you continue to have crappy rookie drafts, or tend not to have a good minor league team system in place, eventually your starters will retire, or move on in free-agency. Suddenly, all your star players are gone, and the back-ups that you used to rely on for pure back-up purposes only now are the guys that you're depending on to win you games. That's my current experience with my friends, worded perfectly in hockey metaphor, for everyone to understand. You're welcome.
Well, I got nothin'. I guess there's a reason why I haven't updated in forever -- I really have nothing neat that I'd like to document for any type of viewing public to see -- even if that viewing public just consists of me. I mean, who likes to be reminded in clear print that their life isn't at all interesting? Eh, not me.
Lastly -- George, you damn well better get the wheels rolling on a Festivus for the rest of us. Seriously, man, I'm burnt out on Christmas and Hallmark cards, y'know? But, I mean, who isn't these days, am I right? Wouldn't it be nice to have a non-evasive winter celebration that doesn't feed the machine; a holiday that we can all share? Dammit, George, get the ball rolling: it's time you do what you're here to do, and spread Festivus . . . For the rest of us.
Sean Dwyer,
Sean Dwyer
With the whole "yikes, it's been a long time" speel out of the way, let me get down to business. While, it's pretty much apparent that I don't so much have "business" to get down to - I suppose I might try getting down to something else. Like what? Um, well, hmmm . . . Wow, I'm rusty. I recall the days when I'd get onto Live journal and I'd have a plan of action; I'd have pages of notes outlining entries and how I'd like to format them. I'd have a dream, and I'd dare to write it down. That was me of old. Now -- Now, Sean's just old. 23 years to be exact. I think -- and, don't dare correct me if I'm wrong -- 23's just about as old as a person can be and still be called a person by name. Seriously, I've got facts. But, I mean, at very least, nowadays I can breathe a little easier, no being a tad happier with the direction I'm moving in. Granted, in terms of being happier in my present direction, it might be something like a 2% change, right? But, I mean, who's keeping track of that stuff anyway, y'know. Well, I guess, besides me, since, apparently I do. And, I race tigers on my lunch break. True story. I've got facts to back it up: lion-clawed facts.
Presently, I'm starting at a new job that allots me Internet access -- which, in turn, actually provides me crazy time to update my journal again. Will I take advantage of this time, or will I waste it brooding over how I just completed the worst Fantasy Football season on record? Can't I do both? Well, no. Brooding's hard word. Although, my actual "job" is, um, not. Pretty much -- more or less, this job's an Air Force free version of the job I used to do back a few years back. It's better by three-fold. Like, one: we get to wear whatever we feel like. And, I mean, that sure beats, um, not wearing whatever we feel like, dig? Secondly, the job's way easier, and a lot more laid back -- which also covers fold number three. So, I mean, sure, I've only been here a grand total of two weeks, but, so far it doesn't seem entirely awful, y'know? Oh, and it's close to home. And, anyone who knows me knows that I hate driving lots, and this job works towards not enraging that trend.
Only problems that I seem to be coming across in the early parts of this job are, y'know, small stupid stuff: not remembering pretty much anyone's name. Within the entire staff that works here, I'd maybe say that I maybe know a total of five people's names. It's terrible, trust me, I know. It's just hard for me. Not to mention embarrassing. When it comes to time where I have to approach people with questions, instead of just simply approaching them, like a normal person, and going something like, "Hey, Judy, did you happen to get the memo about this bathroom strangler, no?" Instead, I have to do my best awkward-guy impression, awkwardly side-saddling unsuspecting people with rude-sounding "Hey, you," or some awkward variation of the same. Yep. I mean, obviously, I don't mean to be rude or brash. Well, okay, I do mean to be brash, since, being called brash sounds pretty awesome -- but, I'd rather people like me. I just hate that my whole forgetting-everyone-I-meets-name-thing gets in the way, as per always. See, there was one advantage to being in the military: everyone's name was written on their chest in the work environment -- which further proves that my whole "everyone should wear name-tags everywhere policy" is one heck of a policy. With balls.
I mean, sure, I have other stuff going on in my life that I may not have touched on -- but, I mean, you're not missing out on much, trust me. Life, for me, as a whole, is pretty much lame; all shades of lame. I swear that at one point in my life, I swear, I used to have lots of friends. But, I guess that's what happens when you're not all into making the investment of making new friends. It's like having a hockey franchise, right? Sure, you got your starting line of friends and some solid back-ups at first. But, if you continue to have crappy rookie drafts, or tend not to have a good minor league team system in place, eventually your starters will retire, or move on in free-agency. Suddenly, all your star players are gone, and the back-ups that you used to rely on for pure back-up purposes only now are the guys that you're depending on to win you games. That's my current experience with my friends, worded perfectly in hockey metaphor, for everyone to understand. You're welcome.
Well, I got nothin'. I guess there's a reason why I haven't updated in forever -- I really have nothing neat that I'd like to document for any type of viewing public to see -- even if that viewing public just consists of me. I mean, who likes to be reminded in clear print that their life isn't at all interesting? Eh, not me.
Lastly -- George, you damn well better get the wheels rolling on a Festivus for the rest of us. Seriously, man, I'm burnt out on Christmas and Hallmark cards, y'know? But, I mean, who isn't these days, am I right? Wouldn't it be nice to have a non-evasive winter celebration that doesn't feed the machine; a holiday that we can all share? Dammit, George, get the ball rolling: it's time you do what you're here to do, and spread Festivus . . . For the rest of us.
Sean Dwyer,
Sean Dwyer