No Complaints
Yesterday was my first day on the phones at KCA, and I think it went well. If only my shifts didn't start at 9:45... no, no. that's not the problem. The stupid thing is, my sleep schedule and issues of being on time are If I know I have twenty minutes to get to work, I'll convince myself that it only takes 13 minutes so that leaves me with two minutes to brush my hair and five minutes to stop and get a fountain soda and still make it juuust on time. It's like communism, in theory it works. But then real life interferes-- unexpected distractions desires, traffic jams and long lines and you're inevitably late. It's like I function on this on-paper logic system when it comes to being on time and really, it's almost like intentionally sabotaging myself. Would it hurt me to arrive at work early? No, it would make me look like a model, enthusiastic employee. But whether my shift starts at 9:45, 10:00 am or 5:30 pm I continually sabotage myself. My goal in the next few weeks is to totally turn this aspect of myself around and be obnoxiously early as opposed to obnoxiously late. I want to be fastidious on this. Won't it be nice, not having to frantically rush about and worry about the consequences? Yes, I believe it will.
So yesterday, Monday, was an all-around pleasant day. I worked at KCA, and after I left there, I stopped by ATL to catch up with friends I hadn't seen for a bit. I stopped by my apartment before chem class, which was irreverent. The professor kept saying things that were wrong, but I studied today and understand everything so I believe I will do well on tomorrow's quiz. After class, I had some very welcome company visit me... all in all, there are no complaints at all from this one.
Today was nice, also. I slept late, got some food from St. Louis Bread Company (which calls itself Panera Bread everywhere except St. Louis, but those of us from St. Louis know what's up. It's St. Louis Bread Company, thank you very much.) After work, I went to the new Borders at 4th Street Live downtown. O how nice it is to have a decent bookstore downtown. I hate having no other options but to drive a distance to get to a good bookstore; this one is literally five blocks away from my work and ON my way home. Kickass. I bought the new issue of Bust magazine and-- bestill my heart-- the Found book, based on Found magazine
I can't describe the amazing effect this voyeuristic magazine has on me. It is collections of found objects- letters, photographs, drawings, notes, lists and other randomly discarded items from unknown strangers' lives. Some are hilarious to the point I am laughing out loud, others are so devastating in their brevity that my heart breaks. Like I said, I can't describe it, but these tiny entrances into the lives of strangers elicit such amazing responses from my heart, as I relate the random aspects of their lives I have seen, into my own life. Found publishes the most random of evidences of an existence, and I like to think if someone happened upon something I had randomly drawn, jotted down or even written out of passion or out of intense intellectual thought, how that would serve as an evidence of my existence to someone who otherwise most likely would have never known anything of me. Who would they construct me to be based on what I had divulged? I would become not only a construction of the evidence I had created of myself, but of the experiences and knowledge of the person who stumbled upon this part of me.
I encourage checking out the website; Found is better in print than on the web, but it still rocks online. It shows the types of things that are found and likeiwse appreciated by many. I get chills when reading from Found , I get insight into the human existence when reading Found , I laugh my ass off when reading Found , and I wonder if someone out there who collects found objects has a photograph of myself that got discarded due to bad processing in the photo lab; maybe a love letter I wrote, but threw away instead of sending; a sketch of a face of someone i knew in high school that I doodled while waiting on the phone to complain about something. Think of it... how much of ourselves we actually discard on a daily basis. Some of it has to end up outside of a landfill.
Seriously, if we have anything in common, or if you have a voyeuristic bone in your body, check Found out. It's amazing.
So yesterday, Monday, was an all-around pleasant day. I worked at KCA, and after I left there, I stopped by ATL to catch up with friends I hadn't seen for a bit. I stopped by my apartment before chem class, which was irreverent. The professor kept saying things that were wrong, but I studied today and understand everything so I believe I will do well on tomorrow's quiz. After class, I had some very welcome company visit me... all in all, there are no complaints at all from this one.
Today was nice, also. I slept late, got some food from St. Louis Bread Company (which calls itself Panera Bread everywhere except St. Louis, but those of us from St. Louis know what's up. It's St. Louis Bread Company, thank you very much.) After work, I went to the new Borders at 4th Street Live downtown. O how nice it is to have a decent bookstore downtown. I hate having no other options but to drive a distance to get to a good bookstore; this one is literally five blocks away from my work and ON my way home. Kickass. I bought the new issue of Bust magazine and-- bestill my heart-- the Found book, based on Found magazine
I can't describe the amazing effect this voyeuristic magazine has on me. It is collections of found objects- letters, photographs, drawings, notes, lists and other randomly discarded items from unknown strangers' lives. Some are hilarious to the point I am laughing out loud, others are so devastating in their brevity that my heart breaks. Like I said, I can't describe it, but these tiny entrances into the lives of strangers elicit such amazing responses from my heart, as I relate the random aspects of their lives I have seen, into my own life. Found publishes the most random of evidences of an existence, and I like to think if someone happened upon something I had randomly drawn, jotted down or even written out of passion or out of intense intellectual thought, how that would serve as an evidence of my existence to someone who otherwise most likely would have never known anything of me. Who would they construct me to be based on what I had divulged? I would become not only a construction of the evidence I had created of myself, but of the experiences and knowledge of the person who stumbled upon this part of me.
I encourage checking out the website; Found is better in print than on the web, but it still rocks online. It shows the types of things that are found and likeiwse appreciated by many. I get chills when reading from Found , I get insight into the human existence when reading Found , I laugh my ass off when reading Found , and I wonder if someone out there who collects found objects has a photograph of myself that got discarded due to bad processing in the photo lab; maybe a love letter I wrote, but threw away instead of sending; a sketch of a face of someone i knew in high school that I doodled while waiting on the phone to complain about something. Think of it... how much of ourselves we actually discard on a daily basis. Some of it has to end up outside of a landfill.
Seriously, if we have anything in common, or if you have a voyeuristic bone in your body, check Found out. It's amazing.