(no subject)
I feel as though I should be writing something right now. It's David's last day. I use his real name because he's retiring and moving to Poland and I'm pretty sure that I can say anything about him that I want and he wouldn't mind. That's just a side note, though. Best wishes to David.
I love riding the train. I love the exposure to the cuties. God I love cuties on the train. Okay, so maybe trying to get anywhere by CTA means lots of wasted time and frustration, cramped and crammed and uncomfortably warm we bump and grind down the tracks in rhythm. It's a pleasure dancing with a partner fine as you.
I guess it's good that I love the train so much, having sacrificed my car to persue my dreams here in this city. The most tragic thing about dreams is that eventually you have to wake up and forget about them. Not that it's not to have dreams and all, I guess they can give you something to aim for, but once you're aiming at them they're called goals. Goals ... goals suck. Once you have goals you have to start keeping score, and once you start keeping score you may find yourself the loser, or worse the winner. Winning sucks just as much as losing, for people like me who always want everyone to be happy, taking victory from someone else is less than palatible.
I called my grandmother yesterday afternoon. When she was my age she was married and moved to Maryland because "it beat working on a farm". They lived in Maryland for 20 years, and made their way. Ma Kate got a job in a factory to pay the bills then got her cosmotology license and set up shop doing hair. I think I inherited that wander-lust. I don't want to work on a farm either ... if that means that I don't want to be hated by complete strangers. I'd rather someone get to know me before they hate me. I mean, let's face it ... people are going to hate you.
I like this job.
I'm at work now.
My job is like one big long word-problem from the SAT. I dig problem solving. Right now the text reads something like: Jeremy has 16 hours to charge to a job that will take him 2 hours to complete and is due July 5th. That's the question ... now ... GO! It wasn't really a question though, more of a statement. I should spend a few hours contemplating that... oh, and just like that the problem is being solved.
This is a journal, so forgive me for the randomness. Unlike my Myspace ... I just don't hear that tone of voice in my head that I like to write in. Sorry for no cohesive commentary on being chronically single, or the nature of sin in the city. Of course ... this is a journal, so I just apologized to myself.
I'm pretty sure no one reads these posts, so I'm free to say whatever I want and hear my own voice echo back to me. With Myspace I write for an audience. I like that - writing to be read. Of course my employer banned myspace from all of their work stations. You'd think they wanted us to do work or something.
I bought an iPod today off my friend the ArchBishop, and I'm currently listening to the music he left behind. I am in his pod. MP3 players are so popular the streets have grown nearly silent as conversations with passersby are sacrificed, replaced by the soundtracks of our lives. The individual reasserting self, locked in to an iDevice. Escapism walks the street, rides the bus, stands on the train next to the doors and never do we enter each other's existance.
I guess I've sold myself to the soundtrack. AWESOME!
I am content. Weird. I'm not sure when I was last just content.
I love riding the train. I love the exposure to the cuties. God I love cuties on the train. Okay, so maybe trying to get anywhere by CTA means lots of wasted time and frustration, cramped and crammed and uncomfortably warm we bump and grind down the tracks in rhythm. It's a pleasure dancing with a partner fine as you.
I guess it's good that I love the train so much, having sacrificed my car to persue my dreams here in this city. The most tragic thing about dreams is that eventually you have to wake up and forget about them. Not that it's not to have dreams and all, I guess they can give you something to aim for, but once you're aiming at them they're called goals. Goals ... goals suck. Once you have goals you have to start keeping score, and once you start keeping score you may find yourself the loser, or worse the winner. Winning sucks just as much as losing, for people like me who always want everyone to be happy, taking victory from someone else is less than palatible.
I called my grandmother yesterday afternoon. When she was my age she was married and moved to Maryland because "it beat working on a farm". They lived in Maryland for 20 years, and made their way. Ma Kate got a job in a factory to pay the bills then got her cosmotology license and set up shop doing hair. I think I inherited that wander-lust. I don't want to work on a farm either ... if that means that I don't want to be hated by complete strangers. I'd rather someone get to know me before they hate me. I mean, let's face it ... people are going to hate you.
I like this job.
I'm at work now.
My job is like one big long word-problem from the SAT. I dig problem solving. Right now the text reads something like: Jeremy has 16 hours to charge to a job that will take him 2 hours to complete and is due July 5th. That's the question ... now ... GO! It wasn't really a question though, more of a statement. I should spend a few hours contemplating that... oh, and just like that the problem is being solved.
This is a journal, so forgive me for the randomness. Unlike my Myspace ... I just don't hear that tone of voice in my head that I like to write in. Sorry for no cohesive commentary on being chronically single, or the nature of sin in the city. Of course ... this is a journal, so I just apologized to myself.
I'm pretty sure no one reads these posts, so I'm free to say whatever I want and hear my own voice echo back to me. With Myspace I write for an audience. I like that - writing to be read. Of course my employer banned myspace from all of their work stations. You'd think they wanted us to do work or something.
I bought an iPod today off my friend the ArchBishop, and I'm currently listening to the music he left behind. I am in his pod. MP3 players are so popular the streets have grown nearly silent as conversations with passersby are sacrificed, replaced by the soundtracks of our lives. The individual reasserting self, locked in to an iDevice. Escapism walks the street, rides the bus, stands on the train next to the doors and never do we enter each other's existance.
I guess I've sold myself to the soundtrack. AWESOME!
I am content. Weird. I'm not sure when I was last just content.