(no subject)
I am not what I did last night. What happened was a combination of hard working individuals who came together and did what they were supposed to, more or less. I did not single handedly avert impending distaster with my own ingenuity and heroism by sacrificing myself to the greater good, or to the greater corporate good (which I think is inherently bad), or to any good at all... I didn't do anything, actually. I told my body to go to a grocery store and then I let it do something that has become a sort of second nature to it; I let it stock and face some shelves, I let it unlock some doors, I let it be nice to some people that I (the actual thinking me) cannot identify with, I let my body hold it's tounge. I let my natural flow do what I felt had to...
All of this being said, I am more or less disconcerted about the amount of passion and energy that I put into all of this. It is work. By work, I don't mean a career or a calling or anything distinguishing in a professional sense; I mean that place that you go to get paid an hourly wage that you hate whole-heartedly because it devotes x amount of daily, weekly, monthly and yearly (essentially a substantial chunk of your life) time to doing a task that you find to be mundane, boring and all together painful to do. I think that I have found some way of tricking myself into believing that it somehow matters, cosmically speaking, whether or not my QFC -in this remote region of this planet, in this remote region of the solar system, in this remote region of the galaxy, in this remote region of the universe, in this remote universe that exists with other remote universes, ect.- ends up being perfect in the morning. Why should it matter to me?
I guess I do like pats on the back, affirment of my excellency at anything (perhaps because I feel that there are few things that I actually excel at), but that there are things that I enjoy much more on a level that exceeds that of a mere pat on the back from some person that might have squandered themself as he or she exists today. I guess that I am saying that I don't understand why I can dream, wakefully or unconscienciously, so vividly about other things; all while having those thoughts and creative notions perturbed by infectious clouds of miasma produced by my stupid, worthless job.
I think that it is unhealthy for the soul to be so bogged down by by such a frivolous thing; this job, this nothing. I don't think that it is a bad thing to be good at what you do, but to be so pridefully consumed by it is another thing entirely.
All of this being said, I am more or less disconcerted about the amount of passion and energy that I put into all of this. It is work. By work, I don't mean a career or a calling or anything distinguishing in a professional sense; I mean that place that you go to get paid an hourly wage that you hate whole-heartedly because it devotes x amount of daily, weekly, monthly and yearly (essentially a substantial chunk of your life) time to doing a task that you find to be mundane, boring and all together painful to do. I think that I have found some way of tricking myself into believing that it somehow matters, cosmically speaking, whether or not my QFC -in this remote region of this planet, in this remote region of the solar system, in this remote region of the galaxy, in this remote region of the universe, in this remote universe that exists with other remote universes, ect.- ends up being perfect in the morning. Why should it matter to me?
I guess I do like pats on the back, affirment of my excellency at anything (perhaps because I feel that there are few things that I actually excel at), but that there are things that I enjoy much more on a level that exceeds that of a mere pat on the back from some person that might have squandered themself as he or she exists today. I guess that I am saying that I don't understand why I can dream, wakefully or unconscienciously, so vividly about other things; all while having those thoughts and creative notions perturbed by infectious clouds of miasma produced by my stupid, worthless job.
I think that it is unhealthy for the soul to be so bogged down by by such a frivolous thing; this job, this nothing. I don't think that it is a bad thing to be good at what you do, but to be so pridefully consumed by it is another thing entirely.