HOT AS BALLS
So apparently, it's been a couple months since I updated this thing. I don't have any excuse besides being crazy busy. I forgot how much working full time sucks all the time out of my life, and then I like to take on extra things, like writing 3000 words about Chicago's political history, which...
Just, you guys. Slow motion car crash doesn't even cover it. It is such a fascinating history of blatant corruption, well-meaning fuck-ups, reliable gangsters, and a bureaucracy of magical thinking. Basically, Chicago is that kid your family always warned you away from, but is kind of hot anyway, so you sleep with them, and then you wake up with an empty bed, an emptier wallet, and syphilis. Then you go all Ophelia or Lady Macbeth, depending on your mood.
It's fascinating. And horribly depressing. And makes me wonder.
There's that. There's the novel thing I'm trying to write, not the gay superhero one, which is stalled out and needing a huge rewrite. There's the short story I'm trying to edit into a state fit for submission. There's the Avengers band AU that
creature57 incepted me into writing. And there's my job.
Interesting thing about my job: I realized in the last couple days that this is the most consistently challenging job I've ever had. Working 40 hours is rough, there's no downtime while on the clock, and there's a ridiculous amount of detail-oriented stuff. My last few jobs have all had periods (or entire work days) that I could do with my mind entirely elsewhere. It's exhausting, having to actually concentrate on what I'm doing.
This is not your average bookstore job. This realization was brought on by a chat I had with my boss, who praised the fact that I was friendly, knew shit about books, and smart. But I've been really absent-minded while there, because I've been stressed by it, and fucking up makes me more stressed out.
Solution: chill the eff out while at work. Take more breaks. Do things slower. Worry less.
Le sigh. I wish I had fanfic to share. Instead, I'm a hot and sweaty mess, and I have nothing of interest to report. It's hot in Chicago, there was a square dance on a nearby farm, which had a lot of city punks who didn't know their do-si-dos from their allemandes, but made up for it with cheap beer and enthusiasm. I also saw my first opened fire hydrant tonight, so it's officially summer.
Just, you guys. Slow motion car crash doesn't even cover it. It is such a fascinating history of blatant corruption, well-meaning fuck-ups, reliable gangsters, and a bureaucracy of magical thinking. Basically, Chicago is that kid your family always warned you away from, but is kind of hot anyway, so you sleep with them, and then you wake up with an empty bed, an emptier wallet, and syphilis. Then you go all Ophelia or Lady Macbeth, depending on your mood.
It's fascinating. And horribly depressing. And makes me wonder.
There's that. There's the novel thing I'm trying to write, not the gay superhero one, which is stalled out and needing a huge rewrite. There's the short story I'm trying to edit into a state fit for submission. There's the Avengers band AU that
creature57 incepted me into writing. And there's my job.
Interesting thing about my job: I realized in the last couple days that this is the most consistently challenging job I've ever had. Working 40 hours is rough, there's no downtime while on the clock, and there's a ridiculous amount of detail-oriented stuff. My last few jobs have all had periods (or entire work days) that I could do with my mind entirely elsewhere. It's exhausting, having to actually concentrate on what I'm doing.
This is not your average bookstore job. This realization was brought on by a chat I had with my boss, who praised the fact that I was friendly, knew shit about books, and smart. But I've been really absent-minded while there, because I've been stressed by it, and fucking up makes me more stressed out.
Solution: chill the eff out while at work. Take more breaks. Do things slower. Worry less.
Le sigh. I wish I had fanfic to share. Instead, I'm a hot and sweaty mess, and I have nothing of interest to report. It's hot in Chicago, there was a square dance on a nearby farm, which had a lot of city punks who didn't know their do-si-dos from their allemandes, but made up for it with cheap beer and enthusiasm. I also saw my first opened fire hydrant tonight, so it's officially summer.