Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Almost done
I have almost an entire song's worth of ideas finally worked out. The problem will now come in fitting together pieces in five and pieces in four. I need a keyboard. That and some free time.
Tuesday, November 9, 2004
Sick days "rule"
That is, eventually they do. See, I woke up at 9:45 or so and ended up not getting on the road this morning until 10:15. That's all fine and dandy, ordinarily, but while I was waiting for Jeff to finish bathrooming, I read my email.
"I printed your schedule out for you. It's on my desk."
Shit, okay so now I have to haul to campus, haul from the parking garage, and then haul around key because I KNOW I will be late. Oh, and I didn't mention the best part: I slept in because I woke up at 8 feeling terrible. Sore throat, stuffed up, et cetera.
Yeah, long story short, 2 metro busses later, I didn't even get to campus and parked until 10:48. 10:57 and I'm in the building, that's 9 minutes from door shut/locks armed to Key, a distance of approximately CSPAC to the other side of campus. It's only due to my amazing and admirable skills in the area of "being a perfect employee" that I got any of my work done.
After that, things started looking up. There was some neat distraction somewhere along the line, but what's far more important is that my boss and I traded sloth and ended up switching our 1:45 appointments so that she only had to go do a retrieval in Susquehanna hall and I had to do a delivery in Cole Field House, thereby eliminating both her need to go all the way to Cole and my need to walk all the way across campus effectively twice at that time.
After that it was all good. Dream Theater in the car on the way back, stopped at giant for more soup, then ate said soup and additional, previously procured soup at the apartment. I've watched two Law and Order episodes (both of which I missed out on key parts of last night), played bass, and laid about meaninglessly. All I have to do eventually is go find ground turkey.
Sigh... still, too bad I have been moping about bachelor style.
"Bart, don't feed your sister hotels." - Marge
and...
pointless link
"I printed your schedule out for you. It's on my desk."
Shit, okay so now I have to haul to campus, haul from the parking garage, and then haul around key because I KNOW I will be late. Oh, and I didn't mention the best part: I slept in because I woke up at 8 feeling terrible. Sore throat, stuffed up, et cetera.
Yeah, long story short, 2 metro busses later, I didn't even get to campus and parked until 10:48. 10:57 and I'm in the building, that's 9 minutes from door shut/locks armed to Key, a distance of approximately CSPAC to the other side of campus. It's only due to my amazing and admirable skills in the area of "being a perfect employee" that I got any of my work done.
After that, things started looking up. There was some neat distraction somewhere along the line, but what's far more important is that my boss and I traded sloth and ended up switching our 1:45 appointments so that she only had to go do a retrieval in Susquehanna hall and I had to do a delivery in Cole Field House, thereby eliminating both her need to go all the way to Cole and my need to walk all the way across campus effectively twice at that time.
After that it was all good. Dream Theater in the car on the way back, stopped at giant for more soup, then ate said soup and additional, previously procured soup at the apartment. I've watched two Law and Order episodes (both of which I missed out on key parts of last night), played bass, and laid about meaninglessly. All I have to do eventually is go find ground turkey.
Sigh... still, too bad I have been moping about bachelor style.
"Bart, don't feed your sister hotels." - Marge
and...
pointless link
Monday, November 8, 2004
Speak of the devil
I opened blogger and was set to write about how angry the people around me make me feel, but then one of them sloughed off more work upon me. Go figure.
Saturday, November 6, 2004
Saturday? 10 a.m.? You know it
I woke up early but I guess it's worth it.
I have no idea what I plan to do with myself today... Maybe I'll go up to Towson and hit the guitar center. Maybe not. All I know is there's a Playstation in the living room that seems to be calling my name.
Oh, and yeah spret! Or something.
you know what? sorry you didn't read this, everybody.
I have no idea what I plan to do with myself today... Maybe I'll go up to Towson and hit the guitar center. Maybe not. All I know is there's a Playstation in the living room that seems to be calling my name.
Oh, and yeah spret! Or something.
you know what? sorry you didn't read this, everybody.
Thursday, November 4, 2004
Borne by the whim of the wind
You ever have one of those days where you don't know what to do with your own thoughts?
You know, when you are overwhelmed by stuff you ordinarily don't even approach thinking about?
I'm having one of those as of right now. Emotion hindered by rationality. Only bigger punishment is spending time around crowds of people. The problem is... well, yeah. I don't know, I'm fine with it for the moment.
All I know is I never thought I'd be happy to get a text message, nor that I'd be such a captive audience to one... nor that I'd be so focused on someone so far away.
What's worse, of course, is that I don't know how to write about it.
You know, when you are overwhelmed by stuff you ordinarily don't even approach thinking about?
I'm having one of those as of right now. Emotion hindered by rationality. Only bigger punishment is spending time around crowds of people. The problem is... well, yeah. I don't know, I'm fine with it for the moment.
All I know is I never thought I'd be happy to get a text message, nor that I'd be such a captive audience to one... nor that I'd be so focused on someone so far away.
What's worse, of course, is that I don't know how to write about it.
Monday, November 1, 2004
Ill-placed muse
I think my inspiration for participating in today came largely from the fact that I, having done the math, will be two courses away from fulfilling my major requirements at the end of next spring. After that, it's a matter of stupid classes, and I shouldn't need any more than next summer and a half-time next fall to finish and be rid of this god forsaken institution forever.
That being said, I should be happier than I am right now. I have a clear plan for the first time in my academic career. I'll be applying for in-state tuition and making the grade, so to speak, due to continuous leasing for the first time ever. My Terps just beat Florida State at football for the first time ever, which, all other losses past and future-potential aside, makes this season and Joel Statham's tenure as starting quarterback worth it.
What's the problem, then?
The future is scaring me for the first time in my life.
Ordinarily, where I'm going in life doesn't bother me at all. I know I'm marketable enough to secure a job without any real degree of difficulty. It's really, at this point, more a matter of finding a job I want to do. It would be pleasant if that were the problem; however, my more pressing concern is that of where do I want to go after I'm done here? I thought, prior to a few weeks ago, I had everything wrapped up and ready to go, but a sudden bout of induced depression seems to have caused me to doubt my prior ... well, admittedly amorphous plans. Whatever, though, I'll work where I go to work.
Then there's the other problem. People often complain about inspiration in their lives, things like "where is it? When will I know it's here?" I have, as cliched as it sounds, found inspiration many a time at the bottom of a bottle (meaning the nights I drink less), precisely when I don't have the facilities to do anything about it. The drinking isn't the problem here, though. The problem is that when I do finally get around to my inspiration, it's the inspiration to actually get up and do something, not creative inspiration.
It seems to me a pretty clear issue of a motivational deficiency, one that's been nagging me my entire life in many regards, to boot. I have routinely had problems telling myself to do things. Most of the time it's things I don't care about, like statistics homework or going to math classes, that I have the biggest problems with doing. It really bugs me when I can't bring myself to do things I want to do, though.
Not even that, though, is my qualm with motivation. No, it's the fact that I even have this issue.
All my life, I've had people telling me, "You can do better than this" when I pull in a C or "Practice more! We can tell you're very talented, you just need to bring your skill up to what you're capable of to be great!" when I would turn in a practice sheet that had less than two hours a week of practice time on it. Yes, that is correct, captain "all I do is play bass guitar" boy here used to loathe playing clarinet in an academic confine. [An Aside: I used the word confine here... this is probably indicative of something deep and troubling.] I guess my personal block to progress is being expected to make it. Without expectation, I'll soar as freely as I want; when I do that, I don't have to fear failure and rejection. I don't go to statistics lecture because I want to answer the professors questions; it's just that, when I do, he says "no" like I am the single most moronic peon who ever crossed his path. I hated practicing in middle school because my stepsister, a flute playing overachiever (by my standards... I wish I could have done as well for myself as she did) put an image into my head that I wasn't good enough to be heard. I would lie on my sheets, and when apparently someone found out about it, I was grounded. You don't ground me, as the ensuing four years of rebellion should have taught my at-the-time stepmother.
In a way, all that sort of problem is why I'm so happy I have the checkered flag in sight at long last. At this point, it means that it'll be the end of my being exposed to any degree of pressure outside of "do your job" which is, ironically enough, the only guideline I can deal with (irony here because it's also the most strict; I've been told time and time again that your GPA doesn't matter, all that matters is the piece of paper that says you finished). I make a great employee. Ask either of the bosses I've had. I worked at an elementary school as a volunteer for a year before I finished two as a paid employee, and I'm pretty sure that my boss named his son Nathaniel for a good reason. My current job... I've been here since October of 2000, my current boss nominated me for student employee of the year, I've been entrusted to run the place dozens of times before, I train, I troubleshoot, I am almost model. They don't know what they're going to do without me.
Nice to know I am appreciated, but it'd be even nicer to know what I'm going to be doing with myself in some concrete fashion. Maybe when I get home and get some studying for my stupid statistics class out of the way, I'll try to write a song again. Maybe I'll finish before I have to sell my effects pedal.
That being said, I should be happier than I am right now. I have a clear plan for the first time in my academic career. I'll be applying for in-state tuition and making the grade, so to speak, due to continuous leasing for the first time ever. My Terps just beat Florida State at football for the first time ever, which, all other losses past and future-potential aside, makes this season and Joel Statham's tenure as starting quarterback worth it.
What's the problem, then?
The future is scaring me for the first time in my life.
Ordinarily, where I'm going in life doesn't bother me at all. I know I'm marketable enough to secure a job without any real degree of difficulty. It's really, at this point, more a matter of finding a job I want to do. It would be pleasant if that were the problem; however, my more pressing concern is that of where do I want to go after I'm done here? I thought, prior to a few weeks ago, I had everything wrapped up and ready to go, but a sudden bout of induced depression seems to have caused me to doubt my prior ... well, admittedly amorphous plans. Whatever, though, I'll work where I go to work.
Then there's the other problem. People often complain about inspiration in their lives, things like "where is it? When will I know it's here?" I have, as cliched as it sounds, found inspiration many a time at the bottom of a bottle (meaning the nights I drink less), precisely when I don't have the facilities to do anything about it. The drinking isn't the problem here, though. The problem is that when I do finally get around to my inspiration, it's the inspiration to actually get up and do something, not creative inspiration.
It seems to me a pretty clear issue of a motivational deficiency, one that's been nagging me my entire life in many regards, to boot. I have routinely had problems telling myself to do things. Most of the time it's things I don't care about, like statistics homework or going to math classes, that I have the biggest problems with doing. It really bugs me when I can't bring myself to do things I want to do, though.
Not even that, though, is my qualm with motivation. No, it's the fact that I even have this issue.
All my life, I've had people telling me, "You can do better than this" when I pull in a C or "Practice more! We can tell you're very talented, you just need to bring your skill up to what you're capable of to be great!" when I would turn in a practice sheet that had less than two hours a week of practice time on it. Yes, that is correct, captain "all I do is play bass guitar" boy here used to loathe playing clarinet in an academic confine. [An Aside: I used the word confine here... this is probably indicative of something deep and troubling.] I guess my personal block to progress is being expected to make it. Without expectation, I'll soar as freely as I want; when I do that, I don't have to fear failure and rejection. I don't go to statistics lecture because I want to answer the professors questions; it's just that, when I do, he says "no" like I am the single most moronic peon who ever crossed his path. I hated practicing in middle school because my stepsister, a flute playing overachiever (by my standards... I wish I could have done as well for myself as she did) put an image into my head that I wasn't good enough to be heard. I would lie on my sheets, and when apparently someone found out about it, I was grounded. You don't ground me, as the ensuing four years of rebellion should have taught my at-the-time stepmother.
In a way, all that sort of problem is why I'm so happy I have the checkered flag in sight at long last. At this point, it means that it'll be the end of my being exposed to any degree of pressure outside of "do your job" which is, ironically enough, the only guideline I can deal with (irony here because it's also the most strict; I've been told time and time again that your GPA doesn't matter, all that matters is the piece of paper that says you finished). I make a great employee. Ask either of the bosses I've had. I worked at an elementary school as a volunteer for a year before I finished two as a paid employee, and I'm pretty sure that my boss named his son Nathaniel for a good reason. My current job... I've been here since October of 2000, my current boss nominated me for student employee of the year, I've been entrusted to run the place dozens of times before, I train, I troubleshoot, I am almost model. They don't know what they're going to do without me.
Nice to know I am appreciated, but it'd be even nicer to know what I'm going to be doing with myself in some concrete fashion. Maybe when I get home and get some studying for my stupid statistics class out of the way, I'll try to write a song again. Maybe I'll finish before I have to sell my effects pedal.
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