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Summer plans. Constitutional. Redecorating. Bathroom rules.
May. 24th, 2006 | 11:08 am
So, in the following weeks I will be endeavoring to push the limits of the term "part time" by working 33 hours a week (34 being the maximum, after which one becomes full time). In the past few weeks I have done more cross-referencing than a street preacher, something that makes my line of work inherently tedious, although in the wild, Byronic world of surfacing literature "tedious" is a relative term; as in, more tedious than say, working as Mike Tyson's publicist but, less tedious than licking envelopes for cash or serving as Dan Brown's ghostwriter.
Nightly I have undertaken a "vigorous constitutional", as Sideshow Bob might call it, this being a nightly walk through Whitewater that lasts for the duration of one (1) album on my portable CD player, although that by no means implies consistency of the length of said constitution. A walk performed to the accompaniment of Tool is going to be a hell of a lot longer, say, than a walk performed while listening to the Hives. So I've adjusted my walks accordingly based on how long I feel like walking that night. COLLEGE LIFE WOOOOOOOOOOO BEER, PUSSY etc.....
Our house is beginning to look like a home for the first time; and it only took us a year. Perhaps the dropping-out of one of us served as the proverbial "kick in the ass" that forced us to "get our asses in gear" and decide to redecorate our house so it doesn't look like it's entirely populated by meditating transients who have sworn off all material goods.
I have now been an office worker, a cubicle junkie, a card-carrying member of the rat race, and while it's mostly been an edifying and positive experience, one question remains: who are these people, and why do they talk in the bathroom? Are these people not acquainted with the unspoken "bathroom rules"? Yes, we're in there, but at the same time we're not in there, is the general gist of it. No words bandied about, only the simplest of acknowledgements made; a nodding of the head, a noncommittal "Hey" followed by the same from the other party. Simple. I thought this was understood. Yet there are people who insist on engaging in lengthy dialogues whilst sitting on the toilet, a thin metal partition all that seperates them from their partner. Some of these people have disturbing laughs, laughs that while I am in there--quite literally--come near to scaring the shit out of me.
I haven't had any of the previously frequent depressive episodes in a while. These days, whenever I feel them clawing their way to the front of my mind, either of their own accord or triggered by a stray thought or action, I attempt to cut it off by simply refusing to think about that particular topic, or going on a walk to clear my head of those thoughts....it works, usually. The manic periods are lessening as well, which is good because I was getting goddamn sick of those. Being manic and alone is no better than being depressive and alone. If I was manic and left sitting in my room with nowhere to go it would usually end up with me banging my head against my wooden head-board in frustrated rage at my own past stupidity that brought me to this pass and my lack of direction and so forth that prevented me from moving any further. And then I'd do somersaults and flip around on my bed.
Nightly I have undertaken a "vigorous constitutional", as Sideshow Bob might call it, this being a nightly walk through Whitewater that lasts for the duration of one (1) album on my portable CD player, although that by no means implies consistency of the length of said constitution. A walk performed to the accompaniment of Tool is going to be a hell of a lot longer, say, than a walk performed while listening to the Hives. So I've adjusted my walks accordingly based on how long I feel like walking that night. COLLEGE LIFE WOOOOOOOOOOO BEER, PUSSY etc.....
Our house is beginning to look like a home for the first time; and it only took us a year. Perhaps the dropping-out of one of us served as the proverbial "kick in the ass" that forced us to "get our asses in gear" and decide to redecorate our house so it doesn't look like it's entirely populated by meditating transients who have sworn off all material goods.
I have now been an office worker, a cubicle junkie, a card-carrying member of the rat race, and while it's mostly been an edifying and positive experience, one question remains: who are these people, and why do they talk in the bathroom? Are these people not acquainted with the unspoken "bathroom rules"? Yes, we're in there, but at the same time we're not in there, is the general gist of it. No words bandied about, only the simplest of acknowledgements made; a nodding of the head, a noncommittal "Hey" followed by the same from the other party. Simple. I thought this was understood. Yet there are people who insist on engaging in lengthy dialogues whilst sitting on the toilet, a thin metal partition all that seperates them from their partner. Some of these people have disturbing laughs, laughs that while I am in there--quite literally--come near to scaring the shit out of me.
I haven't had any of the previously frequent depressive episodes in a while. These days, whenever I feel them clawing their way to the front of my mind, either of their own accord or triggered by a stray thought or action, I attempt to cut it off by simply refusing to think about that particular topic, or going on a walk to clear my head of those thoughts....it works, usually. The manic periods are lessening as well, which is good because I was getting goddamn sick of those. Being manic and alone is no better than being depressive and alone. If I was manic and left sitting in my room with nowhere to go it would usually end up with me banging my head against my wooden head-board in frustrated rage at my own past stupidity that brought me to this pass and my lack of direction and so forth that prevented me from moving any further. And then I'd do somersaults and flip around on my bed.