It's Thursday night. Tomorrow is my last day at the newspaper, and then Saturday morning I'm getting the hell out of Dodge City for a while.
It seems that whatever I might have been thinking recently about being more stable isn't exactly true, my moods seem to be as oddly erratic as ever.
What I don't understand right now is why working 40 hours a week behind a bar and working 40 hours a week in an office seem so drastically different. What I mean is, suddenly I feel like I don't have any time at home. When I worked in the pub I only had one day off a week, which must mean that I worked less hours per day than I do in an office when I have two days off. The social atmosphere of working in a pub may also have affected how I viewed it.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not suddenly thinking tending bar full time was a good job -- not for me, it wasn't, anyway. But all the same, it's really depresses me how suddenly my life seems to be only spent in an office. I guess what is needed is more variety, and perhaps more of a feeling that I am able to do the job.
All the same, I'm not happy. I'm not miserable when I'm at work. If I'm working on something I find interesting, or even if what I am working on feels like it is going well, my mood is generally pretty good. But as soon as I find myself at a dead-end, I feel I change dramatically. And somehow feeling I am barely at home for any length of time before I go back again really is not helping anything.
So what am I going to do? Right now, there's not much that I can do. I finish work experience tomorrow and I seem to remember that going to lectures is more varied than is going to work every day in the same place. When -- or if -- I find myself in a real newspaper job, I will have to see how I feel then and reassess things. Maybe it's procrastination, who can tell.
But at the back of my mind is a small, quiet voice that is telling me that maybe this isn't what I want at all. Not journalism, specifically, but this life. Work, rent, bills, all that sort of thing. Watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing gameshows on TV. Pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned you replace yourself.
There's got to be more to life. Journalism is important, I uphold this. Maybe local journalism is less important, but it's providing a service. Maybe I should aim higher if I want to feel like I make a difference? Or maybe I should find a job where I really do make a difference?
Maybe I should be doing relief work in war-torn countries, or the many disaster-ravaged parts of the world. Would I then feel resentful that more of my life is spent at work than it is actually living?
Or maybe there is more to life than just life. There's a lot of maybes, but maybe I really should take that time out to spend in a Buddhist monastery somewhere like I keep saying I want to.
There's a lot of thoughts to be going on with here. Which is just as well for you, kids, since I don't know when I will next have internet access to be able to update. It's technically feasible that I could update via email, using WAP on my mobile phone. But I imagine that typing a diary entry out on the keypad of a mobile phone could take some time...
Thursday, 18 September 2003
Monday, 15 September 2003
People that fall apart
For your sins, I am going to update again, because I wanted to write this days ago, but didn't get the chance.
Before I start though, I want to say how amused I am. Years ago, before I discovered punk, and Hole, and Nirvana, and long before I knew who the Pixies were (and possibly now, are...), I liked rock, and metal. I liked bands like Guns N Roses, and Metallica, and Iron Maiden. I used to wear black jeans and a black leather jacket, and a Guns N Roses t shirt. Now I don't own any black jeans, never wear the t shirts and sold all my metal albums years ago, without looking back. But suddenly, it's fashionable. I saw, when out shopping, models in windows wearing what I used to. I think it's honour of the Darkness, they've given it a kind of irony now. And today, because I'm trying not to wear clothes I want to take to Leicester with me, I'm in one of my old Guns N Roses t shirts. I think it was probably large when I used to wear it, because now it feels snug. It just amuses me.
Anyway, what I wanted to write about was Fiona.
I was at the bus station the other day, and I saw a girl who reminded me of her. I don't think she exactly looked like her, but there was something about her -- maybe it was how Fi used to look, or possibly something in her eyes. Possibly I looked at her too often for a stranger, or looked at her in a certain way. But I'm sure she was looking at me, too. That was what really set me off, thinking about Fi, and how I just spoke to her out of the blue on that one day, and she always claimed that she had planned to talk to me. She must have, considering how willing to talk to me she was at the time.
Maybe that night, or the next night, I dreamed of her. I can't remember the details of the dream, except that in the spaces in-between dreaming in the night, I didn't want to be thinking of her. I tried to tell myself again I need her like I need a hole in the head, but it's been forever since I tried that and it didn't really work. I sent Fi a message the next day, mentioning I had dreamed of her, but it was nothing lewd, and I hoped she was well.
There was no reply, but that's not so unusual. Even Kath answers emails sometimes, so Fi not answering a text message wasn't strange. But I remembered another message sometime she didn't answer. It struck me that she is moving house, and if I don't keep contact with her I could lose touch with her altogether. We might be living in the same city from September, but a city can be a big place, and with no idea where she lives or of a phone number for her, it was feasible I could lose touch.
I quickly established she hadn't lost her phone by calling her, and in a very stalker-like way, pretending I didn't know I had called her. I then called her back a short while later to apologise for 'accidentally' calling her. We talked for a very short time, but she had just that day moved house and said she was busy cleaning, and cut the call short.
Now I can't remember if she seemed pleased to talk to me, or if she sounded stressed, or upset, perhaps by moving, or by other things, or if she sounded like she didn't want to talk to me. Which would be odd, since I haven't done anything -- but she might be wary of me. She might think that if she sees me again I could go off the rails again and tell her that I love her, like I did two years ago. Who knows. So I'm writing her a casual, chatty letter, and we will see from there.
What's that? Why do I care, you ask? Do I still love her? I need to actually see, or talk to, someone to love them, I think. Or have some contact. So, no. But I think I once cared for her so much, my first love, that a certain fire will always burn for her. We shall see.
Before I start though, I want to say how amused I am. Years ago, before I discovered punk, and Hole, and Nirvana, and long before I knew who the Pixies were (and possibly now, are...), I liked rock, and metal. I liked bands like Guns N Roses, and Metallica, and Iron Maiden. I used to wear black jeans and a black leather jacket, and a Guns N Roses t shirt. Now I don't own any black jeans, never wear the t shirts and sold all my metal albums years ago, without looking back. But suddenly, it's fashionable. I saw, when out shopping, models in windows wearing what I used to. I think it's honour of the Darkness, they've given it a kind of irony now. And today, because I'm trying not to wear clothes I want to take to Leicester with me, I'm in one of my old Guns N Roses t shirts. I think it was probably large when I used to wear it, because now it feels snug. It just amuses me.
Anyway, what I wanted to write about was Fiona.
I was at the bus station the other day, and I saw a girl who reminded me of her. I don't think she exactly looked like her, but there was something about her -- maybe it was how Fi used to look, or possibly something in her eyes. Possibly I looked at her too often for a stranger, or looked at her in a certain way. But I'm sure she was looking at me, too. That was what really set me off, thinking about Fi, and how I just spoke to her out of the blue on that one day, and she always claimed that she had planned to talk to me. She must have, considering how willing to talk to me she was at the time.
Maybe that night, or the next night, I dreamed of her. I can't remember the details of the dream, except that in the spaces in-between dreaming in the night, I didn't want to be thinking of her. I tried to tell myself again I need her like I need a hole in the head, but it's been forever since I tried that and it didn't really work. I sent Fi a message the next day, mentioning I had dreamed of her, but it was nothing lewd, and I hoped she was well.
There was no reply, but that's not so unusual. Even Kath answers emails sometimes, so Fi not answering a text message wasn't strange. But I remembered another message sometime she didn't answer. It struck me that she is moving house, and if I don't keep contact with her I could lose touch with her altogether. We might be living in the same city from September, but a city can be a big place, and with no idea where she lives or of a phone number for her, it was feasible I could lose touch.
I quickly established she hadn't lost her phone by calling her, and in a very stalker-like way, pretending I didn't know I had called her. I then called her back a short while later to apologise for 'accidentally' calling her. We talked for a very short time, but she had just that day moved house and said she was busy cleaning, and cut the call short.
Now I can't remember if she seemed pleased to talk to me, or if she sounded stressed, or upset, perhaps by moving, or by other things, or if she sounded like she didn't want to talk to me. Which would be odd, since I haven't done anything -- but she might be wary of me. She might think that if she sees me again I could go off the rails again and tell her that I love her, like I did two years ago. Who knows. So I'm writing her a casual, chatty letter, and we will see from there.
What's that? Why do I care, you ask? Do I still love her? I need to actually see, or talk to, someone to love them, I think. Or have some contact. So, no. But I think I once cared for her so much, my first love, that a certain fire will always burn for her. We shall see.
People that come together
Yes, I do need to update more. However, I did say it before -- if you don't leave me any feedback I assume you haven't read what I wrote, and put off updating so you won't miss anything. I write, you feedback, I write more.
Except that I spend all day writing, more or less. And yeah, this is different, because I'm not presented with a press release of what I should say that I need to re-word, edit for irrelevant parts and rearrange so that it is in some kind of order of priority. I wonder how much harder this kind of thing would be without a computer, when you can't just cut, paste and move parts?
What I like about my job, or one of the things, is when people are genuinely grateful to me. I didn't really get that tending bar, even if it wasn't that different. But now, when i call someone up because the news editor has told me to book a picture assignment, and I explain to them that I'm calling from the newspaper and I'd like to send a photographer to their whatever-it-is that's happening, they so often sound really grateful. Or when I tell them I'm doing a follow-up piece on how the mad hatter's tea party in aid of Leukaemina research went.
It's an odd kind of gratitude. It isn't that you are giving them something exactly, not like I call them up and say hi, here's a donation or just a cheque for you. I'm having trouble finding a comparison, but these people so often just sound really pleased.
The job's good. It would be better if it was paid and not work experience, but I like the work. This is what I want to be doing. I do news during the day, and in my spare time I do creative stuff for the features editor -- like review bands. The only trouble is, yeah, I'm not getting paid, and now I have to pay £3k to the university to train me to do this job in a year's time.
All the same, if I can avoid the editor (news editors = good, editors = evil) the job's pretty good, and yeah, this is what I want to be doing.
Except that I spend all day writing, more or less. And yeah, this is different, because I'm not presented with a press release of what I should say that I need to re-word, edit for irrelevant parts and rearrange so that it is in some kind of order of priority. I wonder how much harder this kind of thing would be without a computer, when you can't just cut, paste and move parts?
What I like about my job, or one of the things, is when people are genuinely grateful to me. I didn't really get that tending bar, even if it wasn't that different. But now, when i call someone up because the news editor has told me to book a picture assignment, and I explain to them that I'm calling from the newspaper and I'd like to send a photographer to their whatever-it-is that's happening, they so often sound really grateful. Or when I tell them I'm doing a follow-up piece on how the mad hatter's tea party in aid of Leukaemina research went.
It's an odd kind of gratitude. It isn't that you are giving them something exactly, not like I call them up and say hi, here's a donation or just a cheque for you. I'm having trouble finding a comparison, but these people so often just sound really pleased.
The job's good. It would be better if it was paid and not work experience, but I like the work. This is what I want to be doing. I do news during the day, and in my spare time I do creative stuff for the features editor -- like review bands. The only trouble is, yeah, I'm not getting paid, and now I have to pay £3k to the university to train me to do this job in a year's time.
All the same, if I can avoid the editor (news editors = good, editors = evil) the job's pretty good, and yeah, this is what I want to be doing.
Tuesday, 2 September 2003
Links-O-Rama
Hey, look! It's only Tuesday and this is my second entry this week! I do listen after all! But yeah, anyway this is intended as a short entry to draw everyone's attention to a new page -- the links page.
This page is at the moment a work-in-progress, much like the cast page is, but the essential difference is there is actually something to see on this page, unlike with the cast page. I should spend less time playing games and more time working on my journal, methinks. Anyhow, this links page has all kinds of useful informative links on it -- diaries you should read, comics you should read, and websites you should visit.
The diary list is more complete than the one on my side-bar, and it is actually this list that prompted me to create a links page because the side-bar just won't be big enough for the growing list of diaries I am reading. Besides, once I find or create a new template I will be scrapping the side-bar list. In some ways, I am a little reluctant to do this -- since I expect that diaries listed on a side-bar would be visited more often than ones you have to go to a separate links page to find. But then again, who wants passing trade? You all deserve loyal, dedicated readers who aren't afraid of actually looking for something new to read.
Sometime soon, I will actually be providing the individual diary links with their own synopsis -- but this I feel is more tricky than describing just a website. Since I am describing individuals -- many, varied, unique and very talented individuals -- I want to make sure I describe them accurately, but also in ways that I would like them to approve of. Maybe I could get everyone to write their own descriptions? It's an idea, at least.
I'm open to suggestions for links to include on the miscellaneous section -- or even the comics section, but I am very picky about my comics -- and much like my own computer's music folder, once a common theme emerges in the miscellaneous group I will make a new section. Does that make sense? Like how I am debating making an entirely separate section for bands and recording artists, but currently I think it would be too small to be worthwhile. But I am always open to suggestions.
In a similar way, I am open to suggestions as to what the hell I should do with my diary's style. I want something new, but I have little clue as to what exactly it is that I want from it. What I need is a steady income coming in without having to actually go out and earn it, that way I would have the time for things like learning the necessary skills for creating a new template. Ho hum.
So anyway, go visit the links page and feel free to email me any suggestions you should have. And, as ever, I will probably pay no attention -- in the nicest possible way, of course.
Monday, 1 September 2003
How it goes
My body feels like it's out of synch with the world. Just a few moments ago I was struggling to remember what day it was (is this a weekday? what day is this?), and it doesn't help that my head was filled with strange and restless dreams all last night. I'm out of bed earlier than normal -- but I guess that's what not working does for you. For me, anyway, it means that I get to bed earlier, and the following morning don't dread leaving my bed covers behind.
My last day at work was much like any other. I'm strange really, I'm the kind of person who refuses to divulge when his birthday is, and then feels disappointed when nobody remembers it. Or -- in this case -- on my last day at work, feels disappointed that nobody really knew I was leaving because I hadn't made a big thing out of it. I thought was reasonably well-liked, I can't think of anyone specifically who had reason to dislike me and more often than not people were pleased to see me. But there was no 'goodbye' card, no parting gift, not even a squirrel with a flute.
On the positive side I managed to get back mostly everything I had lent to people -- including my paperback copy of 'High Fidelity' (which now has a mug ring on the back of it, but I think it will wipe off) and my 'Evil Dead' DVD, better yet my video of 'Clerks' that I lent to my friend the chef last year who has systematically failed to return it despite being asked week after week. Now all I need is for Laura to return my paperback copy of 'Been Down So Long it Looks Like Up To Me'. But then again, I lent Fiona some cds about three years ago, before I left for Utah, and she hasn't returned them -- but I intend to rectify that soon, when we are living in the same city. That said, I am going to have to tread very carefully with seeing her again -- since the last time I saw her was about two years ago, and I told her I loved her and wanted her back and she was less than amused. It took me forever to really get over that, and I'm not eager to do it all again.
Isn't it funny how certain subjects always come back around? I can start out talking about my new flat, or quitting my job, and before you know it I'm talking about falling in love, or not wanting to fall in love with an ex in this case. I guess that's just how it goes.
My last day at work was much like any other. I'm strange really, I'm the kind of person who refuses to divulge when his birthday is, and then feels disappointed when nobody remembers it. Or -- in this case -- on my last day at work, feels disappointed that nobody really knew I was leaving because I hadn't made a big thing out of it. I thought was reasonably well-liked, I can't think of anyone specifically who had reason to dislike me and more often than not people were pleased to see me. But there was no 'goodbye' card, no parting gift, not even a squirrel with a flute.
On the positive side I managed to get back mostly everything I had lent to people -- including my paperback copy of 'High Fidelity' (which now has a mug ring on the back of it, but I think it will wipe off) and my 'Evil Dead' DVD, better yet my video of 'Clerks' that I lent to my friend the chef last year who has systematically failed to return it despite being asked week after week. Now all I need is for Laura to return my paperback copy of 'Been Down So Long it Looks Like Up To Me'. But then again, I lent Fiona some cds about three years ago, before I left for Utah, and she hasn't returned them -- but I intend to rectify that soon, when we are living in the same city. That said, I am going to have to tread very carefully with seeing her again -- since the last time I saw her was about two years ago, and I told her I loved her and wanted her back and she was less than amused. It took me forever to really get over that, and I'm not eager to do it all again.
Isn't it funny how certain subjects always come back around? I can start out talking about my new flat, or quitting my job, and before you know it I'm talking about falling in love, or not wanting to fall in love with an ex in this case. I guess that's just how it goes.
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