Apparently, this new attempt at proactivity is making me want to write tiny little blurbs with no real point to them. I suppose this is a stepping stone to the more substantial stuff I have burbling around in there...without putting these out there, I'll have to weed through these snippets of crap to get at any kind of real idea.
Since about three people read this on a good day, I'll ask for your kind indulgence.
I'm struggling with the power of belief and the instability of knowledge. I'm reading some philosophy that I haven't touched in awhile, and I'd forgotten that one of my biggest issues with the field of philosophy is the tendency is this reliance on the concept of a deity as a foundation for justified belief.
Seriously? You're going to tell me that I can't trust my senses about the couch I'm sitting on, but I'm supposed to absolutely trust that there is a Supreme Being that enables all things to exist?
Ok, it's fine in the context of a philosophical discussion about a table, but the problem is that this kind of thinking permeates very real conversations about very real issues that have a very...real...effects on very...real...people. That it's an accepted form of philosophical argument is troubling because I honestly think it lends intellectual weight to using the Deity concept as a fundamental argument. (Hell, if Descartes could do it....) It allows us, in a way, to dissociate ourselves from our beliefs, placing their basis on some unseen Other instead of really picking apart all of the experiences and thoughts and information that has actually gone into our embracing of one concept over another.
I suppose that, in a way, this somewhat more analytical approach leaves us more vulnerable to more compelling arguments, but then...why is that a bad thing? Why do we feel that we have to be married to one idea or set of ideas for a life time? Is it better to stubbornly hold onto beliefs with no real foundation, simply because we can take comfort in them?
I don't know.
This is somehow an integral part of what will hopefully become a masters/doctoral thesis, but I can't figure out quite what it is. Is it philosophy? Psychology? Sociology? Cog Sci? Something completely different? And if so...what the hell is it? And how do I put it together so it's a) something that people will want to read and b) that they will be able to use it to make this shitshow of a world better?
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Oh, Alexis de Tocqueville. How I love thee.
"There is no class, then, in America, in which the taste for intellectual pleasures is transmitted with hereditary fortune and leisure, and by which the labors of the intellect are held in honor. Accordingly, there is an equal want of the desire and the power of application to these objects. A middling standard is fixed in America for human knowledge. All approach as near to it as they can; some as they rise, others as they descend." AdT
"There is , in fact, a manly and lawful passion for equality which incites men to wish all to be powerful and honored. this passion tends to elevate the humble to the rank of the great; but there exists also in the human heart a depraved taste for equality, which impels the weak to attempt to lower the powerful to their own level, and reduces men to prefer equality in slavery to inequality with freedom." AdT
Quotes from Alexis de Tocqueville's Democracy in America.
Why don't people talk like this anymore? Why isn't there this level of critical thought, and why, oh why, is it so damned NOT acceptable to critique a culture without coming across as hating that culture? AdT (yeah, I'm on that level with him) was intrigued by democracy, and so he too his aristocratic ass on a big ol' trip to see what all the hubub was about, and the wrote a phenomenal piece looking at the system of democracy, as it unfolded, and then identified the probably issues that might arise in such a system.
He was not wrong.
And yet, most of us are not required to read this amazing piece. Many of us have never heard of it. Are we that afraid to look at critiques of ourselves, short of the now all-too-common self hatred that the PC movement of the last turn of the century has so firmly foisted upon us?
There will be more on this as I reread. In the meantime, grab yourself a copy. They're on Amazon for like, two bucks. Read it. Don't get reactionary. Just...read it. And then look around. And then think about how we can turn this shit around.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Lately, I've been feeling like my life lives me, rather than the other way around. I feel, overwhelmingly, like I'm the proverbial cork on a turbulent sea, battered by massive, roiling waves, completely lacking control over which way I'm tossed and thrown.
I don't love it.
I look at the people I envy, the people I wish I could be like. I admire their self possession, how it transmits through every aspect of themselves. Every piece of clothing is absolutely them, their food, the books they read, the music the like...it has all been selected and considered. Even their paths, if they're meandering and completely bizarre, there is always this element of intention which lends an air of meaning to even the most frivolous behavior.
There's an element of laziness that prevents me from acquiring this apparent intent. I used to, for example, comb through the music stores on payday, flipping through CDs, looking for that one Aerosmith album I hadn't found yet (I know, I know...but it was like, seventh grade. Gimme a break). I used to do things in my free time. Now, I come home, muster up some energy to take the dog for a walk, and pass out until bed time. It's like I spend so much time merely surviving that I can't spare the energy to live.
What an awful thing, and how many of us are there?
So I'm trying, starting this week, to devote time to the things I used to love to do. No more plopping down in front of the toob for umpteen hours a day, allowing the last bit of creativity and passion to be slowly sucked out through my eyeballs. I'm going to find another job by the end of the summer that will pay me to at least kind of do something I care about, even if it's writing ridiculous medical pamphlets. At the very least, I'll have enough money to only work one job so I can have the time to start putting stuff together for grad school.
It's an odd thing, remolding yourself at thirty. But it's kind of exciting, at the same time. This is not about living up to some model of What I'm Supposed To Be--there's no groupthink to dictate my behavior or my look, there's no reading list. It's just, up until now, remembering the things that make me happy, that make me feel empowered, that give me energy instead of use it up. These are things that I've found, and some of them are fine with other people, some of them piss them off, but the point is it doesn't matter. I've wasted too much time already, and it's time to go.
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Things that happen when I watch too much Anthony Bourdain.
Sometimes there's just too much fucking pain.
I don't mean my own. I don't even necessarily mean physical. Just...in the world, right now, in this moment, there is so much suffering that goes unnoticed. There are so many stories that will go untold. There is so much injustice that will never be granted a voice, or even the righteous indignation in response to its passing.
It's overwhelming.
In my quieter moments, when I sit and try to hold that pain in my mind--even just for a second, even just the barest hint of it--I shut down. It's too overwhelming.
It becomes even more unbearable when I realize that it's juxtaposed with extravagance and luxury to the same level, and that in so many cases, the existence of one is impossible without the other.
I can't imagine a greater purpose than to do everything in my power to alleviate the tiny bit of this that I can, and yet, in my day-to-day, I am far more moved by the slaughter of a goat than I am the daily hurts of most of my coworkers. (So often it's the opposite, that people cannot accept the suffering of an animal as true suffering, as compared to that of their fellow man; I suppose I'm a bit too misanthropic for that these days.)
And it just seems so...impossible. They call it samsara, the endless cycle of suffering, and that's exactly what it is. It is incomprehensibly ironic that a part of this suffering should be the mere awareness of that suffering, and that it will continue.
There's a part of me that wants to run to the mountains, take a vow of silence for a decade or two, and attempt to remove myself, as much is as possible, from all of this--just to give myself a moment of peace, where I can see the totality of my life and its effects because it is just that small. But then, of course, there would be the pain of those I left behind, always pushing that periphery a bit further.
At a certain point, I just say fuck it and go to bed, pushing the guilt aside with the blessed oblivion of sleep.
I don't mean my own. I don't even necessarily mean physical. Just...in the world, right now, in this moment, there is so much suffering that goes unnoticed. There are so many stories that will go untold. There is so much injustice that will never be granted a voice, or even the righteous indignation in response to its passing.
It's overwhelming.
In my quieter moments, when I sit and try to hold that pain in my mind--even just for a second, even just the barest hint of it--I shut down. It's too overwhelming.
It becomes even more unbearable when I realize that it's juxtaposed with extravagance and luxury to the same level, and that in so many cases, the existence of one is impossible without the other.
I can't imagine a greater purpose than to do everything in my power to alleviate the tiny bit of this that I can, and yet, in my day-to-day, I am far more moved by the slaughter of a goat than I am the daily hurts of most of my coworkers. (So often it's the opposite, that people cannot accept the suffering of an animal as true suffering, as compared to that of their fellow man; I suppose I'm a bit too misanthropic for that these days.)
And it just seems so...impossible. They call it samsara, the endless cycle of suffering, and that's exactly what it is. It is incomprehensibly ironic that a part of this suffering should be the mere awareness of that suffering, and that it will continue.
There's a part of me that wants to run to the mountains, take a vow of silence for a decade or two, and attempt to remove myself, as much is as possible, from all of this--just to give myself a moment of peace, where I can see the totality of my life and its effects because it is just that small. But then, of course, there would be the pain of those I left behind, always pushing that periphery a bit further.
At a certain point, I just say fuck it and go to bed, pushing the guilt aside with the blessed oblivion of sleep.
Friday, May 24, 2013
Accident.
There was a horrific accident down the street from my house. I went out to the drugstore, randomly, kind of on a whim (sometimes you just need to bleach the shit outta your hair, you know?) and...
Yeah.
I'm still processing. I'm pretty sure I saw someone die.
As I was coming out of the store, a woman told me what happened, confirmed that someone was, yes, probably dead. I looked over to the SUV she gestured at with a nod of her head. There was an imprint of a body on the driver's side door. The place where the head would be was a perfect, head-sized hole in the window.
The worst part....
There was a guy sitting in the driver's seat. Alone. And I wanted, more than anything, to go over and just make sure that he was ok.
And I didn't.
Why the hell didn't I? And what does it say about our culture that I could come up with way more reasons why I shouldn't go over, in spite of all the reasons why I should?
Yeah.
I'm still processing. I'm pretty sure I saw someone die.
As I was coming out of the store, a woman told me what happened, confirmed that someone was, yes, probably dead. I looked over to the SUV she gestured at with a nod of her head. There was an imprint of a body on the driver's side door. The place where the head would be was a perfect, head-sized hole in the window.
The worst part....
There was a guy sitting in the driver's seat. Alone. And I wanted, more than anything, to go over and just make sure that he was ok.
And I didn't.
Why the hell didn't I? And what does it say about our culture that I could come up with way more reasons why I shouldn't go over, in spite of all the reasons why I should?
Saturday, May 11, 2013
It's the perfect (well...my kind of perfect) kind of weather here in the so-called happy valley. The morning came cool, not cold, a bit drizzly, overcast. It's a saturday, I am...for once...NOT working. Instead, I'm sitting in the waiting room while GF gets her oral surgery on.
The past weeks have been so hellish that after our 16/18 hour days, we've come home, sat with Dog for a moment and longed for today, laughing about how we could be so looking forward to all that comes with recovering from surgery--simply because it would be the only time we've had in months to just relax. Because we'd have no choice. To have no choice but what crappy TV or movies to watch, which easy food to make. When to sleep. Easy.
I'm not going to lie. I'm kind of pumped.
But for now, I'm actually really ok to be sitting in the uncomfy chairs in the waiting room, listening to weird medical sounds from behind the somewhat perfunctorily closed door.
There's been so much going on, I'm grateful for the opportunity to get some of it out of my head.
I suppose the biggest thing is that I'm coming into some stillness, the midst of all this chaos. Which is, to say the least, fucking weird. I'd been, probably, depressed for a year or two, and suddenly, there's something else happening. I'm still absolutely hating my jobs, but there's this sense of purpose starting to bubble up around the edges of that dissatisfaction. I keep thinking about what, exactly, I'm hating, and it's becoming clearer and clearer. I can't keep doing the routine. I can't keep being a drone, acquiescing because I have no other choice, because I need this job. Yes, I need to pay my bills, but I also need stimulation, I need to be challenged, I need to feel like at the end of the day, I had to use my brain to come up with solutions to problems, and that to do it, I worked with people with whom I share a mutual respect.
That's the basics. The bottom of my Maslow-ian pyramid.
The next level is a little more difficult to explain. I don't want to facilitate or enable behaviors that are contrary to my moral and ethical beliefs. Too many times I've found myself working in jobs where there is a general atmosphere of...oh, taking employees for granted, for treating them as less than human. Sometimes there's a profound lack of pride in the product, a "who gives a fuck" attitude. Sometimes there's been flat-out abuse, pitting employees against each other, demeaning, belittling, rampant sexism.
(FYI, that door is absolutely perfunctory. I can hear everything going on. Drills and sucky things and oh my GOD, I am far less appreciative now. ::shudder::)
Where was I? Oh yes. So I find myself swallowing a lot of commentary about this because employers don't want to be told, "Hey, you're kind of being a fuckhead here. I know that's probably not your intention, but that's how it feels to those of us that depend on being here for 40 hours a week to pay our bills." And, I realized lately, my staying is a way of enabling that kind of behavior.
Which is a pretty shitty realization, honestly. But it came out of GF leaving a job where we've both worked, where most of our friends work. It's bad. And there's a lot of guilt that comes out of leaving, as has been the case for every single one of us who has left. The guilt, we couch as abandoning our coworkers because they need our help, but in reality, I think it's because we can't take them with us, because we know that it's just going to get worse...and worse...and worse. We've had lots of talks in the past few weeks about how leaving is, sometimes, the only option. When I was working at this particular establishment...let's call it Hell...when I was working in Hell, I worked in the front. I was a pretty killer barista. And when shit started to get really bad, one of my regulars and I began having little therapy sessions. I one day told her that I simply didn't know what to do because I saw, so clearly, what the problems were and how to fix them, but I couldn't get through to the owner (a tiny prick with a napoleon complex, exacting out revenge on his employees because he was, apparently, a bit of a loser in high school. "Look at me now! I own a successful restaurant that I have no idea how to run!" ::sigh::) Anyway. This woman knew that I'd recently started studying Buddhist philosophy, an attempt to find some coping mechanisms in this shithole. She asked me what I thought the Buddha would do in such a situation. I faltered. I've never been good at trying to figure out what amazing people would do in shitty situations. I tried to think....well....he'd show people what they were doing wrong, right? Show them how they were hurting people, how they were hurting themselves, by their actions, help them to see the negative karma they were accruing? My knowledgeable customer nodded, and then asked the clinching question: What would he do if he tried that, but the person refused to acknowledge the effects their behavior was having? Stumped, I shook my head. I have no idea. She put her hand out to take her latte and said, simply....He would leave.
Well. All this time I thought that I had to stay to protect, stay to help, stay to kill myself trying to show someone a different, better way that would make people feel good, and that would ultimately make their business more sustainable, their employees more committed.....blah blah blah.
What I was actually doing was saying, Yep. It's totally ok that you're doing this. I'll even help you! See, I'll continue to work my ass off for you, making you money, accepting the abuse you dish out to me and my coworkers. Totally cool with that.
No, only by leaving could I register my discontent, my anger, and my refusal to participate in those kinds of behaviors. And you know? Hell is still there, still doing its thing, but after GF leaves (and she was the one person who would even slightly stand up to Ownerman), a lot of people have one foot out the door. It's about to hit critical mass, this dissenting action, this last stand against a pretty constant onslaught of insults. And it's a shame that it had to get this bad for it to register, and honestly, doubt that there's going to be any kind of real reflection on why so many of us have left, and left for less money, less convenience, just....less. But if the message doesn't get through in normal human interaction, sometimes walking away is just the only thing left to do, as shitty as it can feel to leave it all behind. I won't do it anymore. I might not be able to just walk away from a job, ever, but I can certainly be more discerning in the positions I take, and I can certainly keep looking for better options when I am somewhere that even approximates Hell.
(Sounds from behind impossibly ineffective pine door are getting SO uncool right now. Kind of want to run away screaming in terror. Having increasingly difficult time concentrating on writing anything but DEAR JESUS GOD DID SOMEONE JUST SCREAM??)
Anyway. Upon realizing that remaining in situations is pretty much agreeing with or enabling them to continue, I stumbled upon what appears to be the next level in my revamped Maslow structure, which is that I choose to surround myself with people who are nurturing, challenging (in the good kinda way), and who share the fundamental principles in which I believe.
I know that last sentence can sound a little bit like I only want people who agree with me around, so let me clarify with an example. I don't believe in hurting animals. I ran outside in a downpour because a fricken terrifying wasp was drowning on top of the AC unit. I can't deal with preventable suffering. So I'm pretty much a vegetarian. I used to eat fish, but pictures of what happens in those nets fucked me up for a few weeks, and I realized that I was a big ol' hypocrite if I pretended that fish were 'not suffering'. Right. Now. Most of my friends love meat. LOVE. Like...hunting, butchering, shoving ground up dead animals and spices into casing kind of love. And I'm totally cool with that, because most of them choose to a)kill the animal, in the wild, while dressed in ridiculous shaggy suits or b) buy from local, humanely raised kinda farms. Fundamentally, we don't believe that animals should suffer. We just draw the line in different places. And have lively conversations about it while they eat delicious, drippy cheeseburgers, and I sadly masticate my dry assed veggie burger, wishing that I could just turn off that part of my brain that envisions a spike driving into a cow's forebrain.
I'm hearing scary shit go down in that other room, so the rest of this will have to wait until GF is sleeping. Which, from the sounds of it, will be never, ever, again. Jesus.
The past weeks have been so hellish that after our 16/18 hour days, we've come home, sat with Dog for a moment and longed for today, laughing about how we could be so looking forward to all that comes with recovering from surgery--simply because it would be the only time we've had in months to just relax. Because we'd have no choice. To have no choice but what crappy TV or movies to watch, which easy food to make. When to sleep. Easy.
I'm not going to lie. I'm kind of pumped.
But for now, I'm actually really ok to be sitting in the uncomfy chairs in the waiting room, listening to weird medical sounds from behind the somewhat perfunctorily closed door.
There's been so much going on, I'm grateful for the opportunity to get some of it out of my head.
I suppose the biggest thing is that I'm coming into some stillness, the midst of all this chaos. Which is, to say the least, fucking weird. I'd been, probably, depressed for a year or two, and suddenly, there's something else happening. I'm still absolutely hating my jobs, but there's this sense of purpose starting to bubble up around the edges of that dissatisfaction. I keep thinking about what, exactly, I'm hating, and it's becoming clearer and clearer. I can't keep doing the routine. I can't keep being a drone, acquiescing because I have no other choice, because I need this job. Yes, I need to pay my bills, but I also need stimulation, I need to be challenged, I need to feel like at the end of the day, I had to use my brain to come up with solutions to problems, and that to do it, I worked with people with whom I share a mutual respect.
That's the basics. The bottom of my Maslow-ian pyramid.
The next level is a little more difficult to explain. I don't want to facilitate or enable behaviors that are contrary to my moral and ethical beliefs. Too many times I've found myself working in jobs where there is a general atmosphere of...oh, taking employees for granted, for treating them as less than human. Sometimes there's a profound lack of pride in the product, a "who gives a fuck" attitude. Sometimes there's been flat-out abuse, pitting employees against each other, demeaning, belittling, rampant sexism.
(FYI, that door is absolutely perfunctory. I can hear everything going on. Drills and sucky things and oh my GOD, I am far less appreciative now. ::shudder::)
Where was I? Oh yes. So I find myself swallowing a lot of commentary about this because employers don't want to be told, "Hey, you're kind of being a fuckhead here. I know that's probably not your intention, but that's how it feels to those of us that depend on being here for 40 hours a week to pay our bills." And, I realized lately, my staying is a way of enabling that kind of behavior.
Which is a pretty shitty realization, honestly. But it came out of GF leaving a job where we've both worked, where most of our friends work. It's bad. And there's a lot of guilt that comes out of leaving, as has been the case for every single one of us who has left. The guilt, we couch as abandoning our coworkers because they need our help, but in reality, I think it's because we can't take them with us, because we know that it's just going to get worse...and worse...and worse. We've had lots of talks in the past few weeks about how leaving is, sometimes, the only option. When I was working at this particular establishment...let's call it Hell...when I was working in Hell, I worked in the front. I was a pretty killer barista. And when shit started to get really bad, one of my regulars and I began having little therapy sessions. I one day told her that I simply didn't know what to do because I saw, so clearly, what the problems were and how to fix them, but I couldn't get through to the owner (a tiny prick with a napoleon complex, exacting out revenge on his employees because he was, apparently, a bit of a loser in high school. "Look at me now! I own a successful restaurant that I have no idea how to run!" ::sigh::) Anyway. This woman knew that I'd recently started studying Buddhist philosophy, an attempt to find some coping mechanisms in this shithole. She asked me what I thought the Buddha would do in such a situation. I faltered. I've never been good at trying to figure out what amazing people would do in shitty situations. I tried to think....well....he'd show people what they were doing wrong, right? Show them how they were hurting people, how they were hurting themselves, by their actions, help them to see the negative karma they were accruing? My knowledgeable customer nodded, and then asked the clinching question: What would he do if he tried that, but the person refused to acknowledge the effects their behavior was having? Stumped, I shook my head. I have no idea. She put her hand out to take her latte and said, simply....He would leave.
Well. All this time I thought that I had to stay to protect, stay to help, stay to kill myself trying to show someone a different, better way that would make people feel good, and that would ultimately make their business more sustainable, their employees more committed.....blah blah blah.
What I was actually doing was saying, Yep. It's totally ok that you're doing this. I'll even help you! See, I'll continue to work my ass off for you, making you money, accepting the abuse you dish out to me and my coworkers. Totally cool with that.
No, only by leaving could I register my discontent, my anger, and my refusal to participate in those kinds of behaviors. And you know? Hell is still there, still doing its thing, but after GF leaves (and she was the one person who would even slightly stand up to Ownerman), a lot of people have one foot out the door. It's about to hit critical mass, this dissenting action, this last stand against a pretty constant onslaught of insults. And it's a shame that it had to get this bad for it to register, and honestly, doubt that there's going to be any kind of real reflection on why so many of us have left, and left for less money, less convenience, just....less. But if the message doesn't get through in normal human interaction, sometimes walking away is just the only thing left to do, as shitty as it can feel to leave it all behind. I won't do it anymore. I might not be able to just walk away from a job, ever, but I can certainly be more discerning in the positions I take, and I can certainly keep looking for better options when I am somewhere that even approximates Hell.
(Sounds from behind impossibly ineffective pine door are getting SO uncool right now. Kind of want to run away screaming in terror. Having increasingly difficult time concentrating on writing anything but DEAR JESUS GOD DID SOMEONE JUST SCREAM??)
Anyway. Upon realizing that remaining in situations is pretty much agreeing with or enabling them to continue, I stumbled upon what appears to be the next level in my revamped Maslow structure, which is that I choose to surround myself with people who are nurturing, challenging (in the good kinda way), and who share the fundamental principles in which I believe.
I know that last sentence can sound a little bit like I only want people who agree with me around, so let me clarify with an example. I don't believe in hurting animals. I ran outside in a downpour because a fricken terrifying wasp was drowning on top of the AC unit. I can't deal with preventable suffering. So I'm pretty much a vegetarian. I used to eat fish, but pictures of what happens in those nets fucked me up for a few weeks, and I realized that I was a big ol' hypocrite if I pretended that fish were 'not suffering'. Right. Now. Most of my friends love meat. LOVE. Like...hunting, butchering, shoving ground up dead animals and spices into casing kind of love. And I'm totally cool with that, because most of them choose to a)kill the animal, in the wild, while dressed in ridiculous shaggy suits or b) buy from local, humanely raised kinda farms. Fundamentally, we don't believe that animals should suffer. We just draw the line in different places. And have lively conversations about it while they eat delicious, drippy cheeseburgers, and I sadly masticate my dry assed veggie burger, wishing that I could just turn off that part of my brain that envisions a spike driving into a cow's forebrain.
I'm hearing scary shit go down in that other room, so the rest of this will have to wait until GF is sleeping. Which, from the sounds of it, will be never, ever, again. Jesus.
Friday, May 10, 2013
I've been away. Work has been insane, Dog has some weird skin rash...I feel like if I get fifteen minutes to sit between work and work and four hours of sleep I'm doing really well. There's so much in my head that I need to get out...I need the time to write so badly, but survival is taking all of my time, all of my energy, all of my thought.
This has been a week of figuring out what's important. Not like...saving the world kind of stuff, but rather...saving my life, kind of stuff. What's important for me. What are the ideals that I want to live with, that I want to embody? How do I make my actions match up with those ideals, and how do I make choice that don't put me in a situation where I have to compromise those ideals (too much)?
Honestly, the first thing I need to do is get a better job situation going so I have time to do this kind of bullshit...even if no one is actually reading this, the act of writing it is important for me, so screw it. I'm skilled enough and smart enough that I should be able to find one...futhermucking...job...that will pay enough to live so that I can plan my next step.
I need a next step. Whether it's grad school, or starting the farm/bnb thing (more on this later, I'm so sure...)...I need to be doing something because this shit's killing me.
(Un)fortunately, the GF has some pretty intensive dental work, and I'll be off for three days (in a row!) so she doesn't have to worry about taking care of Dog, &c. In between walks and making jello, I should have some time to put some stuff out there. Thank god.
And now, time for work again.
This has been a week of figuring out what's important. Not like...saving the world kind of stuff, but rather...saving my life, kind of stuff. What's important for me. What are the ideals that I want to live with, that I want to embody? How do I make my actions match up with those ideals, and how do I make choice that don't put me in a situation where I have to compromise those ideals (too much)?
Honestly, the first thing I need to do is get a better job situation going so I have time to do this kind of bullshit...even if no one is actually reading this, the act of writing it is important for me, so screw it. I'm skilled enough and smart enough that I should be able to find one...futhermucking...job...that will pay enough to live so that I can plan my next step.
I need a next step. Whether it's grad school, or starting the farm/bnb thing (more on this later, I'm so sure...)...I need to be doing something because this shit's killing me.
(Un)fortunately, the GF has some pretty intensive dental work, and I'll be off for three days (in a row!) so she doesn't have to worry about taking care of Dog, &c. In between walks and making jello, I should have some time to put some stuff out there. Thank god.
And now, time for work again.
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