Stream of Conscious in Supposed Preparation or Practice of Nanowrimo

Ahem.

In another window is a Pixies video of them playing Wave of Mutilation, live, and sometime current. I clicked on a link to get here, from another live vid of them in 1988. The singer sounds real, like a guy who made it out of his garage. I've backspaced twice and skipped over thoughts that happen but weren't typed. The goal is to only move forward, no edits, no correction. We're seeking volume not quality. I've already stopped four times to backspace, replug in an outlet, and investigate my iTunes podcast situation. Self-editing and monitering is natural to me.

Jesus I haven't talked about anything at all. Maybe this is a mission for someone else.

"Short Term" Defined

Small cycles, short stories--sometimes it feels like my life is that one episode you catch of a show that you don't watch, but still manage to see that one episode.

My grandmother was back in the hospital, and despite the optimistic estimation of the doc, she's not going to live three to six months, it's going to be those numbers in days. I still can't see her; I'm sick, and I can run the risk of catching or transmitting anything with her. Her "Pancreatic Infection" is her wish manifested--to be back with her husband and not living a life she's not enjoying. Maybe... two days. I give myself two days. I'm not trying to delay visiting her. I'm not afraid of her death--in fact I'm pretty settled that she's gone on to something better.

It's a lot like the hand dealt to me yesterday. I've worked 10-14 hours days all this week, but it hasn't been enough. My job requires 50+ hours of non-cafe shift duties and I haven't had a chance to do any of it. Either I'm sick, or someone else is sick, or someone quits and then I'm working again in the cafe or doing my best to do nothing else but rest. I can't "delegate" because most of the tasks I want to spread take as much time explaining as they do doing. It takes as much time writing e-mails as it does to do the tasks I say I'm going to do in them. And everyone needs to know--which isn't the problem, because I think everyone should know--but FUCK, between smiling all the time and running myself ragged, I get texts from friends who want to rub in the fact that I don't text back and Damn it, why am I such a shitty friend? I've fought the idea of a 9-to-5 job because I thought it would be to confining--or rather, DEFINING. I didn't want to be defined by my job. But, as Aristotle points out, "We are what we frequently do." I know I'm not the Joker, but I've been walking like him. If I keep it up, it'll stick as my walk. So, if I spend my waking eight as a self-styled unappreciated manager then by-golly, I AM that unappreciated manager, and all my actions will read as that. Or, I can take up the offer and take a step back and be... well, what would I become?

"It's not who I am underneath, but what I do that defines me." - Batman, The Dark Knight

Take two sums. The first is the difference in pay between manager and not-manager. The second sum is the value I place on my happiness (it's intangible, but play along).

If the first sum, A, is greater than the second sum, B, then I should stay on as manager. It would be "worth it." But! if the the second sum is greater than the first sum, well hell, I should willingly step aside and be un-manager.

My happiness is worth much more than $200.00.

Make no mistake: I willingly took on the job... two months ago, and this sequence of events, after the initial shock, isn't totally surprising. I haven't fulfilled all of my Must-Do's; from an outside prospective, especially one from the owners stand point, I would have tried to give the current manager (i.e., me) more support rather than change horses midstream. Not only is it surprising, it shows a lack of faith on their part, an unwillingness to "stick out through the rough spots," and only serves to perpetuate the company's reputation for discontinuity.

Whatever. I will train my replacement. I will have my strengths utilized.

* * *

I've been urged to do NaNoWriMo this year. I've been told to "do the things I wouldn't normally write about." I guess Barista Jones' Diary is out of the question, yeh?

Excuse The Distance / Settling the Score

I've had 36+ hours of work packed into the last three days and I'm pooped. Tomorrow's the Big Day, and I know I should be doing something but I'm so drained, just looking at the 10 e-mail messages that arrived today makes my brain groan. I was listening to Death Cab just now. I don't remember how I got onto that track, but
...OK, I think I remember.

I was reading the Vertigo Encyclopedia, a DK book featuring the work of the publisher of Y: The Last Man. Vertigo, as I'm quickly realizing, is my favorite comic publisher. Every graphic novel that I've casually passed in the last two years that has gripped my attention has had Vertigo stamped on it. The entry on Y made me particularly sad: it was a limited run series, sixty issues, that I followed to like issue... 48. Well, that's a guess. I read the graphic novels, the collected form of the comic, with my Ex. It was our series, our in-joke, the thing that we got that no one else we knew got. So I--we--read it, and near the end of the series, the time between the graphics stretched. It stretched, but not far enough: The relationship ended before I finished the series. It's hard not to get too hung up on my short attention span or my tendency to not finish things in regard to this story, but the ending is the same: no comic, no relationship, no happy ending.

Having read the entry today was sort of an ending. It wasn't happy, but at least now I know. I know what Yorick saw in his vision, I know what happens in issue 60(-ish). I know what I miss.

Vertigo published four issues of American Splendor, the Harvey Pekar, gonzo comic. His intensely unnecessary dissection of his observations and reflections. (Like this blog is to me.) I watched the movie American Splendor around the time I read Y, and I listened to Death Cab around that time, so... there. I'm amazed at how packaged my memories are, how my eyes, ears, and tastes can be segregated by years. My life is lived in era's--large bites, that's for sure, but bites I can remember.

The Anniversary is tomorrow and I am going into it as a virgin. In every era of my life I've walked the line between disinterest and escapist. I'm usually the escapist--but definitely, I cannot be disinterested tomorrow. It's not going to be casual because the the thing we're celebrating is one of the few things that continues to bring me joy.

So there. Tomorrow's gonna be a party, and hopefully one of the relationships in my life that can count as long term.
Here's to the long-run.

I'm Tired

It's hard to convey fact without emotion. Every person is biased, beginning with what they choose to speak about. Speaking is an action dictated by choice, and those choices act as natural filters for the things that don't interest us.

I want you to know that I've been very productive, that nearly all of my energy in the past two days have had decided, positive results. I have managed; I have been present, delegating, handling, and greasing the gears of my shop.

I want you to know that it's taken its toll. I want you to know that I want you to know--so you'll know. So you'll put my sluggishness that is present now, into context. That its not lethargy or indifference. So you understand.

But I understand that there's a part of me that's looking for a valid excuse to be unproductive, at least for part of the time. Perhaps to gain a little sympathy. That's why I'm telling you. Maybe I'm looking to earn brownie points. Maybe you'll think better of me and give me the benefit of the doubt when I'm acting in a fashion that's not exceptional.

Or maybe you'll just let me sleep already.

Real Life Should Be An Actionable Item -- The Promise

This school sticks out at me like a e-mail I've read but can't delete. I can't bring myself to remove it from my life because I don't know if I'll need it later. I just keep coming back to it, referencing it, reading it aloud and thinking I'll know what to do with it... later.

Getting Things Done has taught me to make things into "Actionable Items" -- things-to-do, basically. A topic, a job, a short story that has a plot and an ending. Re-reading this school is needlessly extending my brain power. I'm now thinking about resolving it, it just occupies my mind. It's a detail that I did not have to remember. It's extraneous.

It doesn't have a clear reason for being in my life. I don't know why it's on my plate.

This novella has to end, soon. There are thousands of Items around me, vying for my attention, and here this school stands like an elephant in a broom closet. Being in its proximity doesn't mean it has to be on my radar.

I'm going to make a deadline for myself. This is Barefoot's time--its year, really--and my relationship to the Foot dictates that it has my attention. I told myself that right now is not the time for school, and I very much believe it. Others have told me that the Foot will never run at 100%, that something will always be off, and that I can't keep pushing back school. I very, very much believe that.

So in one year, Fall 2009, I will go back to school. I will finish it. It will be off my plate, outta my head, and I will have something to show for it besides outstanding holds. Expensive receipt, here I come.