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Nov. 20th, 2012 07:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kingtycoonI think that I work a lot.
Back at the Best Day I decided that it would be a good tradition to have everyone trace their hands and then write the things they wanted to do by the end of the year. Firstly, I wanted tracings of hands because I'd just moved in and the walls were bare. Hands traced and stuck to the wall are what you want out of a caveman hideout and I've got a powerful esteem for cavemen. Most of the things are kind of attainable. Charity wanted to quit her job, Nimoy wanted a pinball machine and Someone wanted to win a bake-off. Then there were weird undoable things like 'stop worrying'. That is some shit that is beyond the power of the Best Day. Anyhow I have these hanging on my wall still. My favorites are Toddler-Mathilda who will try to count to 100 and my own - which is "Gleameyes, Tarot Painting, Orbital Opera." So I said to myself back in August, just starting to have a real job again after years, just moving to my new house, just dawning into real-true life, once again, that I'd paint the better part of 70 paintings, write a book and then write an additional side-book.
Now, I guess that's not outside the realm of possibility, heck, I'm closing in on completing those things as it is anyway - which is to say, yeah... I think I work kind of a lot. I think I feel it catching up to me. After Agatha visits my shoulder is weak and hurts. It's because she's big enough now that I'm having trouble lifting her all the way up over my head to carry her. Not so big that I can't carry her mind you, just, it's getting logistically more difficult. This matters to me for reasons. I go to bed kind of early, I wake up kind of early. I take notes and scribble ideas on the bus, I fill notebooks. I make chitchat and know the schedules too. I go and vote in elections, I invent my own holidays, observe new internet observances, cook every meal I eat, do all the shopping, all the cleaning, go to science fairs, put in hours at home and do my full 40 at the office. I sometimes hang out with friends, run a weekly game, look for another weekly game to play in, work on writing my own game. Have long conciliatory talks on the phone with Agatha when she's clashing with her mother, with my mother when she's clashing with her reality, with anyone who calls me at any time. I paint a little, this month, work on art projects with Agatha, make our sculpie chess set, plan to start doing plastic molds and casting for her fakemon sculpts, help her write draw her own 150 fakemon for her own imaginary region, almost remember bed time stories about the King of the Fairies.
A lot. Maybe I'm feeling my age. I sometimes just walk instead of taking the 7 or the 9. I go up the hill and down, I get to work earlier than everyone else so I can manage the databases without having to lock them. I get up in the dark, go home in the dark, write or paint or just try and do nothing, do laundry, iron, cook, wash. Walk. I'm starting to feel like I can't walk forever and not stop. I'm starting to feel like I have a distance that I can go and no farther. I never felt that way before. I have trouble waking up if I go to bed too late, I get very, very dizzy and sick if I miss too many meals in a row.
I still think I'm lazy, still feel like I am. I don't know if I do anything, enough things. There is always something to do. I don't every day make a note in my journal, I don't every moment blog of events in the world. I don't read a book every week. I could. I could make time and effort. Am I making a mistake? Am I just getting tired? Have I bit off more than I can chew?
I work at work, there's sometimes downtime, sometimes I wonder what I should be doing, and then sometimes there's a problem and it's on me to solve. Really solve. And then I solve a problem, get some manager's phone to work once again, figure out that it's the copier (?!) that's prank calling the marketing girl, map the territorial zip-codes and conflate territorial maps with pdf-lists exported into excel and then layer the maps for other people's presentations. I administer the database! I figure out reports and how to manage projects, I troubleshoot trouble, I shoot the trouble. I fix and reload the robotic paper-towel dispenser, I volunteer to rewire cubicles. I win second place at the office potluck.
I don't know why I mention it, maybe as an excuse. This is why I'm becoming antisocial, a hermit, this is why I don't try and saw off clever, well conceived phrases into the internet. This is why I don't stay up to date or read everything that's happened.
I still feel lazy. When I was 9 going on 10 my dad wouldn't carry me ever. Nobody would because I got too big. I was taller than my mother when I was 9, I probably weighed like a hundred pounds. I took it kind of personal but my folks, they're not good at communicating. When I first was a father I did the thing that you do where you forgive your parents and really come to respect them. Now that goodwill is fading. I think about how I do kind of a lot, I feel like plenty, enough anyway - enough that I shouldn't feel badly and think of myself as lazy, and then I remember, oh yeah, about my parents who didn't want to carry me (and who can blame them, that's fine) but made up for it by saying I was lazy and a homeless bum and no good and lazy. That's kind of their thing, or was. Now I think and see - what it all was. Because my kid does cool, interesting fun things, and she also is 9 going on 10 and acts like a lunatic and it's sometimes embarrassing. She thinks the dumbest things are funny, the weirdest antisocial behavior and so on. And she's big enough that it's not exactly the cutest thing. She's great, she's a kid, like any other kid, acts her age. It's not a shameful thing, it's embarrassing, but not a problem. You have to let that stuff go, every kid is a nut, that's fine, they're all weird and some have the inbuilt outsider thing going on and then we have kids... It's just the way things are/will be. And I keep thinking about how I'm so pissed at my dumb old parents, like teenager type pissed-offedness. And then more, even more! Because I think of how I'm in the wasteland and how I spent like, years, a lot of years postponing my own life, my actual life, to do their selfish mission of helping them to be richer. And then they had the nerve to blow all their ducats in reckless ways and are starting to imply and hint and cajole that there is some expectation that now that they are ruined that they should/would/can count on me to take them in when they are more/most/fully troubled. Which... I gave them enough.
Thanksgiving. Man. The Best Day is so much better.
Back at the Best Day I decided that it would be a good tradition to have everyone trace their hands and then write the things they wanted to do by the end of the year. Firstly, I wanted tracings of hands because I'd just moved in and the walls were bare. Hands traced and stuck to the wall are what you want out of a caveman hideout and I've got a powerful esteem for cavemen. Most of the things are kind of attainable. Charity wanted to quit her job, Nimoy wanted a pinball machine and Someone wanted to win a bake-off. Then there were weird undoable things like 'stop worrying'. That is some shit that is beyond the power of the Best Day. Anyhow I have these hanging on my wall still. My favorites are Toddler-Mathilda who will try to count to 100 and my own - which is "Gleameyes, Tarot Painting, Orbital Opera." So I said to myself back in August, just starting to have a real job again after years, just moving to my new house, just dawning into real-true life, once again, that I'd paint the better part of 70 paintings, write a book and then write an additional side-book.
Now, I guess that's not outside the realm of possibility, heck, I'm closing in on completing those things as it is anyway - which is to say, yeah... I think I work kind of a lot. I think I feel it catching up to me. After Agatha visits my shoulder is weak and hurts. It's because she's big enough now that I'm having trouble lifting her all the way up over my head to carry her. Not so big that I can't carry her mind you, just, it's getting logistically more difficult. This matters to me for reasons. I go to bed kind of early, I wake up kind of early. I take notes and scribble ideas on the bus, I fill notebooks. I make chitchat and know the schedules too. I go and vote in elections, I invent my own holidays, observe new internet observances, cook every meal I eat, do all the shopping, all the cleaning, go to science fairs, put in hours at home and do my full 40 at the office. I sometimes hang out with friends, run a weekly game, look for another weekly game to play in, work on writing my own game. Have long conciliatory talks on the phone with Agatha when she's clashing with her mother, with my mother when she's clashing with her reality, with anyone who calls me at any time. I paint a little, this month, work on art projects with Agatha, make our sculpie chess set, plan to start doing plastic molds and casting for her fakemon sculpts, help her write draw her own 150 fakemon for her own imaginary region, almost remember bed time stories about the King of the Fairies.
A lot. Maybe I'm feeling my age. I sometimes just walk instead of taking the 7 or the 9. I go up the hill and down, I get to work earlier than everyone else so I can manage the databases without having to lock them. I get up in the dark, go home in the dark, write or paint or just try and do nothing, do laundry, iron, cook, wash. Walk. I'm starting to feel like I can't walk forever and not stop. I'm starting to feel like I have a distance that I can go and no farther. I never felt that way before. I have trouble waking up if I go to bed too late, I get very, very dizzy and sick if I miss too many meals in a row.
I still think I'm lazy, still feel like I am. I don't know if I do anything, enough things. There is always something to do. I don't every day make a note in my journal, I don't every moment blog of events in the world. I don't read a book every week. I could. I could make time and effort. Am I making a mistake? Am I just getting tired? Have I bit off more than I can chew?
I work at work, there's sometimes downtime, sometimes I wonder what I should be doing, and then sometimes there's a problem and it's on me to solve. Really solve. And then I solve a problem, get some manager's phone to work once again, figure out that it's the copier (?!) that's prank calling the marketing girl, map the territorial zip-codes and conflate territorial maps with pdf-lists exported into excel and then layer the maps for other people's presentations. I administer the database! I figure out reports and how to manage projects, I troubleshoot trouble, I shoot the trouble. I fix and reload the robotic paper-towel dispenser, I volunteer to rewire cubicles. I win second place at the office potluck.
I don't know why I mention it, maybe as an excuse. This is why I'm becoming antisocial, a hermit, this is why I don't try and saw off clever, well conceived phrases into the internet. This is why I don't stay up to date or read everything that's happened.
I still feel lazy. When I was 9 going on 10 my dad wouldn't carry me ever. Nobody would because I got too big. I was taller than my mother when I was 9, I probably weighed like a hundred pounds. I took it kind of personal but my folks, they're not good at communicating. When I first was a father I did the thing that you do where you forgive your parents and really come to respect them. Now that goodwill is fading. I think about how I do kind of a lot, I feel like plenty, enough anyway - enough that I shouldn't feel badly and think of myself as lazy, and then I remember, oh yeah, about my parents who didn't want to carry me (and who can blame them, that's fine) but made up for it by saying I was lazy and a homeless bum and no good and lazy. That's kind of their thing, or was. Now I think and see - what it all was. Because my kid does cool, interesting fun things, and she also is 9 going on 10 and acts like a lunatic and it's sometimes embarrassing. She thinks the dumbest things are funny, the weirdest antisocial behavior and so on. And she's big enough that it's not exactly the cutest thing. She's great, she's a kid, like any other kid, acts her age. It's not a shameful thing, it's embarrassing, but not a problem. You have to let that stuff go, every kid is a nut, that's fine, they're all weird and some have the inbuilt outsider thing going on and then we have kids... It's just the way things are/will be. And I keep thinking about how I'm so pissed at my dumb old parents, like teenager type pissed-offedness. And then more, even more! Because I think of how I'm in the wasteland and how I spent like, years, a lot of years postponing my own life, my actual life, to do their selfish mission of helping them to be richer. And then they had the nerve to blow all their ducats in reckless ways and are starting to imply and hint and cajole that there is some expectation that now that they are ruined that they should/would/can count on me to take them in when they are more/most/fully troubled. Which... I gave them enough.
Thanksgiving. Man. The Best Day is so much better.
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no subject
Date: 2012-11-21 01:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-21 06:38 pm (UTC)It's weird that you didn't go to school with me! Except in the ways that we all went to school together.
So anyway - what are you trying to say to me?!
no subject
Date: 2012-11-22 02:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-21 07:35 pm (UTC)I know this feeling so closely. It's super gross.