Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Inertia

I did absolutely fucking nothing today.

Seriously, not a goddamn thing. I slept till sleeping hurt, I ate ramen for breakfast, I took my customary long bath, I called my mom, I read for a while. And that's about it. I didn't edit, I didn't do laundry, I didn't clean my room, I barely even got dressed. It was, I believe, the most willfully inert I've been in months. It was pretty sweet.

I think I earned it, though; it was a rough week. Nothing in particular happened, except for some very long days at work -- it was Rose Festival week, so we had hoards of tourists and sailors in town and in the store. The sailors were fine; the tourists were a pain in the ass. On Sunday I had to work from the time the store opened until the time it closed -- an eleven and a half hour shift, on my feet and performing "customer service" the whole time. If you don't know how much that sucks, it's been too long since you had a menial job. The payoff is that I get three days off this week, which I used as justification for using up one of them with gross laziness. Even if I waste it completely (which I did), I still have two left with which to do something useful.

It bothers me though: increasingly I feel sort of diminished. I'm badly lacking in passion, and I don't know how to address the problem. I wouldn't go so far as to call it depression, of even a minor variant. It's more of a disinterest in the world around me, and that isn't like me. I've always been more of a be-er than a do-er (ask anyone who knows me at all well), but now even when I see curious happenings and interesting phenomena all around me, I find that I don't much care. Why bother talking about it? I can't convince anyone else it's worth noting if I'm not even interested myself -- though the fact that nobody seems very interested is itself part of the reason I don't find it worth writing about. So, not the healthiest cycle.

My life is narrowing in on me, and I don't care for it. I know that this eventually passes, and new ideas come, and my motivation kicks back in. But for now, considering my next step, all I can think is, "where from here?" And next week, fate willing, I'm taking a day trip to the coast with my friends Turner and Rick, and hopefully Meg if she can get the day off. There will be a picnic by the Pacific and jazz cigarettes. I'm looking forward to it enormously.

I got a packet in the mail today, a big puffy yellow envelope. I opened it up and found a handful of hand-drawn and -colored paper thank you notes from the girls I worked with on their video project a few weeks back. I was taken aback at how touched I was by it -- not that little girls ever need much of an excuse to whip out the markers, but still, it was a lovely thing to get in the mail. I believe that the next opportunity -- working with Film Action Oregon on Project Youth Doc -- is at hand. I don't have much in the way of details yet, but I believe I'll be teaching, and that the gig will pay me enough to get a bike and hopefully pad my savings account back out just a bit. It may be an exhausting few weeks, as I'll have to keep slogging away at Fnorders on all the days when I'm not working at PYD, which probably means no days off at all for the duration. But that's not so bad -- I'll be tired, but maybe it'll re-ignite my passion again, if only a little.

And I think I've mostly decided that once my year is up in this house, I'll be looking to move somewhere else. There are no problems -- the house itself is quite nice, and my roomates and I have been getting along fine, if somewhat distantly (and I have no complaints about that). I'm very taken with my own room, in fact, and I really like spending time in it. But I'm just not crazy about the neighborhood. Again, there aren't any problems as such -- it's easy enough to get around and to get to the things I need, and the rents are definitely value for money -- but the atmosphere is awfully meh. And in a city so bursting with lovely and/or funky and/or interesting neighborhoods, "meh" isn't keeping me satisfied. Everywhere I go, all I see are places I'd rather live. I can't yet afford all of them, but I'm pretty sure I could do better than this. Hopefully by the time my commitment to this house is up, I'll have some reliable friends I can room up with, and life will be peaches.

Thursday evening I'm attending an orientation for the Independent Publishing Resource Center -- ostensibly a non-profit geared towards self-publishers of the 'zine persuasion, but obviously also of interest to anyone curious about hand-made publishing of all kinds. It won't be much of a volunteer opportunity as they do mostly classes (that I won't be able to afford for a while), but I'm so book-oriented now that the concept is irresistable. Paper-making, letter-press printing, book binding, design and production -- it's like a fetish dungeon for bibliophiles. And if my return to cycling makes me oversensitive to my resemblances (real and imagined) to my father, then maybe book arts will balance it out by highlighting much more comfortable and soothing resemblances to my Aunt Vicky. And maybe having so many amazing toys available will push me towards writing something, if only to have an excuse to make a book out of it.

I've done a little tweaking to the blog template -- took out a lot of the old stupid, pointless crap and replaced it with new stupid, pointless crap. The quote of the week is gone, the Bert and Ernie terror alert button is gone, the link box is gone, and the Progressive Blog Alliance blogroll is gone, gone, gone. I've replaced "currently reading" with a widget that fulfills essentially the same function, and I've added Twitter, just because I'm playing around with it. I'll be reconstructing my blogroll soon. Mostly I'm looking for any low-maintenance lazyweb doodad to help me keep some semblance of fresh content going until I can redo the entire site. Which I'm still trying to do, by the way. I haven't forgotten. Anyway, criticism is welcome.

PS: Oh, hey, apparently I did do something -- I wrote a book! In fact, I wrote a bunch of books. When I first saw one of these at work, I got excited, and then I got mad. Because now, if I ever do write a book, people will think I wrote this shit, too.
2:02 AM ::
Amy :: permalink
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