The other decision I came to during the course of my walk was to discontinue this project that I've been working on for the past six months. While it may just be a convenient time for me to do so, considering the laptop I charged last week or the doctor appointment I have coming up next week that I'll have to put on my credit card as well, I've also had enough of the daily counting of every single penny that I spend.
When I set out I set out to do this for a year. At the end of December it was six months. And I feel that a suitable enough place to stop. Over the next week I'll analyze some stats and make some conclusions based upon those, but the main goal was to show that life isn't nearly as expensive as we might think it to be and for the most part I think I showed that.
Where I failed was knowing, in the back of my mind, I was going to need some money set aside to be able to inevitably and ultimately move away once again. And in constantly pressuring myself to save money, and count every penny I spent (and not allow myself to having next to nothing and trusting things would still find a way to work out for themselves) I was allowing money to be at the forefront of my day-to-day experience: quite the opposite of what I set out to do.
Still, in having a job that will easily be replaced once I get to Portland (umm...I hope), in other words doing nothing in the form of a career, I am able to follow the instinct that has led me to decide to return there. Besides some unfinished business that I left behind out there, what better reason to do nothing and living cheaply than to have the freedom to be able to up and follow those instinctive desires when they beckon?
That's not to say I'm not incredibly strung out and anxious about the move or what I'll leave behind. But having managed the space and freedom to at least attempt it makes the last six months--if not the last six years of my life--a success as far that goes.
And I hope that I've still yet to see just how far that is.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Birthday Monday
Five years ago, to familiarize myself with parts of Buffalo I otherwise was ignorant of, I decided that I would take a day-long walk around Buffalo to commemorate my birthday. I wasn't raised celebrating my birthday and have since never preferred attention being brought to it or make a big deal about it. But why not at least take such a walk on a date I'd remember? Besides, that extra money Mom refuses not to give me (and which I certainly begrudgingly accept) every year for my birthday is perfect for just such an event.
Of course, just as last time, the weather was windy and below ten degrees to start the day off. But, once again, this wouldn't deter my attempts at taking the entire day to make my way around.
This time I started with breakfast at Bertha's Diner and Hertel around 11am and took it from there. I had only general plans at best and decided it best to just go wherever I wished to go. This time especially being significant with my impending departure, I wanted the day to be free of any unnecessary stress and just take the day and the city in as much as I could.
I had made quite my way around North Buffalo for a few hours, making it over to South Campus and as far north as Kenmore Ave before making my way down one of my three favorite Buffalo streets, Starin Ave. But after only two hours, and probably not just because I stupidly only wore one pair of pants but probably also because I am now five years older than the last time I tried this walk, my knee started hurting so badly that it forced me to limp over to the Humboldt subway station and make my way downtown via the Metro Rail.
Still, the walk wasn't a total loss. The simple act of walking has a way of clearing the mind of the unnecessary worries--such as those that have left me, at times, so anxious/analytical/depressed over the last few weeks that I have had little luck at doing much more than finding myself on a deprived and demented sleep schedule--that it becomes medicinal if not even meditative. And as such, I was able to clear my mind just long enough to think of things that I have needed to think about for some time now.
The main one I'll get to in my next post. As for the secondary one, I was once again able to take in another day of enjoying the neighborhoods of Buffalo. I even cleared my camera so as to take as many pictures of the places I walked as possible.
And in walking, and taking in the streetscapes while it lightly snowed on already snow covered lawns and streets, and the others equally bundled up and out walking as though the cold and snow were barely a hindrance at all, I knew I was taking in Buffalo for what I have always appreciated it for and probably always would.
But those streetscapes, and the houses and the general atmosphere they help create will always be here in some form or another. As I made one more gut check as to whether or not I really wanted to leave here, I came away again more certain that I did. For what I find so comforting in the landscape, I now find lacking in my emotional attachment to the city. For whatever reason, true or disillusion, everything here has an air of permanence. From the large, worn-in, inviting homes to the families I've seen my cousins my age now being, it is a permanence I have no direct access to at the moment and may in fact never--for better or worse--have access to.
It was easy for me to pass through the streets an unnoticed bypasser taking in the view. But as has become apparent to me over the last seven months (or more?), it, for me, is a whole other matter to try to feel the sense of impermanence I still find myself in need of amongst such a place that affords the wonderful, stable comforts home and history. For reasons I may not even be certain of myself, right now I know it's time to move on once again. It may just be pointless running that I'm doing, it may not be; I may just wind up back here again, I may not. But right now, as I reassured myself on that walk, it's what I need to do.
I noticed Buffalo will always be my home on my walk.
But sometime ago, I left that home. I came back believing that it still was and wanting to make sure. But just as I couldn't recreate the walk I took five years ago--my knees are getting older--as the saying goes, I also couldn't go home again.
Of course, just as last time, the weather was windy and below ten degrees to start the day off. But, once again, this wouldn't deter my attempts at taking the entire day to make my way around.
This time I started with breakfast at Bertha's Diner and Hertel around 11am and took it from there. I had only general plans at best and decided it best to just go wherever I wished to go. This time especially being significant with my impending departure, I wanted the day to be free of any unnecessary stress and just take the day and the city in as much as I could.
I had made quite my way around North Buffalo for a few hours, making it over to South Campus and as far north as Kenmore Ave before making my way down one of my three favorite Buffalo streets, Starin Ave. But after only two hours, and probably not just because I stupidly only wore one pair of pants but probably also because I am now five years older than the last time I tried this walk, my knee started hurting so badly that it forced me to limp over to the Humboldt subway station and make my way downtown via the Metro Rail.
Still, the walk wasn't a total loss. The simple act of walking has a way of clearing the mind of the unnecessary worries--such as those that have left me, at times, so anxious/analytical/depressed over the last few weeks that I have had little luck at doing much more than finding myself on a deprived and demented sleep schedule--that it becomes medicinal if not even meditative. And as such, I was able to clear my mind just long enough to think of things that I have needed to think about for some time now.
The main one I'll get to in my next post. As for the secondary one, I was once again able to take in another day of enjoying the neighborhoods of Buffalo. I even cleared my camera so as to take as many pictures of the places I walked as possible.
And in walking, and taking in the streetscapes while it lightly snowed on already snow covered lawns and streets, and the others equally bundled up and out walking as though the cold and snow were barely a hindrance at all, I knew I was taking in Buffalo for what I have always appreciated it for and probably always would.
But those streetscapes, and the houses and the general atmosphere they help create will always be here in some form or another. As I made one more gut check as to whether or not I really wanted to leave here, I came away again more certain that I did. For what I find so comforting in the landscape, I now find lacking in my emotional attachment to the city. For whatever reason, true or disillusion, everything here has an air of permanence. From the large, worn-in, inviting homes to the families I've seen my cousins my age now being, it is a permanence I have no direct access to at the moment and may in fact never--for better or worse--have access to.
It was easy for me to pass through the streets an unnoticed bypasser taking in the view. But as has become apparent to me over the last seven months (or more?), it, for me, is a whole other matter to try to feel the sense of impermanence I still find myself in need of amongst such a place that affords the wonderful, stable comforts home and history. For reasons I may not even be certain of myself, right now I know it's time to move on once again. It may just be pointless running that I'm doing, it may not be; I may just wind up back here again, I may not. But right now, as I reassured myself on that walk, it's what I need to do.
I noticed Buffalo will always be my home on my walk.
But sometime ago, I left that home. I came back believing that it still was and wanting to make sure. But just as I couldn't recreate the walk I took five years ago--my knees are getting older--as the saying goes, I also couldn't go home again.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Sleep Makes Me Tired
I once again slept away the day today. I saw a little daylight when I woke up to take a shower at 1pm, only to fall right back to sleep afterwards.
And like I said earlier, there's nothing wrong with this schedule. My body has time and again inevitably found its way back to an up-all-night sleep schedule every time I've been without a job. (I had been doing just fine until New Year's Eve saw me up until 6:30am and my schedule hasn't looked back since.)
But the thing that has really held me back is just how much I've been sleeping. I could easily argue that this too seems to be a natural inevitability for my body. Read: I could just argue that I'm inherently lazy.
But the real reason that I'm so lazy is that one of those basic laws of physics that I thought I forgotten so long ago: a body at rest stays at rest.
If I managed to just muster up the necessary inspiration (I don't think that's the word I was looking for, but it'll do right now) to go out and get just a little exercise, I'll be more than good to go. Today I took a 45 minute walk with my roommate and suddenly I had the energy to put up two posts in the same day for the first time in almost a month.
And if I just manage to go for a walk, or ride my bike down Elmwood, or even just walk far enough to pick up a coffee and read at the shop for a little bit, my body is not only awake enough to not have to go right back to sleep and allow me to read for a little while, but I'm also surrounded by enough human interaction going on around me that, even without a job, I still manage to feel a little less lonely.
Lately, I wouldn't care to ask for anything more than that.
And like I said earlier, there's nothing wrong with this schedule. My body has time and again inevitably found its way back to an up-all-night sleep schedule every time I've been without a job. (I had been doing just fine until New Year's Eve saw me up until 6:30am and my schedule hasn't looked back since.)
But the thing that has really held me back is just how much I've been sleeping. I could easily argue that this too seems to be a natural inevitability for my body. Read: I could just argue that I'm inherently lazy.
But the real reason that I'm so lazy is that one of those basic laws of physics that I thought I forgotten so long ago: a body at rest stays at rest.
If I managed to just muster up the necessary inspiration (I don't think that's the word I was looking for, but it'll do right now) to go out and get just a little exercise, I'll be more than good to go. Today I took a 45 minute walk with my roommate and suddenly I had the energy to put up two posts in the same day for the first time in almost a month.
And if I just manage to go for a walk, or ride my bike down Elmwood, or even just walk far enough to pick up a coffee and read at the shop for a little bit, my body is not only awake enough to not have to go right back to sleep and allow me to read for a little while, but I'm also surrounded by enough human interaction going on around me that, even without a job, I still manage to feel a little less lonely.
Lately, I wouldn't care to ask for anything more than that.
How to Fight Loneliness
Having now not worked for nearly a month, the ironic point has been proven to me: not working can make one feel incredibly lonely.
Looking back, the jobs that I liked the most were the office job I had while going to UB where I was surrounded by more than 40 people each day; the convenient store job that had me face-to-face with dozens of customers every hour, as well as some of the funnest co-workers I've ever had; and even the office job that I had at Buff. St. that had enough people there to offset a numerous amount of over-bearing co-workers.
The bottom line is that each of those jobs had me daily surrounded by people. Whereas, my recent job had me driving around for eight hours to nearby factories with drop-offs and pickups that would last ten minutes, at most, at each stop, before I was alone in the cab again for another half an hour. From there I would wait for the bus on my own before ultimately getting onto the bus and walking home from there all by myself.
Now that I've fallen into my inevitable nocturnal schedule, I can sometimes go the entire day with little more than a couple of hours of interaction with my roommates and no one else. That's not to say they aren't enough, or even to suggest that I despise being alone. But even being back in Buffalo, surrounded by more than a dozen friends, we always go our separate ways once it's time to turn in.
And that's never felt more than on Sunday night. And Sunday nights have a way of especially bringing out the loneliness within me. Last night, after my roommates went to bed, I tried for hours to force myself into my bedroom and write. But the very act of writing is a lonely act. And not wanting to feel even lonelier at that point, I turned to places that offer a temporary, at best, respite for the lonely the world over: I began to watch TV.
Generally, I dislike TV because I'm allowing myself to be entertained by something other than my imagination, something other than my own creation. Likewise movies. And music.
But to completely remove myself from TV, or movies and music, is to remove myself even further from my friends. So much of our collective conversation is rooted in shared experiences (last Friday night, the Bills game, etc) and a shared canon of television and movies (Seinfeld, Simpsons, They Live, to name an incredible few) that even I don't know just how much I miss out in our general conversations by not being as well rehearsed in the movies I've watched or the music I've listened to or the comedians whose material I haven't heard.
And in turning to TV last night, I was simply looking for some sort of connection to something outside my own little world. That's got to be the only reason that news and weather--or work for that matter, as well as the inane sports talk radio I would listen to while alone in the truck I was driving--are so popular: to give us something to talk about with otherwise total strangers (even if they are co-workers or family), just to be able to interact and connect for a short moment. It's better than being lonely for that moment.
But then I turned on the TV and saw only American Gladiators and numerous headlines about Britney Spears and I remembered I would rather be lonely than know about this literal horse shit. If that's the price of sacrificing my own ideals, my own identity, I'd rather be the last person alive.
The act of writing is, by definition, lonely. A main reason that I returned to Buffalo was to not only be around my friends again, but to work on some writing projects (beyond just this one) in a place that was cheap enough to give me the space and time necessary to do so. So in quitting work, I was aware that I was setting out to do something inherently lonely.
But as I've also now come to realize, just in being unwilling to so willingly work, I always put just enough space between me and others that there is yet one more way I have cut myself off. And last night, in finally getting myself to make even the most basic of posts last night, I became even lonelier. Because I also realized the more I remove myself from watching TV or movies, the more I do so.
So it goes.
Looking back, the jobs that I liked the most were the office job I had while going to UB where I was surrounded by more than 40 people each day; the convenient store job that had me face-to-face with dozens of customers every hour, as well as some of the funnest co-workers I've ever had; and even the office job that I had at Buff. St. that had enough people there to offset a numerous amount of over-bearing co-workers.
The bottom line is that each of those jobs had me daily surrounded by people. Whereas, my recent job had me driving around for eight hours to nearby factories with drop-offs and pickups that would last ten minutes, at most, at each stop, before I was alone in the cab again for another half an hour. From there I would wait for the bus on my own before ultimately getting onto the bus and walking home from there all by myself.
Now that I've fallen into my inevitable nocturnal schedule, I can sometimes go the entire day with little more than a couple of hours of interaction with my roommates and no one else. That's not to say they aren't enough, or even to suggest that I despise being alone. But even being back in Buffalo, surrounded by more than a dozen friends, we always go our separate ways once it's time to turn in.
And that's never felt more than on Sunday night. And Sunday nights have a way of especially bringing out the loneliness within me. Last night, after my roommates went to bed, I tried for hours to force myself into my bedroom and write. But the very act of writing is a lonely act. And not wanting to feel even lonelier at that point, I turned to places that offer a temporary, at best, respite for the lonely the world over: I began to watch TV.
Generally, I dislike TV because I'm allowing myself to be entertained by something other than my imagination, something other than my own creation. Likewise movies. And music.
But to completely remove myself from TV, or movies and music, is to remove myself even further from my friends. So much of our collective conversation is rooted in shared experiences (last Friday night, the Bills game, etc) and a shared canon of television and movies (Seinfeld, Simpsons, They Live, to name an incredible few) that even I don't know just how much I miss out in our general conversations by not being as well rehearsed in the movies I've watched or the music I've listened to or the comedians whose material I haven't heard.
And in turning to TV last night, I was simply looking for some sort of connection to something outside my own little world. That's got to be the only reason that news and weather--or work for that matter, as well as the inane sports talk radio I would listen to while alone in the truck I was driving--are so popular: to give us something to talk about with otherwise total strangers (even if they are co-workers or family), just to be able to interact and connect for a short moment. It's better than being lonely for that moment.
But then I turned on the TV and saw only American Gladiators and numerous headlines about Britney Spears and I remembered I would rather be lonely than know about this literal horse shit. If that's the price of sacrificing my own ideals, my own identity, I'd rather be the last person alive.
The act of writing is, by definition, lonely. A main reason that I returned to Buffalo was to not only be around my friends again, but to work on some writing projects (beyond just this one) in a place that was cheap enough to give me the space and time necessary to do so. So in quitting work, I was aware that I was setting out to do something inherently lonely.
But as I've also now come to realize, just in being unwilling to so willingly work, I always put just enough space between me and others that there is yet one more way I have cut myself off. And last night, in finally getting myself to make even the most basic of posts last night, I became even lonelier. Because I also realized the more I remove myself from watching TV or movies, the more I do so.
So it goes.
Getting Late
I have more than just this post that I could write tonight, but we'll just go with this one for now.
It's just before 4:00 am and I'm still awake. Though I might, if I laid down right now there's no guarantee that I'd fall asleep right away. Still, my impulse is to put myself to sleep right now because it's so late.
Yet, without any need to awake tomorrow, how is it that there's even such a concept as "late" still in my vernacular? It's just right now. And right now, I'm kind of tired, but still very awake. And that should be that.
Yet, and it's no surprise really, try as I might to remove myself from a normal schedule and normal time frames, I'm still just as much a part of them as ever because everyone I interact with isn't removed from those schedules. And because I have to be quiet for roommates who have to awake tomorrow, and because I make sure to not be in the shower when someone else has to take one for work, and because I try to make sure I eat before or after someone who's just getting home from work, I cannot remove myself from the standard time frames that effect everyone's days equally. The only way I could possibly do that is to remove myself from society completely. And, especially speaking on a Sunday night, why would I want to do that?
In fact, I think I just talked myself into going to bed. After all, it's getting late.
It's just before 4:00 am and I'm still awake. Though I might, if I laid down right now there's no guarantee that I'd fall asleep right away. Still, my impulse is to put myself to sleep right now because it's so late.
Yet, without any need to awake tomorrow, how is it that there's even such a concept as "late" still in my vernacular? It's just right now. And right now, I'm kind of tired, but still very awake. And that should be that.
Yet, and it's no surprise really, try as I might to remove myself from a normal schedule and normal time frames, I'm still just as much a part of them as ever because everyone I interact with isn't removed from those schedules. And because I have to be quiet for roommates who have to awake tomorrow, and because I make sure to not be in the shower when someone else has to take one for work, and because I try to make sure I eat before or after someone who's just getting home from work, I cannot remove myself from the standard time frames that effect everyone's days equally. The only way I could possibly do that is to remove myself from society completely. And, especially speaking on a Sunday night, why would I want to do that?
In fact, I think I just talked myself into going to bed. After all, it's getting late.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
New Year, New City
Without a doubt, the biggest development in regards to these posts that came over the holiday season was my decision to once again move back to Portland.
My first posts described this as a project to see if I could spend no more than $1,000 a month, but a large part of the ideas laid out were that I would do it living in Buffalo, both because of its affordability and with the hopes of making myself reacquainted with my hometown city.
Now I'm faced with the decision as to whether or not I should continue this project in another city--and thereby continue to count every penny I spend, which, as one might guess, has begun to leave me a bit spent--or instead celebrate the freedom that doing nothing, in the larger sense--such as not having a career or house to hold me down--allows me to have and thus enables me to be able to travel at whim's desire.
My first posts described this as a project to see if I could spend no more than $1,000 a month, but a large part of the ideas laid out were that I would do it living in Buffalo, both because of its affordability and with the hopes of making myself reacquainted with my hometown city.
Now I'm faced with the decision as to whether or not I should continue this project in another city--and thereby continue to count every penny I spend, which, as one might guess, has begun to leave me a bit spent--or instead celebrate the freedom that doing nothing, in the larger sense--such as not having a career or house to hold me down--allows me to have and thus enables me to be able to travel at whim's desire.
New Year, New Post
I've obviously been slacking on posting here lately, but isn't that a bit more appropriate for someone claiming to be doing nothing?
And because the news doesn't report on the 280,000 people in Buffalo who didn't get shot or mugged or what have you, but only the one or two pieces of bad news, because we'd eventually tune out such redundancy, it would have been equally redundant to continuously post about just how little I've been doing with myself.
In the full holiday spirit, I began to make myself all the more comfortable with doing absolutely nothing all day. Some days I read, some days I wrote, I usually took a walk and on some days managed to awake at a decent hour.
But those days that I slept in far later than I wished to, those days that I didn't read? I enjoyed them every bit as much as those days that I did read (etc). But now that the holidays (and thus, an obvious excuse) are over, I'm going to try to get back at it here, as well as other projects. I'll make a few retroactive posts in the coming days--I wasn't completely void of ideas these past few weeks--and hopefully will have a few new ones to attack as well.
And because the news doesn't report on the 280,000 people in Buffalo who didn't get shot or mugged or what have you, but only the one or two pieces of bad news, because we'd eventually tune out such redundancy, it would have been equally redundant to continuously post about just how little I've been doing with myself.
In the full holiday spirit, I began to make myself all the more comfortable with doing absolutely nothing all day. Some days I read, some days I wrote, I usually took a walk and on some days managed to awake at a decent hour.
But those days that I slept in far later than I wished to, those days that I didn't read? I enjoyed them every bit as much as those days that I did read (etc). But now that the holidays (and thus, an obvious excuse) are over, I'm going to try to get back at it here, as well as other projects. I'll make a few retroactive posts in the coming days--I wasn't completely void of ideas these past few weeks--and hopefully will have a few new ones to attack as well.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
The Knot in My Stomach
As my time was winding down on the job, my frustrations had boiled over onto Buffalo as well: for not having more people to justify more frequent bus stops out near where I worked or for not having more jobs so I could more easily quite one I hate and easily replace it.
When I came back to Buffalo this summer, I came back with no illusions about it being something it wasn’t (and isn’t) and with expectations no loftier than discovering some of the things it might still nevertheless have going for it that I may have previously missed. If that job had done anything more it removed me from the physical city too frequently, for too long each day. Now that I have the free time to be in the city itself everyday, I am making sure, at the very least, that if I am to leave Buffalo again, I am going to leave it on good terms.
Because, that said, I’ve definitely been seriously considering a move back to Portland a lot lately. Enough so that I have absolutely no idea what is going to happen in my life next and find myself in a limbo state--both welcomed and unwelcome--at the moment. Everyday I’ve had a knot in the pit of my stomach constantly pouring over the possibilities, half excited, half nervous about making a good decision and making it for the right reasons. I know that it’s a knot that is a result of being willing to quit a job, live off as little money as possible and be willing to move about on an instinctual whim when the feeling dictates. I know too that I will eventually, when looking back, appreciate this situation as being a result of that freedom, but that will be easier than actually going through the experience as it interferes with my day from time to time.
I recently had a passing thought that I may have seen a bit too much of myself in Buffalo: a proud past that potentially had a promising future that ultimately went an unforeseen and unexpected route. That Buffalo isn’t as big a city that I might want to be living in, but, like I said, I had no illusions about that before I came back. If I am going to leave, it will be reasons unrelated to such arbitrary standards but rather for the fact that I may just have to admit that Buffalo might not be the place for me to be at this time.
And between Buffalo and I, the one I can change the easiest is myself.
When I came back to Buffalo this summer, I came back with no illusions about it being something it wasn’t (and isn’t) and with expectations no loftier than discovering some of the things it might still nevertheless have going for it that I may have previously missed. If that job had done anything more it removed me from the physical city too frequently, for too long each day. Now that I have the free time to be in the city itself everyday, I am making sure, at the very least, that if I am to leave Buffalo again, I am going to leave it on good terms.
Because, that said, I’ve definitely been seriously considering a move back to Portland a lot lately. Enough so that I have absolutely no idea what is going to happen in my life next and find myself in a limbo state--both welcomed and unwelcome--at the moment. Everyday I’ve had a knot in the pit of my stomach constantly pouring over the possibilities, half excited, half nervous about making a good decision and making it for the right reasons. I know that it’s a knot that is a result of being willing to quit a job, live off as little money as possible and be willing to move about on an instinctual whim when the feeling dictates. I know too that I will eventually, when looking back, appreciate this situation as being a result of that freedom, but that will be easier than actually going through the experience as it interferes with my day from time to time.
I recently had a passing thought that I may have seen a bit too much of myself in Buffalo: a proud past that potentially had a promising future that ultimately went an unforeseen and unexpected route. That Buffalo isn’t as big a city that I might want to be living in, but, like I said, I had no illusions about that before I came back. If I am going to leave, it will be reasons unrelated to such arbitrary standards but rather for the fact that I may just have to admit that Buffalo might not be the place for me to be at this time.
And between Buffalo and I, the one I can change the easiest is myself.
Daily Routine
Now that I’ve been off for a full week now and I did my heavy drinking last week, I’m finally getting into a groove with my free time. Other than the mornings after drinking, I’ve been keeping up very well with my goal to wake up early (woke up at 8:00 this morning) and take my time to enjoy breakfast.
From there I usually take a few hours to read—online or books—or what have you before lunch. After lunch, my mind a bit tired from concentrating for so long, and my body tired from sitting still that entire time, I’ve been leaving the next few hours open to taking a daily walk, watching a little TV (Seinfeld), making dinner or whatever else might come up. I try to make plans to get out of the house at least once a day to prevent cabin fever and have done so everyday so far. Even have plans to meet some people from an old job at Nick’s Place tomorrow for lunch (breakfast).
From there I’ll usually end up back in my room, finishing off the night with a drink or two while catching up on some wikipedia or baseball-reference.com reading to calmly finish off what usually amounts to a 17 hour day.
Yet, even with all that time, I still have yet to make a post here and have plenty of other things that I’m not doing that will hopefully keep me busy the entire time I am not working. Which at the moment I have no idea how long will be.
From there I usually take a few hours to read—online or books—or what have you before lunch. After lunch, my mind a bit tired from concentrating for so long, and my body tired from sitting still that entire time, I’ve been leaving the next few hours open to taking a daily walk, watching a little TV (Seinfeld), making dinner or whatever else might come up. I try to make plans to get out of the house at least once a day to prevent cabin fever and have done so everyday so far. Even have plans to meet some people from an old job at Nick’s Place tomorrow for lunch (breakfast).
From there I’ll usually end up back in my room, finishing off the night with a drink or two while catching up on some wikipedia or baseball-reference.com reading to calmly finish off what usually amounts to a 17 hour day.
Yet, even with all that time, I still have yet to make a post here and have plenty of other things that I’m not doing that will hopefully keep me busy the entire time I am not working. Which at the moment I have no idea how long will be.
Ode to 9 to 5
Notes from my last week of work:
Having one friend who has 10% required overtime every week as part of his contract; one who works six days a week, usually more than 50 hours; another who is required to work one Saturday a month and gets only a limited number of holidays off a year; and including myself, having just quit my second straight job that had no definite quitting time everyday: a toast to 9 to 5 and thee days when work, as meaningless as I know it to be, was at the very least confined between eight hours (not 8½ or 9 with lunch), usually between 9-5, not including holidays, even now forgotten ones like Veteran’s Day and President’s Day, and long before the 24/7 customer service industry based solely on convenience (as close to the king of the country as there’s ever been) to the customers and not the employees required to performed the task.
As easy as it would be for me to bitch about banks, I at least applaud their sticking to “banker’s hours” (though even those are slowly disappearing)—though too, already having all the money, it’s probably a bit easier for them to make their own rules.
Having one friend who has 10% required overtime every week as part of his contract; one who works six days a week, usually more than 50 hours; another who is required to work one Saturday a month and gets only a limited number of holidays off a year; and including myself, having just quit my second straight job that had no definite quitting time everyday: a toast to 9 to 5 and thee days when work, as meaningless as I know it to be, was at the very least confined between eight hours (not 8½ or 9 with lunch), usually between 9-5, not including holidays, even now forgotten ones like Veteran’s Day and President’s Day, and long before the 24/7 customer service industry based solely on convenience (as close to the king of the country as there’s ever been) to the customers and not the employees required to performed the task.
As easy as it would be for me to bitch about banks, I at least applaud their sticking to “banker’s hours” (though even those are slowly disappearing)—though too, already having all the money, it’s probably a bit easier for them to make their own rules.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Truth Boils Over
The truth boiled over yesterday.
The job that I have been working, with hours that vary on a day to day basis depending upon volume of and distance between pickups, for a place nine miles away from my house on a bus route that sees service only once an hour has not only taken far too much of my time but taken even more of my energy.
Every job I've had in recent memory looking back, has hat at least one aspect that wasn't completely unredeemable: The Buff St job office job—hopefully the last of those I'll ever have—did require I have a car and I did work with one of the most overbearing, nosey and demeaning coworkers I’ve had the displeasure of knowing, but it was always an 8-4 job and was no more than three miles from my house; the delivery job I had in Portland did demand a lot of overtime, but I worked with friends my age and was close enough to home that as soon as I was done I could get on my bike and leave; and even a job I had at FedEx that I commuted 35-40 minutes from Lockport for and had the most miserable workers I hopefully will ever see at least, once again, had hours set in stone.
As for my current job, I show up early everyday (because my ride works this early) and no matter how efficiently I perform the daily tasks, find myself in a constant nerve-wrecking race against the company’s willingness to take orders no matter how late or out of the way they might be—nothing personal of course to the worker, just business—just to get back for a bus that if I miss by one minute adds another 59 to my day.
Obviously I have a thing against any kind of job. Based on my low needs for money, there is no such things as a low paying job to me, though, likewise, probably no good paying job either. Still, I can go without completely abhorring the act as well. After all, I willingly admit that I need a job to remain social. Ideally I’d like a part time job that I could support myself with, or at least a full time job that I can count on leaving at a reliable time everyday. At this point even, I’d take a job that, even if the work fluctuates , would allow my efficiency to be rewarded and could leave when done.
This job has offered none of those things. The number of times I’ve sat around early in the day only to be busy at the end of the day is a weekly occurrence at least, the number of times I’ve had to turn around at the end of the day to go out for a run that adds 60-90 minutes on the end of my day are not as frequent but more memorable. Sometimes things get so out of hand and annoying that I see more dignity in asking for change or returning cans from the garbage than being at the consistent mercy of customer’s orders, warehouse incompetence and owner’s willingness to do anything for one order.
Ultimately I know this comes back on me and my willingness to compromise for work—just look at what I wrote above by even taking a job as shitty as one that would always fluctuate but might allow a minor reward for efficiency.
While I’ve saved a good amount of money from this job, I’ve cheated myself, once again, out of free time and moods that I am in more direct control of. If I’ll ever learn from this is to be seen. It seems I keep finding myself in such compromising situations. If I’ll ever find myself in the right job situation I doubt but I can at least hope to handle it a little better in the future, as it seems that I’ve also done in the past. Lastly, with free time now on the horizon, it’ll be up to me to retrospectively justify and rectify the time and money saved worth my while.
The truth of that will soon enough boil over as well.
The truth always boils over.
The job that I have been working, with hours that vary on a day to day basis depending upon volume of and distance between pickups, for a place nine miles away from my house on a bus route that sees service only once an hour has not only taken far too much of my time but taken even more of my energy.
Every job I've had in recent memory looking back, has hat at least one aspect that wasn't completely unredeemable: The Buff St job office job—hopefully the last of those I'll ever have—did require I have a car and I did work with one of the most overbearing, nosey and demeaning coworkers I’ve had the displeasure of knowing, but it was always an 8-4 job and was no more than three miles from my house; the delivery job I had in Portland did demand a lot of overtime, but I worked with friends my age and was close enough to home that as soon as I was done I could get on my bike and leave; and even a job I had at FedEx that I commuted 35-40 minutes from Lockport for and had the most miserable workers I hopefully will ever see at least, once again, had hours set in stone.
As for my current job, I show up early everyday (because my ride works this early) and no matter how efficiently I perform the daily tasks, find myself in a constant nerve-wrecking race against the company’s willingness to take orders no matter how late or out of the way they might be—nothing personal of course to the worker, just business—just to get back for a bus that if I miss by one minute adds another 59 to my day.
Obviously I have a thing against any kind of job. Based on my low needs for money, there is no such things as a low paying job to me, though, likewise, probably no good paying job either. Still, I can go without completely abhorring the act as well. After all, I willingly admit that I need a job to remain social. Ideally I’d like a part time job that I could support myself with, or at least a full time job that I can count on leaving at a reliable time everyday. At this point even, I’d take a job that, even if the work fluctuates , would allow my efficiency to be rewarded and could leave when done.
This job has offered none of those things. The number of times I’ve sat around early in the day only to be busy at the end of the day is a weekly occurrence at least, the number of times I’ve had to turn around at the end of the day to go out for a run that adds 60-90 minutes on the end of my day are not as frequent but more memorable. Sometimes things get so out of hand and annoying that I see more dignity in asking for change or returning cans from the garbage than being at the consistent mercy of customer’s orders, warehouse incompetence and owner’s willingness to do anything for one order.
Ultimately I know this comes back on me and my willingness to compromise for work—just look at what I wrote above by even taking a job as shitty as one that would always fluctuate but might allow a minor reward for efficiency.
While I’ve saved a good amount of money from this job, I’ve cheated myself, once again, out of free time and moods that I am in more direct control of. If I’ll ever learn from this is to be seen. It seems I keep finding myself in such compromising situations. If I’ll ever find myself in the right job situation I doubt but I can at least hope to handle it a little better in the future, as it seems that I’ve also done in the past. Lastly, with free time now on the horizon, it’ll be up to me to retrospectively justify and rectify the time and money saved worth my while.
The truth of that will soon enough boil over as well.
The truth always boils over.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
Countdown
I'm just counting down the work days I have left at this point. It's four.
And trying to avoid the suddenly terrifying feeling that I haven't done much in the way of reading at all over the past four months (the exact number of months I worked...hmmm). At least I've been posting here and doing a few other things, but if I'm not careful I'm going to start feeling overwhelmed by the number of things I need to catch up on with all my time off. Obviously I haven't quite come to be at peace with the idea of actually doing nothing and I'll chew over that in my mind for a few days before I expand upon that.
One thing at a time, one day at a time.
Just, life help me, don't let me drink and sleep it away this time.
And trying to avoid the suddenly terrifying feeling that I haven't done much in the way of reading at all over the past four months (the exact number of months I worked...hmmm). At least I've been posting here and doing a few other things, but if I'm not careful I'm going to start feeling overwhelmed by the number of things I need to catch up on with all my time off. Obviously I haven't quite come to be at peace with the idea of actually doing nothing and I'll chew over that in my mind for a few days before I expand upon that.
One thing at a time, one day at a time.
Just, life help me, don't let me drink and sleep it away this time.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Best and the Worst
Over Thanksgiving weekend I didn’t know if I was going to get a ride to Rochester for dinner but was willing to concede defeat and spend the day by myself. I certainly wanted to go, believing it would be better if I could, but I was going to make the most of it either way.
Then out of nowhere three situations showed themselves that allowed me to not only get a ride on Thursday but also to go out on Wednesday night. I didn’t sweat it and things just fell into place.
Same thing for my friend Mike who found a ride from New York City to Lockport—Lockport!—with seeming ease. The two of us even talked about how easily things seem to fall into place just by expecting or allowing them to.
Now, today, with things up in the air there are certainly options that I hope to take more than others. Still, I found myself immediately drawn to concerns that the best case scenarios might not happen over the course of the next month or two and did it with a mindset that those were suddenly the only options that I have. And as it became apparent that the best case scenario was not absolutely certain to be there, for a good part of my day I dwelled upon that uncertainty and expanded it into an overwhelmingly discouraging fact that depressingly left no other possible desirable scenarios behind.
Whatever it is that makes the mind immediately dwell upon the worst situation I don’t know. That it seems so universal amongst people, where most would let the fact that the only thing worse than the job you have is actually looking for a job force them to keep one, suggests to me that it isn’t an inherent trait amongst us—nothing is that inherently universal—but instead seems to me to be an acquired state of mind that is passed around on a daily basis. But what do I know?
It certainly requires a strong concentration on my part to overcome immediate reactions such as these and have found myself even thinking of them now that I'm home.
But the very idea quitting a job is to have options. Great, so I don’t have an immediate source of income. Perhaps things won’t work out as perfectly as I can imagine them. The benefit of allowing yourself to have options is to have options. There is never only one. No need to worry about it. Because sometimes, like the best case scenario worked out on Thanksgiving, just by allowing yourself to be in the position to be able to take it, even the best case scenario does work out.
Then out of nowhere three situations showed themselves that allowed me to not only get a ride on Thursday but also to go out on Wednesday night. I didn’t sweat it and things just fell into place.
Same thing for my friend Mike who found a ride from New York City to Lockport—Lockport!—with seeming ease. The two of us even talked about how easily things seem to fall into place just by expecting or allowing them to.
Now, today, with things up in the air there are certainly options that I hope to take more than others. Still, I found myself immediately drawn to concerns that the best case scenarios might not happen over the course of the next month or two and did it with a mindset that those were suddenly the only options that I have. And as it became apparent that the best case scenario was not absolutely certain to be there, for a good part of my day I dwelled upon that uncertainty and expanded it into an overwhelmingly discouraging fact that depressingly left no other possible desirable scenarios behind.
Whatever it is that makes the mind immediately dwell upon the worst situation I don’t know. That it seems so universal amongst people, where most would let the fact that the only thing worse than the job you have is actually looking for a job force them to keep one, suggests to me that it isn’t an inherent trait amongst us—nothing is that inherently universal—but instead seems to me to be an acquired state of mind that is passed around on a daily basis. But what do I know?
It certainly requires a strong concentration on my part to overcome immediate reactions such as these and have found myself even thinking of them now that I'm home.
But the very idea quitting a job is to have options. Great, so I don’t have an immediate source of income. Perhaps things won’t work out as perfectly as I can imagine them. The benefit of allowing yourself to have options is to have options. There is never only one. No need to worry about it. Because sometimes, like the best case scenario worked out on Thanksgiving, just by allowing yourself to be in the position to be able to take it, even the best case scenario does work out.
Monday, November 26, 2007
I'm Not There
After yet another day of work that required an irritating and demeaning waste of my time thanks to incompetent people, waiting in the cold rain with wet socks for a bus that ultimately got me home just under twelve hours after I had left it for work and the unbearable realization of just how much time and energy this inane job has been sucking from me, I changed my plans on the fly and, unwilling to any longer attempt to foolishly justify the lengths I literally go to in order to keep the job, decided that I will not be quitting at the end of the year.
Instead I gave my two weeks notice at the end of the day.
The sudden possibilities of free time ahead of me, of not having to leave the Elmwood District, of perhaps finding a lower paying part-time job in the area to ease my regrets about not quitting sooner, or perhaps fixing even bigger far off mistakes before it's too late are already freely being raced around.
For now, I have two more weeks to get through. Two weeks to consider all those possibilities.
I feel the relief setting in already.
Instead I gave my two weeks notice at the end of the day.
The sudden possibilities of free time ahead of me, of not having to leave the Elmwood District, of perhaps finding a lower paying part-time job in the area to ease my regrets about not quitting sooner, or perhaps fixing even bigger far off mistakes before it's too late are already freely being raced around.
For now, I have two more weeks to get through. Two weeks to consider all those possibilities.
I feel the relief setting in already.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Car Borrowing/Bike Riding
Tomorrow will be the first day in almost two weeks that I won't have a car to drive myself to work. As many free drink I've still been seeing every weekend, the cars have been being loaned to me nearly as frequently.
And as incredibly convenient that they have been in cutting down the commute to work and allowing me to use them for little errands like grocery shopping, as soon as I have to fill them up with gas I am immediately reminded just how little interest I have in actually have in owning a car again.
It's an incredibly generous offer that I will take every time from a friend in borrowing a car. But as soon as I would have to pay insurance, repairs (etc) would be when my interest in an automobile would cease.
And despite the colder weather now arriving, I still haven't abandoned my bike. In fact, I used it to go food shopping today. Today was the very type of day that I had been romanticizing when living in Portland and such a day that I wanted to ride my bike on just to show it possible. Once I got past the brief moment that I thought I was fucking crazy for ever romanticizing such a stupid thought, I warmed up and made it back and forth with an enjoyable ease even with the winds picking up.
So even on a day when I was mostly lazy (but not drinking at least), I did manage to accomplish something I had set out to in my return.
And as incredibly convenient that they have been in cutting down the commute to work and allowing me to use them for little errands like grocery shopping, as soon as I have to fill them up with gas I am immediately reminded just how little interest I have in actually have in owning a car again.
It's an incredibly generous offer that I will take every time from a friend in borrowing a car. But as soon as I would have to pay insurance, repairs (etc) would be when my interest in an automobile would cease.
And despite the colder weather now arriving, I still haven't abandoned my bike. In fact, I used it to go food shopping today. Today was the very type of day that I had been romanticizing when living in Portland and such a day that I wanted to ride my bike on just to show it possible. Once I got past the brief moment that I thought I was fucking crazy for ever romanticizing such a stupid thought, I warmed up and made it back and forth with an enjoyable ease even with the winds picking up.
So even on a day when I was mostly lazy (but not drinking at least), I did manage to accomplish something I had set out to in my return.
Thanksgiving Weekend
The past week has been a week long reason to drink. Perhaps thanks in part to it being a five payday month I have kept my word of a previous post and have not felt guilty about the amount of money that I've spent over the long weekend. My monthly total is now approaching October's current high, but with good reason after all the fun I had these past several days.
That said, it was also a sort of farewell celebration of sorts to that free spending out at the bars as well as in my daily habits in general. With my plans to quit my job impending, I am going to have to watch my spending a bit more scrupulously once again. $3 dollar beers and shots have once again increasingly grown annoying and I'm going to be looking to instead go out to bars with some sort of bargain (ie, Essex St. Pub). As well, I haven't been as focused on posting here and have even grown sloppy in some of my daily habits--sleeping (too much), reading (too little), cleanliness in my apartment--that could use a second wind as far as attention paid goes.
It's nice to think that the cold weather alone would keep me in more on the weekends and cut back on the spending, but a colder house is also hard to stay in. Either way, beginning today I've begun to take the necessary steps to be a bit more prepared to be focused once again.
Then again, it is only one day and the bars are open everyday.
That said, it was also a sort of farewell celebration of sorts to that free spending out at the bars as well as in my daily habits in general. With my plans to quit my job impending, I am going to have to watch my spending a bit more scrupulously once again. $3 dollar beers and shots have once again increasingly grown annoying and I'm going to be looking to instead go out to bars with some sort of bargain (ie, Essex St. Pub). As well, I haven't been as focused on posting here and have even grown sloppy in some of my daily habits--sleeping (too much), reading (too little), cleanliness in my apartment--that could use a second wind as far as attention paid goes.
It's nice to think that the cold weather alone would keep me in more on the weekends and cut back on the spending, but a colder house is also hard to stay in. Either way, beginning today I've begun to take the necessary steps to be a bit more prepared to be focused once again.
Then again, it is only one day and the bars are open everyday.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Into the Wild
It's been almost a couple of weeks since I and my roommate Daren went to see the film version of Into the Wild and have been digesting these thoughts for days now.
In the strict cinematic sense, I was surprised just how well the two and a half hours that I thought going in were going to be too much were used. Nothing felt unnecessary, like filler or even self-indulgent. It left plenty of room for interpretations and personal prejudices to influence one's own take on the movie: did Chris become a vagabond because of his parents' relationship or because he was a strict philosopher heavily influenced by his readings? Was Chris McCandless arrogant and overconfident enough to think he could master the the Alaskan wilderness or simply a naive romantic that, not knowing what he was getting himself into, got in over his head?
What I took away most from the movie, as much as I took away from the book, was a deep appreciation for anyone like Chris McCandless who can abandon everything they've ever had in order to physically carry out their personal ideologies.
But it also served as a reminder that that is the only way one can fully carry out any ideology without any compromise: alone. Let alone the fact that I find little worth in any philosophy only capable of working in seclusion from society, as well as the fact that I respect the fortitude of anyone willing to take their ideas that far, in the end, as even Chris McCandless figures out, happiness is only worth a damn when shared.
In my desire to work as little as possible, I daily face the compromises that I make to this philosophy and recognize that at the core of these compromises the desire to be a social creature is stronger in me than the desire to completely abandon work and go about fulfilling that idea uncompromised and pristine on my own; separated and alone.
I openly expose myself to stories such as Into the Wild so that I must constantly meet face to face the compromises that I am making so as to not only reconsider my stance but ultimately strengthen the stance I settle upon.
In one of the last scenes Chris is leaving for Alaska when his elderly friend asks if he could adopt Chris as his son, he being the last of his family to carry on his name. For me it was a moment heavily saturated with an unnecessary yet intrinsically basic human need to see one's name/genetic lines carried on. But more than just that it showed just how much we influence and impress upon each other's lives no matter how little we might try--perhaps out of social interactions that are impossible to escape or a universal clumsiness of human nature, I'm not quite sure.
In watching that scene I began tearing up knowing that in the past I had been selfishly unwilling to accept that truth. But even more so knowing that I would always be willing to work at least a little bit for those small moments I am always able to share between friends and family.
I would expand upon that idea if I were a better writer and yet, as of now, I am not. Such writing may only be capable for those willing to go into the metaphorical wild to better their craft which I've entered only done in ambitious talk and wordy intentions, but as of yet have been largely unwilling to do so in an even less than absolute practice.
Perhaps further testimony to my strong love of those moments my friends and I do share.
Perhaps further testimony to my willingness to compromise against my loftier ideals in order to experience the immediate physical pleasures.
And perhaps further still, yet another reason I might have teared up at that moment.
In the strict cinematic sense, I was surprised just how well the two and a half hours that I thought going in were going to be too much were used. Nothing felt unnecessary, like filler or even self-indulgent. It left plenty of room for interpretations and personal prejudices to influence one's own take on the movie: did Chris become a vagabond because of his parents' relationship or because he was a strict philosopher heavily influenced by his readings? Was Chris McCandless arrogant and overconfident enough to think he could master the the Alaskan wilderness or simply a naive romantic that, not knowing what he was getting himself into, got in over his head?
What I took away most from the movie, as much as I took away from the book, was a deep appreciation for anyone like Chris McCandless who can abandon everything they've ever had in order to physically carry out their personal ideologies.
But it also served as a reminder that that is the only way one can fully carry out any ideology without any compromise: alone. Let alone the fact that I find little worth in any philosophy only capable of working in seclusion from society, as well as the fact that I respect the fortitude of anyone willing to take their ideas that far, in the end, as even Chris McCandless figures out, happiness is only worth a damn when shared.
In my desire to work as little as possible, I daily face the compromises that I make to this philosophy and recognize that at the core of these compromises the desire to be a social creature is stronger in me than the desire to completely abandon work and go about fulfilling that idea uncompromised and pristine on my own; separated and alone.
I openly expose myself to stories such as Into the Wild so that I must constantly meet face to face the compromises that I am making so as to not only reconsider my stance but ultimately strengthen the stance I settle upon.
In one of the last scenes Chris is leaving for Alaska when his elderly friend asks if he could adopt Chris as his son, he being the last of his family to carry on his name. For me it was a moment heavily saturated with an unnecessary yet intrinsically basic human need to see one's name/genetic lines carried on. But more than just that it showed just how much we influence and impress upon each other's lives no matter how little we might try--perhaps out of social interactions that are impossible to escape or a universal clumsiness of human nature, I'm not quite sure.
In watching that scene I began tearing up knowing that in the past I had been selfishly unwilling to accept that truth. But even more so knowing that I would always be willing to work at least a little bit for those small moments I am always able to share between friends and family.
I would expand upon that idea if I were a better writer and yet, as of now, I am not. Such writing may only be capable for those willing to go into the metaphorical wild to better their craft which I've entered only done in ambitious talk and wordy intentions, but as of yet have been largely unwilling to do so in an even less than absolute practice.
Perhaps further testimony to my strong love of those moments my friends and I do share.
Perhaps further testimony to my willingness to compromise against my loftier ideals in order to experience the immediate physical pleasures.
And perhaps further still, yet another reason I might have teared up at that moment.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Saturday Morning Coming Up
Today I woke up like I have not on a Saturday morning in quite some time: before 2:00pm and less than mildly hungover.
This minor victory to the beginning of my day was quickly turned into a short trip to Wegman's where my roommate and I had our jokes about the lives we were leading somehow oddly reaffirmed when I walked by my prom date, unnoticed, only to overhear a conversation that mentioned she had recently been married.
On the ride home I jumped out of the car at a traffic light to pick up two tubes to fix my bike's two flat tires. And having gotten that out of the way I began walking the six blocks home and noticed it started snowing.
I have been waiting for snow in Buffalo for two years now. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to keep walking in that weather so I hurried home, unpacked my groceries, ate and headed back out to go for a walk.
As I walked south down Elmwood humming songs from Dylan's Time Out of Mind there was an odd feeling that I was somewhere both in my past and my future--a combination of a longing romanticism of previous days and the optimism that there is a pay off somewhere down the road that says everything I've ever done had rightfully lead up to that moment--in the very moment that I was experiencing.
The snow still falling, my breath visible and an unexpected warmth derived from the otherwise dreary gray overcast above me, for the first time in months I felt comfortable right where I was as I was right where I wanted to be. Even though I was just walking, observing, passing by and not actually touching anything, it--Buffalo--was all making an impression upon me that made me feel as though I were as much a part of it as it was a part of me. These were the moments that would always be recalled when remembering Buffalo and I was conscious enough to enjoy the moment for what it was.
I made it all the way downtown on my walk, saw the new M&T building that, while still new and pristine to offer any sort of welcoming feeling, will at least give notice that there were in fact still people living in Buffalo in the '00's, made it down Chippewa and then back up Elmwood before going all the way back north to Talking Leaves on the corner of Bidwell and Elmwood.
And all the while, contrary to usually being too trapped in my head to take in the details of the scenery, I noticed all the side streets--Virginia, Edward, Trinity, Tracy, Johnson Park--that I wish I could live on though felt life's limited length will prevent me from doing so, and I took in views down alleys and through parking lots and up and down the side streets that I hadn't ever seen before despite the number of times I had walked the very same route.
And because nothing can exist without its opposite--a city must first die before being reborn--I felt that the last few months that I've been sluggishly pushing through were suddenly worth it for they allowed this day and these moments, their total opposites, to occur. It might be gone tomorrow and I might return to that limbo place soon enough, but from this serene (re)connection to Buffalo today I saw signs of a personal rebound and again being assured that this is where I want to be and this is what I want to be doing with myself at his point, these thoughts all culminating in the calm realization that this is what I could do everyday if I simply didn't work. Or at least as much and so far from my house. And so all questions and doubt were ended at that moment: I will be quitting by the end of the year and will trust that work will be found and bills will be paid and, most importantly, I will again find myself back in the moments that led me to return to Buffalo and that will, should I leave again, always be calling me back.
Curious to know if every Saturday could be like this should I only wake up early enough.
This minor victory to the beginning of my day was quickly turned into a short trip to Wegman's where my roommate and I had our jokes about the lives we were leading somehow oddly reaffirmed when I walked by my prom date, unnoticed, only to overhear a conversation that mentioned she had recently been married.
On the ride home I jumped out of the car at a traffic light to pick up two tubes to fix my bike's two flat tires. And having gotten that out of the way I began walking the six blocks home and noticed it started snowing.
I have been waiting for snow in Buffalo for two years now. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to keep walking in that weather so I hurried home, unpacked my groceries, ate and headed back out to go for a walk.
As I walked south down Elmwood humming songs from Dylan's Time Out of Mind there was an odd feeling that I was somewhere both in my past and my future--a combination of a longing romanticism of previous days and the optimism that there is a pay off somewhere down the road that says everything I've ever done had rightfully lead up to that moment--in the very moment that I was experiencing.
The snow still falling, my breath visible and an unexpected warmth derived from the otherwise dreary gray overcast above me, for the first time in months I felt comfortable right where I was as I was right where I wanted to be. Even though I was just walking, observing, passing by and not actually touching anything, it--Buffalo--was all making an impression upon me that made me feel as though I were as much a part of it as it was a part of me. These were the moments that would always be recalled when remembering Buffalo and I was conscious enough to enjoy the moment for what it was.
I made it all the way downtown on my walk, saw the new M&T building that, while still new and pristine to offer any sort of welcoming feeling, will at least give notice that there were in fact still people living in Buffalo in the '00's, made it down Chippewa and then back up Elmwood before going all the way back north to Talking Leaves on the corner of Bidwell and Elmwood.
And all the while, contrary to usually being too trapped in my head to take in the details of the scenery, I noticed all the side streets--Virginia, Edward, Trinity, Tracy, Johnson Park--that I wish I could live on though felt life's limited length will prevent me from doing so, and I took in views down alleys and through parking lots and up and down the side streets that I hadn't ever seen before despite the number of times I had walked the very same route.
And because nothing can exist without its opposite--a city must first die before being reborn--I felt that the last few months that I've been sluggishly pushing through were suddenly worth it for they allowed this day and these moments, their total opposites, to occur. It might be gone tomorrow and I might return to that limbo place soon enough, but from this serene (re)connection to Buffalo today I saw signs of a personal rebound and again being assured that this is where I want to be and this is what I want to be doing with myself at his point, these thoughts all culminating in the calm realization that this is what I could do everyday if I simply didn't work. Or at least as much and so far from my house. And so all questions and doubt were ended at that moment: I will be quitting by the end of the year and will trust that work will be found and bills will be paid and, most importantly, I will again find myself back in the moments that led me to return to Buffalo and that will, should I leave again, always be calling me back.
Curious to know if every Saturday could be like this should I only wake up early enough.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Biding My Time, Wasting My Time
If only for the sake of honesty and full self-disclosure, I will again note that at the present, I am only biding--wasting--my time until I have a little more money saved up because of my previous immediate willingness to compromise my goal of finding only part-time work. How I could possibly allow myself to waste so much of my precious time trying to save money I have an idea only in theory. But I'm still doing it. I have been tired and uninspired lately and while I know I will eventually retrospectively turn these moments into proof of the static nature of work, let them also be noted as a result of my complacency at the moment and nothing more.
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