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.
Showing posts with label Work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Work. Show all posts
Monday, January 7, 2008
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.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Days Off
Coincidentally enough, today (now yesterday, thanks to not having an Internet connection yesterday) was my first day off since the last day I really made any posts here. And if the proof I have right here before me of my productivity on days off, not to mention the reminders I had all day of just how much time I could have if I wasn’t working, isn’t enough to convince me to carry through my plans to quit work soon enough, than nothing will and I am nothing but a paper philosopher unwilling to carry out his own theories and might as well go all out and go back to school and get myself a real job.
Who Needs Actions When You Got Words
I’ve been neglecting any sort of posting here as of late for what I had considered to be no other reason than it was merely a reflection of my natural tendency to lose the momentum that I create at the beginning of a project, especially in any sort of creative venture.
I’ve once again found myself in a sluggish routine of not-reading, drinking and watching television too much, and working even more to the point of becoming creatively paralyzed, indifferent and inactive. Not only has this project here suffered, but the main creative goal I had set for myself to finish in my return to Buffalo has hit an equally inactive snag as well
What I have managed to do is, as I have been slowly saving some money up, to begin thinking of ways in which I might spend it. The most enticing way that I have considered was to save enough money to buy a van, quit work and drive cross-country alone over the course of a couple of months—having no timetable whatsoever being essential—while living out of my van, avoiding the big cities, and seeing how many ways I could spend my days without the conveniences of television and the internet to distract me. And believe me, nothing would sound like a better way to spend my summer or the money that I’ve been saving.
But the daydream is one by its very definition based upon the need for money. However, the goals that I have set out to accomplish this year were set in hopes of showing that one can easily live on an average of $1,000 a month, but were also set in hopes of working as little as possible. It’s not the spending the money that is counterproductive here, but the necessity of earning the unnecessary money.
In a recent conversation, my friend Dan accused me of being amongst the hardest workers of our friends in that my work day is the longest and therefore hypocritical to this supposed cause I have taken up.
And I couldn’t defend myself. He was right. My work days have become what I previously stated in a post: nothing resembling an eight hour day but instead upwards of 11 or 12. My average day has been approaching eleven hours easily and by the time I’m finished eating it is nearly 12. Such a long work day was the very sort of things I set out to work [sic] against this year. And yet here I am correctly noted as a hypocrite.
While I can successfully argue in favor of keeping the job so I don’t have to look for another, I can no longer deny what has been crippling my creative motives over the last few weeks: the knowledge that I am compromising my intentions far too much for the sake of a little financial stability and to save up for trips that do not need to happen immediately, especially ones based on such a large need for capital, rather than compromising in favor of accomplishing the things that require free time.
Reading my last post, I have no idea what I was thinking sugar-coating the compromises that I’ve been making just for work. Yet it was true. I even began appreciating the idea that I didn’t have to wear a uniform or maintain my beard to the point of thinking that the job was a “good” job. But this will have to change.
As of now I can afford to be fired or quit this minute and survive until at least February on the money I have saved. So for now I am only working, really, to save more money. But instead of mapping out my future as far away as March or April, I am forcing myself to quit by my birthday in January, if not by as early as December. And even that seems to be a bit of a compromise when I see it written out in front of me.
If the trip can still be taken, it will be. But such a trip is not my goal this year. I must stop compromising what I have put before me at the moment, and must be willing to be a little less stable and maybe even uncomfortable and give myself the necessary time and space to accomplish the creative goals I’ve for far too long neglected and, even worse, compromised against.
I certainly hope I will take the necessary actions required to once again be fully inactive, but knowing myself, it is a matter I can easily speak of, though carrying through on them might be altogether another matter.
I’ve once again found myself in a sluggish routine of not-reading, drinking and watching television too much, and working even more to the point of becoming creatively paralyzed, indifferent and inactive. Not only has this project here suffered, but the main creative goal I had set for myself to finish in my return to Buffalo has hit an equally inactive snag as well
What I have managed to do is, as I have been slowly saving some money up, to begin thinking of ways in which I might spend it. The most enticing way that I have considered was to save enough money to buy a van, quit work and drive cross-country alone over the course of a couple of months—having no timetable whatsoever being essential—while living out of my van, avoiding the big cities, and seeing how many ways I could spend my days without the conveniences of television and the internet to distract me. And believe me, nothing would sound like a better way to spend my summer or the money that I’ve been saving.
But the daydream is one by its very definition based upon the need for money. However, the goals that I have set out to accomplish this year were set in hopes of showing that one can easily live on an average of $1,000 a month, but were also set in hopes of working as little as possible. It’s not the spending the money that is counterproductive here, but the necessity of earning the unnecessary money.
In a recent conversation, my friend Dan accused me of being amongst the hardest workers of our friends in that my work day is the longest and therefore hypocritical to this supposed cause I have taken up.
And I couldn’t defend myself. He was right. My work days have become what I previously stated in a post: nothing resembling an eight hour day but instead upwards of 11 or 12. My average day has been approaching eleven hours easily and by the time I’m finished eating it is nearly 12. Such a long work day was the very sort of things I set out to work [sic] against this year. And yet here I am correctly noted as a hypocrite.
While I can successfully argue in favor of keeping the job so I don’t have to look for another, I can no longer deny what has been crippling my creative motives over the last few weeks: the knowledge that I am compromising my intentions far too much for the sake of a little financial stability and to save up for trips that do not need to happen immediately, especially ones based on such a large need for capital, rather than compromising in favor of accomplishing the things that require free time.
Reading my last post, I have no idea what I was thinking sugar-coating the compromises that I’ve been making just for work. Yet it was true. I even began appreciating the idea that I didn’t have to wear a uniform or maintain my beard to the point of thinking that the job was a “good” job. But this will have to change.
As of now I can afford to be fired or quit this minute and survive until at least February on the money I have saved. So for now I am only working, really, to save more money. But instead of mapping out my future as far away as March or April, I am forcing myself to quit by my birthday in January, if not by as early as December. And even that seems to be a bit of a compromise when I see it written out in front of me.
If the trip can still be taken, it will be. But such a trip is not my goal this year. I must stop compromising what I have put before me at the moment, and must be willing to be a little less stable and maybe even uncomfortable and give myself the necessary time and space to accomplish the creative goals I’ve for far too long neglected and, even worse, compromised against.
I certainly hope I will take the necessary actions required to once again be fully inactive, but knowing myself, it is a matter I can easily speak of, though carrying through on them might be altogether another matter.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Workday Burden Slightly Lifted
Over the past couple of weeks my mood in regards to work has taken a noticeable turn for the lighter.
Now that I've managed to put enough money away that I could get by for a month (if not two on a very tight budget) should I suddenly decide to quit work, work suddenly feels less of a necessity as it does a reluctant choice that I'm making everyday at this point.
As much romanticism as there seems to be in the idea of living check to check, struggling to get by just to eat and drink, there is something even better for me in the idea that the time I'm putting in now will allow me to take time off soon enough. That I can once again look at options beyond simply making sure that I eat each week, quitting work has not once again become a very reasonable option, the atlas has found its way out of my closet and another summer vacation, if not even another trip, next year doesn't seem so unlikely as it did when I first started working a couple of months ago. Some people save up for a house or a vacation, I save up for free time and I feel that every day that I work now will allow me to not work another day or two down the road. I'm at a point where I have a few days saved up already and if I can just hang in there long enough I'll be able to have plenty more with them soon enough.
Now that I've managed to put enough money away that I could get by for a month (if not two on a very tight budget) should I suddenly decide to quit work, work suddenly feels less of a necessity as it does a reluctant choice that I'm making everyday at this point.
As much romanticism as there seems to be in the idea of living check to check, struggling to get by just to eat and drink, there is something even better for me in the idea that the time I'm putting in now will allow me to take time off soon enough. That I can once again look at options beyond simply making sure that I eat each week, quitting work has not once again become a very reasonable option, the atlas has found its way out of my closet and another summer vacation, if not even another trip, next year doesn't seem so unlikely as it did when I first started working a couple of months ago. Some people save up for a house or a vacation, I save up for free time and I feel that every day that I work now will allow me to not work another day or two down the road. I'm at a point where I have a few days saved up already and if I can just hang in there long enough I'll be able to have plenty more with them soon enough.
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Coffee's On
With an unexpected day off--one that I didn't learn about until I got to work today--I've got a whole day's worth of free time with no one to suggest or pressure me into boozing at the moment (notice how it isn't my fault when I drink?).
I only got five hours of sleep last night (not much for my body), but I figure it's a perfect chance to see just how much I can do with this time. I'll probably catch up with a few more posts here, and the hopefully go on a bike ride for a little bit at least, as it looks like it might be the last really nice day before fall comes (and Good Life I hope this is true: bring on the fall already).
Had I had to work I'd've been dragging ass all day. Now? I'll do whatever it takes to stay awake and make the most of this time.
I always bitch about work getting in my way. Today's my chance to prove it.
I only got five hours of sleep last night (not much for my body), but I figure it's a perfect chance to see just how much I can do with this time. I'll probably catch up with a few more posts here, and the hopefully go on a bike ride for a little bit at least, as it looks like it might be the last really nice day before fall comes (and Good Life I hope this is true: bring on the fall already).
Had I had to work I'd've been dragging ass all day. Now? I'll do whatever it takes to stay awake and make the most of this time.
I always bitch about work getting in my way. Today's my chance to prove it.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Labor Days
I cannot believe that September is already half over.
And that fall is only a few days away.
Nor can I believe that I’ve only posted eight times this months.
Time flies when you’re caught in routines.
Everyday I get up at seven.
But now, rather than getting to work via bicycle, I catch a ride with my friend Andy to work. And just having someone who is in a relatively similar boat as I am—he’s only working to save up and quit his job again next month—helps alleviate the otherwise stressful disdain I hold for work and reminds me that I am not the only one who is going to work every morning. Not to mention that I no longer have to worry everyday whether or not my bike will go flat.
Every night I go to bed at midnight or thereabouts.
And now at the end of every work day, due to our unstable workday schedules that makes me getting a ride home too much of a pain, I catch a bus ride home. And suddenly my entire day is much more at ease. For one, because the busses I can take home only come once an hour, there is little difference between 4:45 and 5:15 (both will get me the same bus) and thus time becomes less of a pressing thing: there is nothing I can do to make the bus come earlier or make it get me home any faster.
But I have consciously allowed myself to be in this position of routine.
Also, with such waiting times looming, I come prepared with a book to read while both waiting as well as riding and so have managed to bring an otherwise neglected as of late hobby back into my daily routine.
If it is routine that I despise so much about the workday, is it at least possible to alleviate that routine so that it is, even within the strict pillars of my times of sleep, not so predominate?
Still, at the end of each day, I find myself not riding my bike as much. As well, other things that I had set out to do in returning to Buffalo, or just little things to mix my days up a bit, such as taking more bike rides through the neighborhoods or hanging out with my friends every night have gone largely neglected. Hell, I’ve even been drinking less on the weeknights.
Even giving our tired bodies is a routine. If not the basis of most of it.
I understand I get into ruts here and there. Quite routinely actually. And I understand that I will not be able to go completely without working at the time. Still, I have my eyes set on working until I am comfortably set with enough savings to do so.
Routine thinking is also very evident in my day-to-day routine.
The important thing is to be sure to break out of these ruts and routine ways of thinking as quickly as possible and, if not immediately, to make sure they still do not dominate my entire day. To make such breaks takes a constant conscious effort. Because I've failed to do so lately, it is once again my intention to make sure to do something everyday that, even if it is the minutest detail, does not subscribe to such routine that keeps me from doing nothing.
Less I find myself suddenly a year from now again wondering where the latest September went and awaiting the routine of yet another seasonal change with no change to show for it myself.
And that fall is only a few days away.
Nor can I believe that I’ve only posted eight times this months.
Time flies when you’re caught in routines.
Everyday I get up at seven.
But now, rather than getting to work via bicycle, I catch a ride with my friend Andy to work. And just having someone who is in a relatively similar boat as I am—he’s only working to save up and quit his job again next month—helps alleviate the otherwise stressful disdain I hold for work and reminds me that I am not the only one who is going to work every morning. Not to mention that I no longer have to worry everyday whether or not my bike will go flat.
Every night I go to bed at midnight or thereabouts.
And now at the end of every work day, due to our unstable workday schedules that makes me getting a ride home too much of a pain, I catch a bus ride home. And suddenly my entire day is much more at ease. For one, because the busses I can take home only come once an hour, there is little difference between 4:45 and 5:15 (both will get me the same bus) and thus time becomes less of a pressing thing: there is nothing I can do to make the bus come earlier or make it get me home any faster.
But I have consciously allowed myself to be in this position of routine.
Also, with such waiting times looming, I come prepared with a book to read while both waiting as well as riding and so have managed to bring an otherwise neglected as of late hobby back into my daily routine.
If it is routine that I despise so much about the workday, is it at least possible to alleviate that routine so that it is, even within the strict pillars of my times of sleep, not so predominate?
Still, at the end of each day, I find myself not riding my bike as much. As well, other things that I had set out to do in returning to Buffalo, or just little things to mix my days up a bit, such as taking more bike rides through the neighborhoods or hanging out with my friends every night have gone largely neglected. Hell, I’ve even been drinking less on the weeknights.
Even giving our tired bodies is a routine. If not the basis of most of it.
I understand I get into ruts here and there. Quite routinely actually. And I understand that I will not be able to go completely without working at the time. Still, I have my eyes set on working until I am comfortably set with enough savings to do so.
Routine thinking is also very evident in my day-to-day routine.
The important thing is to be sure to break out of these ruts and routine ways of thinking as quickly as possible and, if not immediately, to make sure they still do not dominate my entire day. To make such breaks takes a constant conscious effort. Because I've failed to do so lately, it is once again my intention to make sure to do something everyday that, even if it is the minutest detail, does not subscribe to such routine that keeps me from doing nothing.
Less I find myself suddenly a year from now again wondering where the latest September went and awaiting the routine of yet another seasonal change with no change to show for it myself.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Bend But Don't Break
Even though my stated goal to “work as little as possible” automatically suggests a certain amount of work will have to be performed, I nevertheless despise the time that must be dedicated to the act. Obviously. And my constant irritation over the last week was only amplified as I have slowly begun to feel as though I’ve been completely compromising myself in the way in which I have been working.
My spending for the month of August, though exactly on par as to what I said I would spend per month over the course of the year, still felt far too extravagant. There is no reason why I should be spending nearly $1000 a month—especially not on going out so much. Also, the willingness I’ve shown in spending the necessary time to travel the nine miles each way to the job—not even all that noticeably shorter by car—is equally excessive in its extravagance in my opinion. Combined with my savings being lower than where they should be—and thereby making me feel as though I had to keep working even though they are enough to get me by for at least the next month and a half—and, by last week, a mounting misery was accumulating.
And then, in the face of yet another flat tire on the way to work, I realized that, while I will bend my beliefs—and hopefully only temporarily—I will ultimately not allow them to be broken. As I have tried every which stubborn way to get to work on my bike with only frustrating success at best, I told the kid I’ve been working with that I will no longer be riding my bike to work and will instead rely only upon rides from friends and public transportation. If that will not work, I told him, then I will simply have to find something else closer to home. Even if that means less pay.
And from that came a soothing sense of relief. It may not quite be a teenage girl standing in front of an army tank, but it at least reminded me there’s only so much I’m willing to do in the course of working. Just as well, it reminded me to stop allowing my thoughts to be governed by arbitrary numbers that must continually accumulate and simply trust that I will be able to eat each day and, beyond that, nothing more need be considered necessary.
My spending for the month of August, though exactly on par as to what I said I would spend per month over the course of the year, still felt far too extravagant. There is no reason why I should be spending nearly $1000 a month—especially not on going out so much. Also, the willingness I’ve shown in spending the necessary time to travel the nine miles each way to the job—not even all that noticeably shorter by car—is equally excessive in its extravagance in my opinion. Combined with my savings being lower than where they should be—and thereby making me feel as though I had to keep working even though they are enough to get me by for at least the next month and a half—and, by last week, a mounting misery was accumulating.
And then, in the face of yet another flat tire on the way to work, I realized that, while I will bend my beliefs—and hopefully only temporarily—I will ultimately not allow them to be broken. As I have tried every which stubborn way to get to work on my bike with only frustrating success at best, I told the kid I’ve been working with that I will no longer be riding my bike to work and will instead rely only upon rides from friends and public transportation. If that will not work, I told him, then I will simply have to find something else closer to home. Even if that means less pay.
And from that came a soothing sense of relief. It may not quite be a teenage girl standing in front of an army tank, but it at least reminded me there’s only so much I’m willing to do in the course of working. Just as well, it reminded me to stop allowing my thoughts to be governed by arbitrary numbers that must continually accumulate and simply trust that I will be able to eat each day and, beyond that, nothing more need be considered necessary.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Timecards and Timetables
As I have not been mentioning much here, I’ve spent the past month or so working full-time. As one may have noticed, in the same span of time I have also been posting less. It would be correct to assume a direct correlation.
With work now taking up nearly two thirds of my day between sleep and getting to and from work, by the time I get home there’s too much to do, and too little summer remaining, to be easily encouraged to sit in front of a computer.
But that hasn’t been the worst of work’s inconveniences.
The worst offense of them all has how work immediately influences me to begin setting timetables in my head: ranging from 9am’s countdown to 5pm and Monday’s inevitable countdown to Friday, to mentally calculating when I will have enough money to quit if I wanted or how soon I would be able to have enough to pay rent and do some traveling, I constantly find myself mentally drifting away from the moment at hand.
And while it is these very carrots that I hang over my head—such as quitting or traveling—that get me through each work day, it is also the very thing that distracts me from fully enjoying the moment in front of me.
During the three months I wasn’t working I was laid back about both time and money—for I had all the time I needed despite the dwindling funds of money. But now that I have some money, though by no means all the time that I need, I not only spend that money, but also set different standards in regards to it. Whereas $20 was what I was spending for a full week’s worth of food, that is now a Friday night out—and probably a cheap one at that. Whereas I previously looked forward no further than tomorrow, I am already counting the pay before it comes and seeing a small amount begin to be saved. Even though by the standards I was holding without a job I would, at the moment, have enough money to pay October’s rent and bills and still eat—meaning I would be set all the way through November 1st already—I am also figuring how long I would have to work in order to not have to work at a later point.
Unnecessary timetables. And until I can overcome this and instinctively be able to still enjoy moments at hand, even perhaps during work, I will look to pack as much fun in the free time that I have and post whenever possible.
Or just as well, quit as soon as possible.
With work now taking up nearly two thirds of my day between sleep and getting to and from work, by the time I get home there’s too much to do, and too little summer remaining, to be easily encouraged to sit in front of a computer.
But that hasn’t been the worst of work’s inconveniences.
The worst offense of them all has how work immediately influences me to begin setting timetables in my head: ranging from 9am’s countdown to 5pm and Monday’s inevitable countdown to Friday, to mentally calculating when I will have enough money to quit if I wanted or how soon I would be able to have enough to pay rent and do some traveling, I constantly find myself mentally drifting away from the moment at hand.
And while it is these very carrots that I hang over my head—such as quitting or traveling—that get me through each work day, it is also the very thing that distracts me from fully enjoying the moment in front of me.
During the three months I wasn’t working I was laid back about both time and money—for I had all the time I needed despite the dwindling funds of money. But now that I have some money, though by no means all the time that I need, I not only spend that money, but also set different standards in regards to it. Whereas $20 was what I was spending for a full week’s worth of food, that is now a Friday night out—and probably a cheap one at that. Whereas I previously looked forward no further than tomorrow, I am already counting the pay before it comes and seeing a small amount begin to be saved. Even though by the standards I was holding without a job I would, at the moment, have enough money to pay October’s rent and bills and still eat—meaning I would be set all the way through November 1st already—I am also figuring how long I would have to work in order to not have to work at a later point.
Unnecessary timetables. And until I can overcome this and instinctively be able to still enjoy moments at hand, even perhaps during work, I will look to pack as much fun in the free time that I have and post whenever possible.
Or just as well, quit as soon as possible.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
The Eight Hour Fallacy
All last week I road my bike 40 minutes (9 miles) each way just to get to work. Just in order to work. And even though I loved the biking (that’s my mind speaking, not my thigh muscles), and even though I appreciated the fact that it didn’t cost me money in getting there (unless one wants to take it to the extreme of counting the food to fuel my body in order to ride that far), it did cost me time. And in doing so, it reminded me of the fallacy of the eight hour work day.
By uttering “eight hour work day” one only means the time you are paid for (ie: the amount of time you are required not to fall asleep and are required to look busy). But most full-time jobs give you an unpaid half hour for lunch that must be accounted for during the work day. With the average one-way commute (and that right there is just poor, or lazy, linguistics) nationally being just over 26 minutes [1]—which, doubled to account for the round trip, is 52 minutes or more than 5/6ths (83%) of an hour—between just getting to work and eating lunch one has accounted for nearly 9½ hours of their day. Further figuring that one will probably take the time to shower and groom themselves beforehand, one is probably looking at at least thirty minutes (or somewhere in the neighborhood of two and a half hours for females as near as I would guess) more dedicated to the work day itself, the total is now approaching ten hours. If one makes a lunch to take to work as I do, or has to wash their clothes for the next day, there’s even more time lost to a work day total now nearing even closer to a ten and a half, or maybe even an eleven, hour work day.
And if you’re anything resembling a normal human being (and Life help you for it), you’re probably tired out by the time you finally make it home and feel the need to unwind with a drink, a nap, or some television. If you only take an hour to do these activities there are now nearly twelve hours—half the day—lost to the day all in relation to the supposedly necessary act of work.
Add on the more than likely seven hours you’re going to sleep to make sure you’re not sleeping on the clock and we are now more than 3/4ths the day through while spending time only dedicated to the act of work.
This isn’t even to mention the money one spends on just getting to work. If, in a rough calculation, one spent on average $.48/mile in getting to work ($.48/mile being the national reimbursement rate [2]) for the average 32 miles one commutes (16 miles each way, [1]), one would spend $15.36 a day, round trip, just in getting to and from work. Over the course of the week that comes to $76.80. If one made $10 an hour—middle ground to the minimum wage and higher paying jobs on the other end of the spectrum—this would mean that 7.68 hours (nearly an entire day of work every week) were spent working just to be able to get to work. Thus, immediately, no matter what one might lack or possess otherwise in the way of bills to pay, one’s paycheck would be worth only slightly more than 32 hours of work.
I wouldn’t so much mind—well, maybe not—the eight hour work day if it was only an eight hour work day. But instead the eight hour day is nothing more than a terrible fallacy. If one were paid for all the hours and money spent in preparation for and in getting to work in an average day, over the course of an average week one would be paid for 67 hours.
But in being paid only 40 hours pay for 67 hours work, one begins to see the deal the check writers are getting in the so-called eight hour work day. And too maybe makes my preference to work less a little more reasonable.
Eight hour work day? We should only wish it was.
[1] http://abcnews.go.com/Technology/Traffic/story?id=485098
[2] http://www.gsa.gov/Portal/gsa/ep/contentView.do?contentId=9646&contentType=GSA_BASIC
By uttering “eight hour work day” one only means the time you are paid for (ie: the amount of time you are required not to fall asleep and are required to look busy). But most full-time jobs give you an unpaid half hour for lunch that must be accounted for during the work day. With the average one-way commute (and that right there is just poor, or lazy, linguistics) nationally being just over 26 minutes [1]—which, doubled to account for the round trip, is 52 minutes or more than 5/6ths (83%) of an hour—between just getting to work and eating lunch one has accounted for nearly 9½ hours of their day. Further figuring that one will probably take the time to shower and groom themselves beforehand, one is probably looking at at least thirty minutes (or somewhere in the neighborhood of two and a half hours for females as near as I would guess) more dedicated to the work day itself, the total is now approaching ten hours. If one makes a lunch to take to work as I do, or has to wash their clothes for the next day, there’s even more time lost to a work day total now nearing even closer to a ten and a half, or maybe even an eleven, hour work day.
And if you’re anything resembling a normal human being (and Life help you for it), you’re probably tired out by the time you finally make it home and feel the need to unwind with a drink, a nap, or some television. If you only take an hour to do these activities there are now nearly twelve hours—half the day—lost to the day all in relation to the supposedly necessary act of work.
Add on the more than likely seven hours you’re going to sleep to make sure you’re not sleeping on the clock and we are now more than 3/4ths the day through while spending time only dedicated to the act of work.
This isn’t even to mention the money one spends on just getting to work. If, in a rough calculation, one spent on average $.48/mile in getting to work ($.48/mile being the national reimbursement rate [2]) for the average 32 miles one commutes (16 miles each way, [1]), one would spend $15.36 a day, round trip, just in getting to and from work. Over the course of the week that comes to $76.80. If one made $10 an hour—middle ground to the minimum wage and higher paying jobs on the other end of the spectrum—this would mean that 7.68 hours (nearly an entire day of work every week) were spent working just to be able to get to work. Thus, immediately, no matter what one might lack or possess otherwise in the way of bills to pay, one’s paycheck would be worth only slightly more than 32 hours of work.
I wouldn’t so much mind—well, maybe not—the eight hour work day if it was only an eight hour work day. But instead the eight hour day is nothing more than a terrible fallacy. If one were paid for all the hours and money spent in preparation for and in getting to work in an average day, over the course of an average week one would be paid for 67 hours.
But in being paid only 40 hours pay for 67 hours work, one begins to see the deal the check writers are getting in the so-called eight hour work day. And too maybe makes my preference to work less a little more reasonable.
Eight hour work day? We should only wish it was.
[1] http://abcnews.go.com/Technology/Traffic/story?id=485098
[2] http://www.gsa.gov/Portal/gsa/ep/contentView.do?contentId=9646&contentType=GSA_BASIC
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Sunday Nights
After a pretty awesome day of hanging out with a bunch of friends at Delaware Park (the food was $5, the hanging out on the soccer field was free), and now getting ready to work tomorrow, the dreaded feeling of Sunday Night is already settling itself in again.
The worse part of the work week isn’t Monday morning but the night before. Sunday Night. The night when one needn’t have any worries for it’s the night when any and all worries show themselves. The work week looming, the weekend lost, and play time over. To make matters worse, everything is closed, dead, empty, vacant, silent, uninviting and lonely. There’s never anything good on TV to distract your mind and, even though Sunday Night’s the best of all nights to drink, there’s never enough people out at the bars to create a crowd to get lost in. Instead it’s just you and whatever decides to ail you.
I hate Sunday Night more than any time of the work week.
The work week. Already infiltrating my thoughts and I’ve only worked 3.5 hours over the last three months.
The worse part of the work week isn’t Monday morning but the night before. Sunday Night. The night when one needn’t have any worries for it’s the night when any and all worries show themselves. The work week looming, the weekend lost, and play time over. To make matters worse, everything is closed, dead, empty, vacant, silent, uninviting and lonely. There’s never anything good on TV to distract your mind and, even though Sunday Night’s the best of all nights to drink, there’s never enough people out at the bars to create a crowd to get lost in. Instead it’s just you and whatever decides to ail you.
I hate Sunday Night more than any time of the work week.
The work week. Already infiltrating my thoughts and I’ve only worked 3.5 hours over the last three months.
Work Tomorrow
It looks all but certain now that I’ve found a little work that will help with the bills and it starts in less than eight hours from the moment I write this. As if it wasn’t going to be hard enough falling asleep at a reasonable time tonight after being up until past 6:00am the last two nights, now I have to do it thinking how I need to fall asleep for work. Already back to the structure of time and work days! I’m forcing myself not to begin number crunching on the amount of sleep I’ll have when I awake and so far it hasn’t been that bad.
This work happens to be out near the airport, which is about nine miles from my house. Because Buffalo is only a real city in theory but not in practice, there isn’t any light rail connecting downtown (near where I live) and the airport (near where I will be doing this work). But why would anyone want to get downtown from the airport? (Or just get a car hippie?) And so instead of taking maybe a 45 minute light rail ride that would especially help during the colder months—if don’t decide to quit before then—I plan on making the trek via bike, even going through the dreaded [sic] East Side of Buffalo to get there. It shouldn’t take much more than 45 minutes and, even though this will add 90 or more minutes to each work day, it’s a way of forcing me to use my bike, be outside during the summer weather and perhaps even get in a little better shape.
If I can find the silver lining in work, I just might be able to find it in nearly anything.
This work happens to be out near the airport, which is about nine miles from my house. Because Buffalo is only a real city in theory but not in practice, there isn’t any light rail connecting downtown (near where I live) and the airport (near where I will be doing this work). But why would anyone want to get downtown from the airport? (Or just get a car hippie?) And so instead of taking maybe a 45 minute light rail ride that would especially help during the colder months—if don’t decide to quit before then—I plan on making the trek via bike, even going through the dreaded [sic] East Side of Buffalo to get there. It shouldn’t take much more than 45 minutes and, even though this will add 90 or more minutes to each work day, it’s a way of forcing me to use my bike, be outside during the summer weather and perhaps even get in a little better shape.
If I can find the silver lining in work, I just might be able to find it in nearly anything.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Enjoy Every Sandwich
Since the age of 16 I have been working. And for the most part, since then I’ve been described as a good worker. 80% of being a good worker in this country—just as 80% of being a good tenant is simply paying rent on time—is showing up on time. Another 10% is just showing up regularly. Yet, from the very moment I began working, I have despised and grown tired of it. The many co-workers I have had the—well, not pleasure nor opportunity so, how about?—situation to talk to in that time have rarely disagreed. Worse, it has been an consistent increase in seeing its purposelessness that has followed me since that day I first joined the work force. Work has always been a good time interrupted; a curtain covering my personal relationship with the world around me; a putridly pointless obtrusion to an lifelong weekend; a suitor to hangovers and an end to an otherwise endless night; an abrupt interruption to a good night’s sleep; a demeaning panderer; an unnecessary overbearing intrusion upon what would otherwise be, and still is, my own personal time: my life.
As it has been for so long, the thinking still goes that one puts in a good forty or fifty years of labor and then they can fairly enjoy the fruits of their labor; they are then free to see the world, to pursue the hobbies they never had time to pursue; to reconnect with friends and family; to read, write, and enjoy the days in and of themselves. The Golden Years.
After forty years.
Or more accurately play Bridge and Golf and go shopping for the rest of their days.
Assuming of course one makes it that far. And, if they do, that their bodies will hopefully be in good enough shape to be able to perform those delayed daydreams. But with an increasing number of people without health insurance, and thus proper medical attention (because, after all, basic medical attention is a luxury, not a basic necessity to be shared by all), it would stand to reason that there will continue to be a number of people too work-wearied to enjoy that retirement. Life expectancy may be increasing in years, but what good is quantity without the slightest hint of quality? Why should I now gamble that I will be amongst the lucky ones?
Maybe even fifty years.
Assuming too that there will be a social security that will support them, or that they were lucky enough to have had money invested for them that was not ultimately corrupted by the greed of a company’s executive.
Fifty years. And keeping in mind that the male’s average lifespan is only 72 years.
Additionally, it is a popularly accepted belief, held onto especially strongly by the educated class, that what one does for pay is the defining quality of what a person is.
I’m no university accredited mathematician, but near as I can figure it, if one goes to college, graduates at twenty-two and works until he is 65, that right there is 59.72% of our 72 years spent working.
“What are you?” is equal to “What do you do?” And so, even though one was required to receive training (be it via college degree or a simple day’s instruction from a manager) in order to be, or in actuality, to become (as we all remember being asked “what are you going to become when you grow up?” and never thinking “what’s wrong with being what I am?”) whatever we are being paid to be, a lawyer is nevertheless inherently a lawyer, a salesman a salesman, and by definition, a janitor a janitor and a garbage man a garbage man. Never mind their hobbies or what they do in their free time, only the paid time matters. There is no middle ground.
Not to mention the 17 years (from five until twenty-two) we were being educated only in order to get that job. Combined, that’s 83.33% of our years spent obsessed with working.
But whatever jobs we now hold, we will only hold so long as they are profitable to the companies that we are working for (and if we are amongst the so-called lucky working for ourselves, until we can no longer pay our bills, at which point we would then be forced to go in search of employment). An employer may help us pay our bills by employing us, but we help them pay theirs in being employed by them. Nothing more. As soon as the job is no longer profitable to them to employ us, our positions will be terminated under the guise of a thankfulness for the service, an apologetic remorse for not being able to continue the job and the universally impersonal justification that, “it’s nothing personal, it’s just business.”
83.33% of our lives with the only goal being to make more money. Not necessarily do good unto others or to the world. Simply, make more money.
We are told to our face that work is nothing personal and yet are required to accept the idea that what we do for money is somehow an extension of what we each individually and inherently are? The wonderful humor of such an absurd contradiction that we base our lives upon!
Having now only a few hundred dollars left in the bank and very few other valuables I might be able to raise some money from their sale; possessing no rich relative that long ago had the foresight to put money into a bank account that I can fall back upon; having no prospects of an unknown inheritance; and having no interest in donating to the lottery, I foresee myself amongst the idle rich at no point in my future. So if were to accept these terms as the only model of good living, of success and being part of society, I would be all but fucked.
If you do make it to retirement, the said company may make it all worth it by splurging and buying you a plaque. Or maybe even a watch.
Or “shit out of luck,” as I've heard many a good worker say before.
Even though, now retired, you would no longer be in need of knowing the time.
Well, only 83.33% of my life would be fucked or shit out of luck, technically. But, with 6.944% of that 16.66% having already passed—from birth to the age of five—however, I would only be left with an abundant 9.722% that I should certainly be grateful to be able to claim for myself. Nearly 40 years from now.
I remember—I am pretty sure it was on Dave Letterman, but even if it wasn’t, who cares, all that counts is that it was said—Warren Zevon, when asked in his dying days what advice he would have for somebody, said to “enjoy every sandwich.” Such simple brilliance from the dying is all too frequently discarded by the living.
Look, I am not adverse to working hard. I have a track record to prove otherwise. Whenever my basic survival depends upon it I have performed as necessary. But I do not wish to wait another thirty years to do what I can already do today; to do what I could do today without the burden of age and with the still thickly flickering flame of youth. I defiantly, idealistically, perhaps foolishly, believe that I am not fucked and these are not the only terms of successfully enjoying one’s life and that, as I have long suspected in the secret, all too long denied innermost chambers of myself—and it is here that I will spend two cents on a nickel’s worth of free advice—that free time is better than pay time.
As it has been for so long, the thinking still goes that one puts in a good forty or fifty years of labor and then they can fairly enjoy the fruits of their labor; they are then free to see the world, to pursue the hobbies they never had time to pursue; to reconnect with friends and family; to read, write, and enjoy the days in and of themselves. The Golden Years.
After forty years.
Or more accurately play Bridge and Golf and go shopping for the rest of their days.
Assuming of course one makes it that far. And, if they do, that their bodies will hopefully be in good enough shape to be able to perform those delayed daydreams. But with an increasing number of people without health insurance, and thus proper medical attention (because, after all, basic medical attention is a luxury, not a basic necessity to be shared by all), it would stand to reason that there will continue to be a number of people too work-wearied to enjoy that retirement. Life expectancy may be increasing in years, but what good is quantity without the slightest hint of quality? Why should I now gamble that I will be amongst the lucky ones?
Maybe even fifty years.
Assuming too that there will be a social security that will support them, or that they were lucky enough to have had money invested for them that was not ultimately corrupted by the greed of a company’s executive.
Fifty years. And keeping in mind that the male’s average lifespan is only 72 years.
Additionally, it is a popularly accepted belief, held onto especially strongly by the educated class, that what one does for pay is the defining quality of what a person is.
I’m no university accredited mathematician, but near as I can figure it, if one goes to college, graduates at twenty-two and works until he is 65, that right there is 59.72% of our 72 years spent working.
“What are you?” is equal to “What do you do?” And so, even though one was required to receive training (be it via college degree or a simple day’s instruction from a manager) in order to be, or in actuality, to become (as we all remember being asked “what are you going to become when you grow up?” and never thinking “what’s wrong with being what I am?”) whatever we are being paid to be, a lawyer is nevertheless inherently a lawyer, a salesman a salesman, and by definition, a janitor a janitor and a garbage man a garbage man. Never mind their hobbies or what they do in their free time, only the paid time matters. There is no middle ground.
Not to mention the 17 years (from five until twenty-two) we were being educated only in order to get that job. Combined, that’s 83.33% of our years spent obsessed with working.
But whatever jobs we now hold, we will only hold so long as they are profitable to the companies that we are working for (and if we are amongst the so-called lucky working for ourselves, until we can no longer pay our bills, at which point we would then be forced to go in search of employment). An employer may help us pay our bills by employing us, but we help them pay theirs in being employed by them. Nothing more. As soon as the job is no longer profitable to them to employ us, our positions will be terminated under the guise of a thankfulness for the service, an apologetic remorse for not being able to continue the job and the universally impersonal justification that, “it’s nothing personal, it’s just business.”
83.33% of our lives with the only goal being to make more money. Not necessarily do good unto others or to the world. Simply, make more money.
We are told to our face that work is nothing personal and yet are required to accept the idea that what we do for money is somehow an extension of what we each individually and inherently are? The wonderful humor of such an absurd contradiction that we base our lives upon!
Having now only a few hundred dollars left in the bank and very few other valuables I might be able to raise some money from their sale; possessing no rich relative that long ago had the foresight to put money into a bank account that I can fall back upon; having no prospects of an unknown inheritance; and having no interest in donating to the lottery, I foresee myself amongst the idle rich at no point in my future. So if were to accept these terms as the only model of good living, of success and being part of society, I would be all but fucked.
If you do make it to retirement, the said company may make it all worth it by splurging and buying you a plaque. Or maybe even a watch.
Or “shit out of luck,” as I've heard many a good worker say before.
Even though, now retired, you would no longer be in need of knowing the time.
Well, only 83.33% of my life would be fucked or shit out of luck, technically. But, with 6.944% of that 16.66% having already passed—from birth to the age of five—however, I would only be left with an abundant 9.722% that I should certainly be grateful to be able to claim for myself. Nearly 40 years from now.
I remember—I am pretty sure it was on Dave Letterman, but even if it wasn’t, who cares, all that counts is that it was said—Warren Zevon, when asked in his dying days what advice he would have for somebody, said to “enjoy every sandwich.” Such simple brilliance from the dying is all too frequently discarded by the living.
Look, I am not adverse to working hard. I have a track record to prove otherwise. Whenever my basic survival depends upon it I have performed as necessary. But I do not wish to wait another thirty years to do what I can already do today; to do what I could do today without the burden of age and with the still thickly flickering flame of youth. I defiantly, idealistically, perhaps foolishly, believe that I am not fucked and these are not the only terms of successfully enjoying one’s life and that, as I have long suspected in the secret, all too long denied innermost chambers of myself—and it is here that I will spend two cents on a nickel’s worth of free advice—that free time is better than pay time.
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