Best. Dilbert. Ever.
OK, maybe not, but it was still pretty good, especially following all the data analysis in the paper I finished on Friday.
Best. Dilbert. Ever.
OK, maybe not, but it was still pretty good, especially following all the data analysis in the paper I finished on Friday.
Practicing First Aid
Horizontal Brian, 1983.
Constantinople
The Residents, 1978
I didn’t really expect to be busier after the semester ended than I was beforehand, but I’m in the midst of a big client project that’s taking much longer than I expected. I’ve been trying to at least update the video, so anyone who cares will know I’m still alive. More updates soon, though, including the story of how yer humble host may become the world’s oldest graduate assistant, and other exciting tidbits.
Maybe “exciting” is too strong a term…
Birdhouse in Your Soul
They Might Be Giants, 1989.
I saw them at the Pterodactyl Club in Charlotte on this tour. It made me happy.
It’s way past 3AM. There have been no phone calls warning of the impending end of the world, or anyting like that. I just can’t sleep, because I have a lot of client-related stuff on my mind, none of which I’ll be able to take care of tomorrow because I’ll be sleepwalking through the day at a part-time job that pays squat, but to which I don’t even have the option of calling in sick. And after about three hours sleep tonight (and maybe five last night), I will pretty well qualify as “sick” once I arrive at work.
I had a job like this many years ago, and I swore I’d never take another one. But here I am. It seemed like a good idea a year ago (to me, at least) and it has allowed us to build up a decent “rainy day” reserve fund. But it just doesn’t seem worth the hassle anymore, especially when it’s keeping me from doing more lucrative work, and from engaging in activities that might further my actual career. And sleeping.
So I’m now resolved to be officially, ummm, separated from this position within a month. Pity it won’t do me any good tomorrow this morning.
All in all, though, I shouldn’t complain. At least I get to be awake at home at 3AM, rather than, say, in the Philadelphia airport.
Just What I’ve Always Wanted
Mari Wilson, 1983.
Prime Mover
Zodiac Mindwarp, 1987.
Jeez, the past eight weeks or so have been pretty much one solid wall of pure drudgery for me, between buckets of client work, the end of the semester, and the sucky part-time job. It really just hasn’t stopped, and now that it’s winding down (at least for a while), I’m not quite sure how to react. As my perspective-laden husband has pointed out, it’s a lot better than the state I was in a couple of years ago, when I was largely unemployed and very worried about many things. But it still doesn’t change the fact that I’m flat-out exhausted and ready to do something fun.
The problem is that I don’t quite remember what’s fun. I have a sneaking suspicion it might not involve my computer nor spending more time at home. This is not to suggest, mind you, that I don’t love my house. I’ve just seen a little too much of it lately.
What’s next? Carpal Tunnel Quarterly?