This has got to stop. Last three nights running, three bloody nights, I’ve dreamt about… work. Yeah. Apparently my psyche thinks it funny that, despite being at work for eight hours a day and followed by two-to-three hours of work at home, I should have to spend another several hours working in my sleep.
*sob*
:(
Trimming my sideburns, it dawned on me: I would make a very unattractive woman. Zounds!
Home early. Drinking coffee and committed to smashing through some lessons for mine sevens.
Listening to Porcupine Tree. “Collapse the Light into Earth” on repeat, in fact. Migrating to elsewhere shortly, different room. Am likely to pursue a different disc at that time; instrumental and soaring, no doubt.
In a good mood, though bracing for my evening workload through gritted-and-coffee-stained teeth.
I’m back, I’m dry, and my chair isn’t nearly as wet as what I’d feared it would be just several moments ago. Huzzah for not having to sit in puddles! Hooray for absorbant towels!
Anyways, um. Hmmm. Not too sure what it is exactly that I sat down here a second time to expound, though I’ve the feeling that it revolves around the feelings of disgust that last night’s dream illicited from me. God only knows why what bubbled out of my psyche did, but damnit…ugh. What makes things worse is that I can’t quite recall exactly what the dream was about; only snippets here and there have been playing perpetually in my mind over the course of the day and given greater impact by my not being to entirely pinpoint the context of them.
Here’s hoping that tonight’s slumber is not disturbed and that tomorrow is not disrupted by half-remembered and hazy thoughts.
Just stepped out of the shower; am dripping wet and wearing nothing save a sheen of water of a sopping towel.
Tired. Overtired. Snappish, waspish. Moody. Highs and lows. Today was an odd day, made doubly so due to lack-of-sleep induced foppishness. Days like this I question my own intelligence, though I suppose everyone is entitled to the odd lack of foresight and clarity.
Ah, well. Excuses and more excuses. Grumpy. And bibbling apparently, too — not to mention that I’m getting my chair wet…
See what I mean about lack of foresight? Sheesh…!
I’m off to towel and whatnot. You know, robe-up, hole-up, read. And hey, writing this here entry has righted my mood. Feeling a tad chipper now; afterall, if I can’t laugh at myself, who can I laugh at?
Hah!
Like so many others, I’m in love with music. The new Silver Mt. Zion is a perfect case in point. Yum!
Ah, Sunday. Though it be the seventh day of my week, I’m rarely able to rest on it. Fact is, Sunday is typically one of the most productive work-related days in my week — marking, planning, procrastinating… You know, all the fun and games associated with having to do work on a weekend, right down to the reality of knowing “there are better things I could be doing with my time.”
That said, it’s somewhat ironic that I’m sitting here stroking my own ego in the ether that is the internet. Bah. Hah. Hrrm. Have pretty much finished my work for the day (and to think, it’s only noon!) and am contemplating how best to spend the rest of my day. Eager to see m’love again — had a great time last night — and am keen too to sit down and indulge in some music.
Broke out some old Leaether Strip the other night to listen to, having been humming “Lies To Tell” for a few hours, and contented myself with that old Zoth Ommog EBM sound this morn whilst marking. It was funky. Now I’m sitting here, wanting to listen to the new Silver Mt. Zion disc on Constellation that I picked up the other day, but craving rather desperately to be reading 100 Bullets Vol. 2. Problem is, I don’t own 100 Bullets Vol. 2 yet, having just purchased Vol. 1 on Friday (and, should it not be apparent to the casual reader, deeply enjoyed it too).
Anyways, I’m rather hungry at the moment. This whole daylight savings time schtick has confused my poor tummy. Methinks I shall have to venture to the kitchen, perhaps beyond, to find something to club to death, cook, and subsequently consume. Perhaps beyond that I shall roam into the city to accomplish a few errands: sate my 100 Bullets craving, purchase the new Do Make Say Think disc (which was sold out when last I checked, argh), and investigate screenings for the upcoming Matrix film. In fact, I wonder…
/picks up phone
Damnit. All dramatic tension as to who exactly I was going to call (why I was going to call is outlined just above) flew out the window because someone upstairs is occupying the line. Sigh. I shall have to wait to call m’love…
Oh, wait. Oops. The cat is out of the bag. Love, I’ll be calling you shortly. :)
Whoa, very cool. KITTENS!
Being disliked is not a pleasant thing. In my profession, being disliked comes with the territory; it’s practically assumed that, each and every year, somewhen, someone somewhere is going to hate my guts.
That knowledge does not sit well with me. I don’t expect people to like me nor do I need people to like me, but I want people to like me — and really, who doesn’t? Even with three years in my chosen profession, I’ve yet to develop the calloused emotional skin of my colleagues, the detachment and distance that disallows damage of the feelings and bruising to the ego.
I’m not really sure where I’m going with this. Somewhere, in the depths of my mind, there’s a point made that I’m struggling to articulate through these words. I suppose, ultimately, what I’m rambling about is this: I don’t want to become bitter and jaded with experience, putting up walls between myself and those that I teach in order to remain emotionally unscathed. Such walls should not be necessary. I enjoy and appreciate the relationships I am able to foster with my classes, made possible by how well they know me, and having barriers in place will destroy the possibility of intimacy.
What I must find is balance, and suppose that that can be found only with wisdom, which in turn can only be attained through experience and greater hardship in this regard. Truth be told, I look forward to it — with the good will come bad, but with the bad good.
People whom you have no desire to speak with ever again will no longer have your phone number.
Take, for instance, this evening. I used to play cards rather extensively with a circle of gentlemen in the city. Over the course of years my interest in the game diminished and so too did my spare time. Due to reduced appetite for said activity and a tight schedule, I made the conscious decision to no longer play cards and instead dedicate what little free time I had, and still have, pursuing activities more meaningful to me.
I made this clear to those individuals, that I had no real intention of playing the game further, but stating that I did not mind receiving email notification of upcoming casual games and tournaments on the off-chance that time and interest allowed for my participation.
So, this evening. Approximately 9:30PM. Bare-assed I stand, having just emerged from the shower and about to begin shaving, when, lo and behold, the phone rings half a dozen times prior to being answered by someone upstairs. I tense as I hear feet plodding down the steps, descending to my depths and approaching the bathroom door. Curious, I listen: it is for me, yes, though Parental Unit M has no idea who it is. Wondering myself, I take the phone, cordless, through the thin crack in the doorframe.
Guess who it is?
Yup. To re-state:
Good Thing About Moving Out #281:
People whom you have no desire to speak with ever again will no longer have your phone number.
I am so using that as my answering machine message.
Currently listening to some Depeche Mode; broke out my copy of “Violator”, currently on track six (”Enjoy the Silence,” perhaps my favorite of the disc), biding my time until my evening shower.
Day flew by today, filled with trivialities and minor events not worth chronicling. All-in-all, a good day. Looking forward to a long weekend, though I’m pissed off about the reasoning behind it — school closure day, y’see. Meaning, there’s no good reason for school to close that day except, get this, lack of money. Thus, rather than pay the wages of various classified staff and pay operating costs for the day, this coming Friday, like several other days spread out over the next eight months, is designated ‘off.’
Now, personally, I don’t mind: a day off is a day off; I still get paid. Professionally, however, is another matter entirely. I’ve an obligation to those in my charge to provide the best bloody education possible. This, naturally, is negatively impacted by the budgetary shortfall my profession currently faces; I can’t teach when the school is closed. Hell, eh.
Boy, am I ever feeling articulate this evening! But enough of that. Negativity doth not become me this evening. Fact is, I’m about to wander off-topic though, truth to tell, it can’t really be off-topic given that this is my blog. Right? Right. Oh, alright. Let’s compromise. I won’t wander off-topic. Rather, I shall change the topic. Peace? Keen.
Ok. So. That accomplished… erm. Hum. Ho. Bugger.
Ironic, that. All that fuss, and nothing more to say. Ooh, wait!
I’m in too high of spirits. Had a spectacular evening last night. Deliriously peaceful and romantic. My heart aches just thinking of it, and mine pulse quickens. Ye gods. I honestly think my heart could have burst for happiness yesterday.
Today’s marking music is all about… Beefcake. “Polycontrale Contra Punkte,” “Coincidentia Oppositorum,” and then “?003 + ?024 + 2X = ?727.” Should time allow I’ll plug in “Drei” and “Hote,” too.
BEEEEFCAKE!
Oh boy, there’s a rant brewing…
I can’t wait to move out.
It’s happened again. My parents left town yesterday afternoon and my siblings have turned the upstairs into a pigsty. Woke up this morning, went to eat breakfast; no room at the table amidst textbooks and used newspaper to even set my cereal bowl down.
Stack of dishes by the sink, stack of dishes in the sink. Oh, did I mention I wasn’t home for dinner yesterday? None of this mess, be it on the table or in or near the sink, is mine. My significant other and I went for some dinner and some hanging out, get back several hours later, and boom: it’s remarkable how much filth my siblings can accumulate in one evening.
Anyways. Went to eat in the living room and found newspaper on the den floor and on the coffee table, plus some garbage (a nice compliment to the discarded banana peel left by the computer). I clear a space for myself on the floor, spread out the newspaper just recovered from the mailbox to read and to use as a catch-all (mustn’t slop on the carpet, folks), and eat my breakfast.
Finished, I return the paper to its original order and place it neatly where it should go, carefully rinse my bowl and stack it by the sink — a grain of sand on a beach, to mine eye. Returning to my basement dwelling, I reflect on the sharp contrast apparent: my basement is clean and maintained; the upstairs fell to pieces in the absence of my parents and in the care of my kindred in under twenty-four hours.
It’s unbelievable. My description does injustice to the carnage the upstairs bears testament to. Oh! And the best part? My siblings have the gall time and again to spit and hiss and moan that I never contribute to cleaning up. Bzzzt. Wrong, kiddies. I clean up messes that I contribute to. It’s called responsibility. Look it up some time.
End rant.
Never thought I would say this, but damn, I am looking forward to Daylight Savings Time. Getting up these past few weeks has been getting progressively harder due to the fact that, though I have been trying to get up at the same time each day, it’s been getting darker and darker. Thus, motivation to rise each morning has been dropping at continual yet gradual rate. Hrrm.