The Last Day Before the End of the World. The end of the world, being of course, the end of my world, the beginning of the rest of my life. It's my long goodbye, the sunset of my life, me and Ronald Reagan. I'm nervous, I'm more scared the closer it gets to the time the alarm is set for, and I'm excited, but I'm also feeling nothing. I've had a week to prepare myself for tomorrow morning, no I've had years to prepare. But alas, I have prepared nothing. I haven't prepared myself for my first rail trip to Union Station for this kind of purpose: my job. When it happens, when I exit on Adams Street, it will somehow feel different from the myriad times it has happened before, and I will notice it and pin it into the scrapbook of my existence in my mind. I will make a note in the record, so that someday when someone takes the book off the shelf, it will be there, brimming with all the mixed-up feelings of staring down the barrel of the gun of the rest of your life. I will not have this job forever, I know, and I may not stay with this company, building, career path for very long in the large of it, but it still is the first day of the rest of my life, however cliched that is. It is cliched because it is so very real and common. I worry I will be no good at what I am charged to do, that I will be a handicap rather than a help. It is a menial, entry-level job, one that monkeys, if trained properly and teased with a boatload of bananas could do efficiently. But I feel that it is the start of something big for me, something interesting and different, with promise and uncertainty only ahead. This whole summer has kind of felt like I've been on pause. I graduated with no plans, nothing concrete, only abstract, ideas that sounded romantic at first but unrealistic in the details. For me, anyway. I had competing interests, and I had no idea which way to turn; I rejected any guidance and pushed off making any decisions. I prefer things to work themselves out on their own, for better or for worse. Does that make me weak? Perhaps.
Thursday, August 12, 2004
Saturday, August 07, 2004
Sitting here in a big, empty house, alone, I am trying to better myself. I am housesitting at my relatives' house, and while the setting is not the impetus to such improvement, it is a respite from the day-in-day-out monotony and time-flying atmosphere of my stifling home. Solitude is perhaps the Great Equalizer, which is to say that being alone is when you can truly begin to metamorphize. I don't need to be a different person, just a better one. I'm not a bad person, but I do have faults. I'm not a lonely person, but I crave experiences. I'm not a cheap person, but I lack much spontaneity.
Sitting here alone, on my mother's birthday, I am reminiscing about my twenty-two years. How fast they flew, how quickly they melted down! I am struck most by the over-encompassing feeling that has been with me since late May: I don't feel my age. I feel younger, which some may say is good, but which I say is naive. I don't feel younger like I have the energy of a teenager, though mostly I do, I feel younger in the sense like I haven't earned this age. I remember being young and seeing people my age and forming a mental image of what that age demands. I feel too short for 22, too round, too inexperienced, too imbecilic. I wonder if and when this will pass. I also wonder if my mother's lack of altering her perceptions of me as I age is a contributing factor. When I was away from home, at college, I felt free from that part of my life, but whenever I returned home, I was pushed back into my life from high school. There was a gross lack of freedom; my mother expected me to fall back into that mode as long as I was under her roof. My father, as always, was more respectful of me. My mother, who is very selfish and burdensome -- though can be very nice and fun and loving... it is her birthday today after all -- never let me fly the coop of her demands. As much as I tried -- and I tried all the time -- she manipulated me into cowtowing to her. I knew what was happening, but it was easier to put up a fight and then cave then for her to change. I got my point across, fleetingly, but at least I was active and heard. Anyway, I don't feel my age.
Sitting here, on the eve of my first real job, I wonder how much my life will change by its own design. Will I see my friends even less? Will I ever meet new and more people? What will I do with all my new money and responsibility? Will I ever get my mother off my back? I can't move out for awhile, which I am fine with so long as I can deal with her, but will I be unhappy or just feel complacent about the whole thing?
I don't honestly know why I am writing these thoughts here... I don't use this as a journal, I use this as a public blog. I know people will read it. I suppose it will take awhile for people to come across this since it has been three months since my last post and I'm sure people don't check here often. I am full of nonsensical spoutings, and thoughts. I wanted to put up a new post, but with this? Oh well.
Sitting here alone, on my mother's birthday, I am reminiscing about my twenty-two years. How fast they flew, how quickly they melted down! I am struck most by the over-encompassing feeling that has been with me since late May: I don't feel my age. I feel younger, which some may say is good, but which I say is naive. I don't feel younger like I have the energy of a teenager, though mostly I do, I feel younger in the sense like I haven't earned this age. I remember being young and seeing people my age and forming a mental image of what that age demands. I feel too short for 22, too round, too inexperienced, too imbecilic. I wonder if and when this will pass. I also wonder if my mother's lack of altering her perceptions of me as I age is a contributing factor. When I was away from home, at college, I felt free from that part of my life, but whenever I returned home, I was pushed back into my life from high school. There was a gross lack of freedom; my mother expected me to fall back into that mode as long as I was under her roof. My father, as always, was more respectful of me. My mother, who is very selfish and burdensome -- though can be very nice and fun and loving... it is her birthday today after all -- never let me fly the coop of her demands. As much as I tried -- and I tried all the time -- she manipulated me into cowtowing to her. I knew what was happening, but it was easier to put up a fight and then cave then for her to change. I got my point across, fleetingly, but at least I was active and heard. Anyway, I don't feel my age.
Sitting here, on the eve of my first real job, I wonder how much my life will change by its own design. Will I see my friends even less? Will I ever meet new and more people? What will I do with all my new money and responsibility? Will I ever get my mother off my back? I can't move out for awhile, which I am fine with so long as I can deal with her, but will I be unhappy or just feel complacent about the whole thing?
I don't honestly know why I am writing these thoughts here... I don't use this as a journal, I use this as a public blog. I know people will read it. I suppose it will take awhile for people to come across this since it has been three months since my last post and I'm sure people don't check here often. I am full of nonsensical spoutings, and thoughts. I wanted to put up a new post, but with this? Oh well.
Thursday, May 13, 2004
WOAH! They really rejiggered this site.
Well, classes are over, finals are done, now it is just waiting and packing, and working, and sleeping and cleaning out the refridgerator, and then college is officially over. In these waning days, I am a mixture of two feelings, an unequal liquid of joy and unexpected sadness. As you can guess, the joy vastly outweighs the sadness, but somewhere along the way, this place that I have cleverly derided so much has creeped into the good column. I have to remember it in winter to get it back in the bad column, but there are things I will miss, things that I will never probably see again, or at least experience in the same way: as a student here. There are people I will absolutely never see again, and while I am not approaching leaving as anything big, it is weird to think that as I exit the room or store or building, this is the last time I will see them. Forever. Mostly I am fine with that, but it is a strange feeling.
This last semester has not been my best; I got wrapped up in it being the end, and slacked off on many of the small factors that make or break a grade. If I could redo it, I would, but I can't so I have to be content with that decision. I am done, now, I am one inch closer to being an adult, one inch closer to death (not to sound morbid) and my life is one silhouette closer to making a shape. These milestones are important, for what they measure and what they lack. That's all for this chapter of the book. I may post again before I leave, but then again, I may not.
Well, classes are over, finals are done, now it is just waiting and packing, and working, and sleeping and cleaning out the refridgerator, and then college is officially over. In these waning days, I am a mixture of two feelings, an unequal liquid of joy and unexpected sadness. As you can guess, the joy vastly outweighs the sadness, but somewhere along the way, this place that I have cleverly derided so much has creeped into the good column. I have to remember it in winter to get it back in the bad column, but there are things I will miss, things that I will never probably see again, or at least experience in the same way: as a student here. There are people I will absolutely never see again, and while I am not approaching leaving as anything big, it is weird to think that as I exit the room or store or building, this is the last time I will see them. Forever. Mostly I am fine with that, but it is a strange feeling.
This last semester has not been my best; I got wrapped up in it being the end, and slacked off on many of the small factors that make or break a grade. If I could redo it, I would, but I can't so I have to be content with that decision. I am done, now, I am one inch closer to being an adult, one inch closer to death (not to sound morbid) and my life is one silhouette closer to making a shape. These milestones are important, for what they measure and what they lack. That's all for this chapter of the book. I may post again before I leave, but then again, I may not.
Monday, April 19, 2004
The Frames - Pavement Tune
I've been meaning to update for the last two weeks. My last post implies negativity towards my trip in Atlanta. The contrary is true. It was a long weekend, one without good quality sleep, but nonetheless an enjoyable one. The weather could have been warmer, but a good 60 is better than a cold and dreary 40 back home any day. My biggest observation is simply that I could not live there; the pace is too different, the city is just too different. Not necessarily worse... okay, worse... but something that being there showed a lack of impressive structures or sights that just had to be seen. We struggled to fill "Jeff's Day" Sunday with "tourist stuff." I wanted to have seen the things in Atlanta that are well-known, to get a feel for the place as it is. We went to the Coke factory and after never dropping the subject, Christine and Winnie relented and we went to the Underground. The food was great (and really, I only ask for a vacation that revolves around a place's food). We did in fact ride the MARTA (the train/subway) and it was nice, efficient and clean. Many great and funny stories were born on this trip and I am glad I went and can now cross it off my list of places to see. So in case Christine or Winnie are reading this, know that I enjoyed myself.
Summer has arrived, pretty much bypassing Spring yet again, and it is hot here. I love this weather, but it just makes me want to leave school all the more. I realize that a job and the next chapter do not involve basking in the sun or anything and like being holed up in classrooms is the same as being holed up in an office somewhere, but the ability to leave my job and have a fun night out which cannot be done as seamlessly while in school is what I'm referring to. I am not, however, looking forward to living with my parents again. I am excited about moving to my house, but wish my parents would change enough to recognize that I'm not the high-school kid who last lived there. That is a major problem we will have to work out, and I realize that as long as I live there I will have to make some concessions. Especially if I want to avoid having to pay rent -- and my mom will do that... she's evil when it comes to money, absolutely evil. But even more than all of that, I cannot wait to return to what my town and my city have to offer. C-U cannot begin to contend with where I'm from. LaGrange was ranked #4 in a list of best Suburban downtowns, and while I contest some of the other rankings (Hinsdale as #2, no way), it has come leaps and bounds from what it was when I was growing up. And I am excited to go back. And Chicago... forgetaboutit. Enough said. (How's that for a throwback to early and mid-nineties vernacular: 'Nuff said... God I hated that!)
And this summer promises to be phenomenal. I only hope for steady employment where I can earn and save some money and the events that only exist during these hot months of the year. Barbeques, vacations, swimming pools, lakes, fishing, camping, bonfires, great great food, the Taste, birthdays... the list is endless. The best times are ahead.
I've been meaning to update for the last two weeks. My last post implies negativity towards my trip in Atlanta. The contrary is true. It was a long weekend, one without good quality sleep, but nonetheless an enjoyable one. The weather could have been warmer, but a good 60 is better than a cold and dreary 40 back home any day. My biggest observation is simply that I could not live there; the pace is too different, the city is just too different. Not necessarily worse... okay, worse... but something that being there showed a lack of impressive structures or sights that just had to be seen. We struggled to fill "Jeff's Day" Sunday with "tourist stuff." I wanted to have seen the things in Atlanta that are well-known, to get a feel for the place as it is. We went to the Coke factory and after never dropping the subject, Christine and Winnie relented and we went to the Underground. The food was great (and really, I only ask for a vacation that revolves around a place's food). We did in fact ride the MARTA (the train/subway) and it was nice, efficient and clean. Many great and funny stories were born on this trip and I am glad I went and can now cross it off my list of places to see. So in case Christine or Winnie are reading this, know that I enjoyed myself.
Summer has arrived, pretty much bypassing Spring yet again, and it is hot here. I love this weather, but it just makes me want to leave school all the more. I realize that a job and the next chapter do not involve basking in the sun or anything and like being holed up in classrooms is the same as being holed up in an office somewhere, but the ability to leave my job and have a fun night out which cannot be done as seamlessly while in school is what I'm referring to. I am not, however, looking forward to living with my parents again. I am excited about moving to my house, but wish my parents would change enough to recognize that I'm not the high-school kid who last lived there. That is a major problem we will have to work out, and I realize that as long as I live there I will have to make some concessions. Especially if I want to avoid having to pay rent -- and my mom will do that... she's evil when it comes to money, absolutely evil. But even more than all of that, I cannot wait to return to what my town and my city have to offer. C-U cannot begin to contend with where I'm from. LaGrange was ranked #4 in a list of best Suburban downtowns, and while I contest some of the other rankings (Hinsdale as #2, no way), it has come leaps and bounds from what it was when I was growing up. And I am excited to go back. And Chicago... forgetaboutit. Enough said. (How's that for a throwback to early and mid-nineties vernacular: 'Nuff said... God I hated that!)
And this summer promises to be phenomenal. I only hope for steady employment where I can earn and save some money and the events that only exist during these hot months of the year. Barbeques, vacations, swimming pools, lakes, fishing, camping, bonfires, great great food, the Taste, birthdays... the list is endless. The best times are ahead.
Saturday, April 03, 2004
Feeling productive is something I always forget I need. For too long I have felt content in a state of disrepair. I do nothing all day and feel slothlike. I have no willpower to turn the tv off, go to bed or get up when my alarm goes off. I have failed at my Lenten resolution.
I am in Atlanta right now and it is really nice outside. This city pales in comparison to home, to Chicago. There is nothing here, really, and what is here is not worth visiting. The way of life is slower, though I have yet to hear a truly Southern accent. It is a fine place to spend a few days, but I am really happy that I will be leaving here. I could not live here.
When I'm on vacation, I usually do a lot of tourist stuff, see a lot of tourist sites and get a feel of the place I'm in. I do that to catalog my memories by what I see and I appreciate places more that way. I tire by moving a lot, not by lying around. I do this because I go on vacations with my family. This is my first vacation without them and I didn't realize it was them that really made my vacations what they were. I have to learn how my Dad does it his way and better plan my trips. I like to learn the geography of a city by riding the public transportation around a little, like the tube in London or buses, but it doesn't look like that opportunity will present itself here. Maybe that's alright, maybe my impressions of every place don't have to be great. I like it here, but wonder if I'll ever return. The weather is nice, but it's also nice in Miami, New Orleans, LA and San Diego and I've never been in those cities....
I am in Atlanta right now and it is really nice outside. This city pales in comparison to home, to Chicago. There is nothing here, really, and what is here is not worth visiting. The way of life is slower, though I have yet to hear a truly Southern accent. It is a fine place to spend a few days, but I am really happy that I will be leaving here. I could not live here.
When I'm on vacation, I usually do a lot of tourist stuff, see a lot of tourist sites and get a feel of the place I'm in. I do that to catalog my memories by what I see and I appreciate places more that way. I tire by moving a lot, not by lying around. I do this because I go on vacations with my family. This is my first vacation without them and I didn't realize it was them that really made my vacations what they were. I have to learn how my Dad does it his way and better plan my trips. I like to learn the geography of a city by riding the public transportation around a little, like the tube in London or buses, but it doesn't look like that opportunity will present itself here. Maybe that's alright, maybe my impressions of every place don't have to be great. I like it here, but wonder if I'll ever return. The weather is nice, but it's also nice in Miami, New Orleans, LA and San Diego and I've never been in those cities....
Saturday, February 14, 2004
I need to leave. I need to get the hell out of here. I need to take a break from the real stultifying dullness that is Champaign. My mind is shot, my health is waning. This place has always been less desirable than others, but it has quickly emerged as my own personal hell. I need to be around people I care about, and who care about me. That place is not this place. I need consideration. Just a little fucking consideration.
My roommates and I all get along fairly well. I would call none of us friends though. Dan, whom I lived with last year too, is literally standing on my last nerve. He has a tendency to invite large groups of his farmboy friends for the weekend without mentioning anything to the rest of us. I really don't mind if he has people come to visit, and I actually like a few of them. But the point is he probably considers this his place, to be lived within his rules. Friday, a friend of his came down, went out on his own, came back insanely drunk at one a.m. and proceeded to spend a really long time in the bathroom. He's a nice guy. This morning I get up at 8 to go to work and I go into the bathroom and there is puke everywhere... except the toilet. On the floor. All over the bathtub. A little on the walls. It's revolting. I heard him take a half-hour shower late last night and then I heard a loud crash, as if he collapsed. Dan didn't move a muscle. He checked on him once and at that point he was asleep on the toilet. Dan has no consideration for anyone but himself and I starting to get bad at putting up with it.
Mike is home for the weekend. Dan told his 8 friends here that there is an open bed tonight. I know he did not ask Mike about this, nor will he tell him tomorrow night when he returns. He will act like it didn't happen. I know that when I've been home strange people have slept in my bed and surely other things. How many times has this happened over the last two years? No fucking consideration.
Mike would be considerate if he could remember. You could tell him that you need to get a solid night's sleep because you have to perform surgery in the morning, he'd forget as soon as you tell him and when he came back that night, drunk, he would be loud and fall asleep with the TV blaring. I can't count the times I've had to get out of bed at 4 or 5 in the morning and go turn the TV off. The lights are on at all times of the day. He almost always leaves the oven and/or George Foreman grill on for hours after he uses them. His problem is not lack of consideration, because he by nature is considerate, but complete forgetfulness.
Craig is pretty considerate, unless he's really really drunk. Then he doesn't give a shit or know what he's doing.
I routinely have to work in the mornings when I'm scheduled. On paper a 9 a.m. start time would not be a problem. But when I'm woken up or can't fall asleep til 6, I'm fucked. I often ask them to be quiet, but routine reinforcement of my consideration to them and me asking for theirs has not set in over the last semester and a half.
I need a break. I need time off. I can't take this much longer. The lure of the end is too much to look at sometimes, like looking at the sun in an eclipse. I'm tired, I'm tired, I'm tired.
Jeff
My roommates and I all get along fairly well. I would call none of us friends though. Dan, whom I lived with last year too, is literally standing on my last nerve. He has a tendency to invite large groups of his farmboy friends for the weekend without mentioning anything to the rest of us. I really don't mind if he has people come to visit, and I actually like a few of them. But the point is he probably considers this his place, to be lived within his rules. Friday, a friend of his came down, went out on his own, came back insanely drunk at one a.m. and proceeded to spend a really long time in the bathroom. He's a nice guy. This morning I get up at 8 to go to work and I go into the bathroom and there is puke everywhere... except the toilet. On the floor. All over the bathtub. A little on the walls. It's revolting. I heard him take a half-hour shower late last night and then I heard a loud crash, as if he collapsed. Dan didn't move a muscle. He checked on him once and at that point he was asleep on the toilet. Dan has no consideration for anyone but himself and I starting to get bad at putting up with it.
Mike is home for the weekend. Dan told his 8 friends here that there is an open bed tonight. I know he did not ask Mike about this, nor will he tell him tomorrow night when he returns. He will act like it didn't happen. I know that when I've been home strange people have slept in my bed and surely other things. How many times has this happened over the last two years? No fucking consideration.
Mike would be considerate if he could remember. You could tell him that you need to get a solid night's sleep because you have to perform surgery in the morning, he'd forget as soon as you tell him and when he came back that night, drunk, he would be loud and fall asleep with the TV blaring. I can't count the times I've had to get out of bed at 4 or 5 in the morning and go turn the TV off. The lights are on at all times of the day. He almost always leaves the oven and/or George Foreman grill on for hours after he uses them. His problem is not lack of consideration, because he by nature is considerate, but complete forgetfulness.
Craig is pretty considerate, unless he's really really drunk. Then he doesn't give a shit or know what he's doing.
I routinely have to work in the mornings when I'm scheduled. On paper a 9 a.m. start time would not be a problem. But when I'm woken up or can't fall asleep til 6, I'm fucked. I often ask them to be quiet, but routine reinforcement of my consideration to them and me asking for theirs has not set in over the last semester and a half.
I need a break. I need time off. I can't take this much longer. The lure of the end is too much to look at sometimes, like looking at the sun in an eclipse. I'm tired, I'm tired, I'm tired.
Jeff
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