Monday, October 4

in which i decide against working for a living

So I lied. Yesterday was going to be a coherent essay, until I realized that I had less than six hours to sleep and panicked.

This evening, I came home from eight or nine hours of push-mowing and went downtown to meet people. An hour later I realized that everything had become vague and warm and unpleasant, and that I had to concentrate really hard to understand anything that was being said. I'm fairly certain that a crazy person sat down next to Molly and started saying really incoherent things about Courtney Love and Kurt Cobain. It was weird. I felt drugged out, food poisoned, and/or senile. I mostly still do. Maybe I'm getting strep throat or maybe the plate of spaghetti I wolfed after I got home did weird things to my blood sugar, or maybe I am just weak and soft and ill-suited for life.

I got the job with the mowers because I need to make some money in a way that doesn't commit me to being here in three months, and it seemed infinitely preferable to, say, a job transcribing dictated insurance audits of car dealerships. Also I guess because, theoretically, cutting grass is the kind of thing any jackass can do. Or, in the case of my current short-term employer, any jackass who can pass a drug test. Or maybe not so much. Because I sure as hell don't keep up.

Tonight's realization that my financial desperation is writing checks my body can't cash goes well with this afternoon's realization that I'm really bad at mowing. (For no discernable reason, having spent thousands of moderately enjoyable hours on or behind a mower since the age of 10.) Together, they cry out "You are not cut out to work for a living!"

I may later elaborate on or repudiate that thought; right now I just wanted to offer some explanation for why p1k3 will probably be empty of newness for the next couple of weeks. Topics for discussion when I have the energy: Gut-level economics, food, drink, apple orchards, big lame sports bars, and ways to slowly alienate everyone you care about. Also: New Zealand.

p1k3 / 2004 / 10 / 4