Retrospectator Sport
Last year was almost a null year for me. The first 9 months of it felt like a total wash.
My dad's diagnosis was the first time I'd really cried in years. I spread my time amongst pointless endeavors. I didn't do as much comedy as I could have. I sat back when I should have sprung forward. And I have some regrets.
People who say they live with "no regrets" are usually giant a-pipes, or very boring. I have a conscience, especially when it comes to doing things that primarily screw ME over. I feel like a pretty young 31 year-old at times. But this is where I am. I'm working on this whole "progress" concept at times, realizing that, in order to do it, I can't get caught up in staring at the passing window shoppers and coffee huts. In that sense, when I feel a slow-down in the mix, I find that I get more than a little chafed.
It's the same with road rage, long lines, and being the 4th of 5 dogs leading the sled. The view never changes, I didn't ask for this, but what can I do to make it better? Well, for one, I can make it better for one other dog, at least, by keeping my business to myself, even if they have a decent view of my undercarriage. I hate to stagnate. It feels like death to me. That's one reason my job is almost unbearable. (the other reason is commonly known as "co-workers") There's no opportunity for advancement here at the big OJ Splatterberg's, my raise wouldn't cover the cost of the network space that the e-mail announcing it was sent through, and yet the dog in front of me finds it necessary to slow down the whole sled by wanting to talk about where we're going.
Turns out, it's Nowhere. I'm gnawing at my harness as we speak.
And I have found that the more I shake things up, the settling of those things is usually to my benefit. Unless it's pool, I suck at pool.
The last 3 months of last year were much better for me. I felt progression, I felt growth, I felt Mexico in my veins. Or was it dysentery? I have much more to accomplish before I'll be satisfied, and anything standing in the way of that pursuit, whatever category of Noun it may be, will meet the same fate as most of my toilet paper: It will thrown into the trees of my high school prinicipal's retirement cottage.
This place has more inside jokes than a Gyno's office. I'm leaving.
=================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
My dad's diagnosis was the first time I'd really cried in years. I spread my time amongst pointless endeavors. I didn't do as much comedy as I could have. I sat back when I should have sprung forward. And I have some regrets.
People who say they live with "no regrets" are usually giant a-pipes, or very boring. I have a conscience, especially when it comes to doing things that primarily screw ME over. I feel like a pretty young 31 year-old at times. But this is where I am. I'm working on this whole "progress" concept at times, realizing that, in order to do it, I can't get caught up in staring at the passing window shoppers and coffee huts. In that sense, when I feel a slow-down in the mix, I find that I get more than a little chafed.
It's the same with road rage, long lines, and being the 4th of 5 dogs leading the sled. The view never changes, I didn't ask for this, but what can I do to make it better? Well, for one, I can make it better for one other dog, at least, by keeping my business to myself, even if they have a decent view of my undercarriage. I hate to stagnate. It feels like death to me. That's one reason my job is almost unbearable. (the other reason is commonly known as "co-workers") There's no opportunity for advancement here at the big OJ Splatterberg's, my raise wouldn't cover the cost of the network space that the e-mail announcing it was sent through, and yet the dog in front of me finds it necessary to slow down the whole sled by wanting to talk about where we're going.
Turns out, it's Nowhere. I'm gnawing at my harness as we speak.
And I have found that the more I shake things up, the settling of those things is usually to my benefit. Unless it's pool, I suck at pool.
The last 3 months of last year were much better for me. I felt progression, I felt growth, I felt Mexico in my veins. Or was it dysentery? I have much more to accomplish before I'll be satisfied, and anything standing in the way of that pursuit, whatever category of Noun it may be, will meet the same fate as most of my toilet paper: It will thrown into the trees of my high school prinicipal's retirement cottage.
This place has more inside jokes than a Gyno's office. I'm leaving.
=================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
