Having a massively blah few days. Barely want to stop in here and see what’s going on. Making myself type something out, just to do it, and if you are reading this, then it means I had more wherewithal than I suspected when I started scribbling around 1 AM, Sunday 16th Feb.
Why? Not sure. Work might play a role. Working from home, for an organization bringing in help for what they expected to be a busy period. Our (the outside help) role wasn’t entirely defined, so it shifted a bit the first couple of weeks, and now we’re told we’re supposed to hit metrics that are proving a bit unrealistic. So that’s a bit stressful. Something to be said for just grinding away and doing what’s feasible. But our team leader is getting leaned on by the organization’s people, and in turn, we hear about it. In a nice way, of course, but…it still weighs, y’know?
So that’s me whining about work stuff, which you really don’t care about. You probably also don’t care to hear me whining about my utter lack of a social life. Woops. I mean, at this point, I’d be shocked if I actually posted this as a blog. I mean, the self-…loathing might not exactly be the right word…I’m looking for more of a not-giving-much-of-a-crap synonym here, but I’m blanking, since it’s 1:15 AM….anyway, it’s a cavalier attitude, borne yet again out of job uncertainty, and really not liking where I am in life at an age where stuff was supposed to be settled into some groove. And yes, I know, I know, this is America where you can just make it up as you go along until you find said groove. I loathe that platitude, even as I use it to describe my scattered path. Come to think, that may be why I loathe it.
Listening tonight to some Galactic Cowboys, one of so many bands that “really should have been so much bigger”. Not feeling rage myself, but the song “Feel the Rage” is a good place to start if you’ve never heard the band before.
Take a trip, step outside
Of this fishbowl life
Voice recalls, ceramic youth
In pots of broken truth
Got carded again last night. Maybe when I’m 40, that’ll stop happening? Shouldn’t have shaved, the growing grey patch in the beard would probably immunize me from having to pull out my ID.
The title that I just placed at the top of the MS Word document (since it’s 2:15 now, and I might as well share the thinks rattling through my skullspace, right?) are from a different band, Extreme, and their song, “Stop the World,” www.youtube.com/w
The mood I’m in, though, there’s a far more relevant track on the “III sides to every story” album, called, “Am I ever going to change?” that screams to be posted.
Please tell me if it’s true, am I too old to start anew?
cuz that’s what I want to do.
But time and and time again, when I think I can
I fall short in the end
Reality says, I haven’t fallen short. Mental short circuits are whispering ‘yet’.
Weight wise, I have fallen short. Mental short circuits are whispering, “why try holding back the wave? You’ll only drown in the changes”
(apparently, a queensryche song has wormed its way into the matrix (specifically, “My Global Mind” www.youtube.com/w
It’s now 2:45 and I think I’m done rambling. Haven’t scribbled anything worth anything in the last 15 minutes, so maybe it’s time to flip the mental coin on whether to actually share this mess. Or wait until daybreak to make the decision. I think I won’t do that, though, since there are many pieces of broken memories contained in other late night ramblings that I chose NOT to share, for some reason or another. This one, I think, I won't bury, maybe?