I went online to read some blogs so I could relax, but nobody's updated all week. Instead of turning bitter, I decided to be a part of the solution, not the problem.
This work thing's really wearing me down. My actual duties, of course, consist only of sitting at a computer or working the paper-cutter, but there is something to be said of the hard labor involved in moving back and forth from one side of a cubicle to the other for four straight hours. And then I have about a mile-long commute to and from the Press, and for some reason, I don't have a decent shoe to make it comfortable. I guess the walk really wears me out, and as soon as I get back to the dorm, the time that had previously been shuffling its feet suddenly bolts out in front of me, and before I know it 5 turns into 10. I honestly don't know how long I could put myself past 12 each night, because even now I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open.
More about my job: Seven weeks of feeding fetal scholarly books through a photocopier has given me a chance to read the latest from today's hot young academics, and I gotta say, it's made me even more assured of my conviction not to become a professor. I'm not disparaging the profession, I just feel like it's something that, inevitably, I wouldn't get enough satisfaction out of to justify the amount of work it takes. I always wonder if the people writing these books are doing it because they genuinely have a passion for writing the book, or because they feel a professional obligation to publish. And if the latter is so, could they have done a better job if they were genuinely moved to write? Maybe I just don't understand the dignity of adding your own little grain of sand to the towering ant-hill of knowledge, and maybe it's something that I wish I understood better.
My brain feels like closing time, it's harder to think of things to blog... ummm.... saw Coppola's "The Conversation" today in the Cobb Screening Room for Media Aesthetics. That toilet overflowing with blood made the film. Also sat in the row across from my Media Aesthetics professor and watched as he played with his hands and laughed at inappropriate moments during the movie. That made the film, too.
This work thing's really wearing me down. My actual duties, of course, consist only of sitting at a computer or working the paper-cutter, but there is something to be said of the hard labor involved in moving back and forth from one side of a cubicle to the other for four straight hours. And then I have about a mile-long commute to and from the Press, and for some reason, I don't have a decent shoe to make it comfortable. I guess the walk really wears me out, and as soon as I get back to the dorm, the time that had previously been shuffling its feet suddenly bolts out in front of me, and before I know it 5 turns into 10. I honestly don't know how long I could put myself past 12 each night, because even now I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open.
More about my job: Seven weeks of feeding fetal scholarly books through a photocopier has given me a chance to read the latest from today's hot young academics, and I gotta say, it's made me even more assured of my conviction not to become a professor. I'm not disparaging the profession, I just feel like it's something that, inevitably, I wouldn't get enough satisfaction out of to justify the amount of work it takes. I always wonder if the people writing these books are doing it because they genuinely have a passion for writing the book, or because they feel a professional obligation to publish. And if the latter is so, could they have done a better job if they were genuinely moved to write? Maybe I just don't understand the dignity of adding your own little grain of sand to the towering ant-hill of knowledge, and maybe it's something that I wish I understood better.
My brain feels like closing time, it's harder to think of things to blog... ummm.... saw Coppola's "The Conversation" today in the Cobb Screening Room for Media Aesthetics. That toilet overflowing with blood made the film. Also sat in the row across from my Media Aesthetics professor and watched as he played with his hands and laughed at inappropriate moments during the movie. That made the film, too.
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