His goal in life was to be an echo
I find it to be a very sad blog when all I have to talk about is my job; but job blog is better than no blog? Question mark infers confusion.
The Bucks has me working 35 hours a week. That makes me giddy when I calculate the paycheck (I'm sure the feeling is temporary), but quite disappointed when I tally the hours I have leftover. I'm sure Clarke is cackling at the screen right now and needling a voodoo doll, but I'm new to the whole working stiff dealie. As you know, Kristen is working four days a week at Emory, which means we don't get together until 7 or 8 most nights and then we part at 10 for early bedtimes. When I step back, it seems like we have enough time together, but for some reason the short increments make all the time we share really forced, and some weeks I feel like I haven't seen her at all. Despite this sinking feeling, everyone else tells me that I'm being neglectful of friends and family. I feel neglectful, but it's not like I'm not trying. Sometimes I get the ill feeling that I'm in the business of parceling out time to the select people in my life.
But back to the Bucks, it really isn't that bad of a job, especially when I compare it to Jason's Deli, which was 18 hours a week of old man sending back soggy reuben sandwich. Here, the customers are friendly. I'm just intimidated by the regulars who know the lingo and expect you to spot them and have their favorite drink made ten seconds before they hit the threshold. That's when they accuse New Guy of being part of a vast conspiracy to change all that was old/good to new/corporate. So now I'm the Man?
Oh, I finished The Corrections. Midway, I was prepping myself not to like it, and I kept looking for instances of pretention running away with itself. It's a pretentious book, but unfortunately, Jonathan Franzen never lets himself go so's I can accuse him. Really, my biggest criticism was that he covered too many topics (Alzheimers--Lithuanian economics--electrometallurgy--Philadelphia--restaurant business & culinary arts--illegal drugs--Hollywood--decline of the American railroad--Academe hypocrisy--insider trading--Stanley Tucci--clinical depression--biomedical engineering), and he even managed to tie all those together. Damn you, Franzen, and your Oprah sticker.
It's raining this morning, so probably Kristen and I won't do the long day of running we had planned, it being two days before the Peachtree. I am relieved by the inclement weather, but We Are Going to Die on Sunday.
Wilco - "Hummingbird"
I find it to be a very sad blog when all I have to talk about is my job; but job blog is better than no blog? Question mark infers confusion.
The Bucks has me working 35 hours a week. That makes me giddy when I calculate the paycheck (I'm sure the feeling is temporary), but quite disappointed when I tally the hours I have leftover. I'm sure Clarke is cackling at the screen right now and needling a voodoo doll, but I'm new to the whole working stiff dealie. As you know, Kristen is working four days a week at Emory, which means we don't get together until 7 or 8 most nights and then we part at 10 for early bedtimes. When I step back, it seems like we have enough time together, but for some reason the short increments make all the time we share really forced, and some weeks I feel like I haven't seen her at all. Despite this sinking feeling, everyone else tells me that I'm being neglectful of friends and family. I feel neglectful, but it's not like I'm not trying. Sometimes I get the ill feeling that I'm in the business of parceling out time to the select people in my life.
But back to the Bucks, it really isn't that bad of a job, especially when I compare it to Jason's Deli, which was 18 hours a week of old man sending back soggy reuben sandwich. Here, the customers are friendly. I'm just intimidated by the regulars who know the lingo and expect you to spot them and have their favorite drink made ten seconds before they hit the threshold. That's when they accuse New Guy of being part of a vast conspiracy to change all that was old/good to new/corporate. So now I'm the Man?
Oh, I finished The Corrections. Midway, I was prepping myself not to like it, and I kept looking for instances of pretention running away with itself. It's a pretentious book, but unfortunately, Jonathan Franzen never lets himself go so's I can accuse him. Really, my biggest criticism was that he covered too many topics (Alzheimers--Lithuanian economics--electrometallurgy--Philadelphia--restaurant business & culinary arts--illegal drugs--Hollywood--decline of the American railroad--Academe hypocrisy--insider trading--Stanley Tucci--clinical depression--biomedical engineering), and he even managed to tie all those together. Damn you, Franzen, and your Oprah sticker.
It's raining this morning, so probably Kristen and I won't do the long day of running we had planned, it being two days before the Peachtree. I am relieved by the inclement weather, but We Are Going to Die on Sunday.
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