Work, blurk


I must have titled a previous post ‘Work, blurk’ already. How could I not have? I’m already tired of working, and it’s only been regular since November, and it’s rarely more than 20 hours per week. Just call me 20/20/20/247/365. And it doesn’t have too much to do with the particular place I’m working, or the people, and not even the work. All of that stuff is pretty standard–even better than standard–in terms of office jobs. It’s not them, it’s me… I’m the one with the problem. Maybe I should seek some kind of pharmaceutical aid so that I don’t mind going to a building full of florescence and tasteful, green cushy chairs. Chairs to sit in while working on a computer. My urge is to move away from such heavy computer work. Not that I don’t loves me the interwebs. Or even the cool things that can be done on a computer. It just seems unhealthy and, ultimately, a little bit inhuman for so many people to sit in front of a glowing screen for such large chunks of their lives. Of my life. I didn’t know how to use a computer when I moved to Baltimore in 1998. I mean, I could get onto my Dad’s machine and make really ugly floral design resumes, and do writing and stuff, but that was about it. For the life of me I didn’t know where the files went to once I saved them. Can you imagine? And I gotta tell you, life wasn’t so bad before all of this. In fact, it was really fun. At least I can still inhale real fumes and mess with actual paint if I’m craving the visceral creative experience. Otherwise, it’s digital photographs and the blog.

Husband, Mimi, Beenie, Me, my old pal Ted and his daughter Lena spent the late afternoon (from about 3:45 till almost 7pm) as guests at their pool. It was luxurious. Steaming hot day today in Balmer, and sort of humid, too–perfect for the pool. It is such a treat to go with them. The baby pool rocks and the tattooed set is what’s for parents these days, which I find familiar and charming. I don’t have any tattoos, nor does B (spouse), but the girls both have temporary ones, and Ted has a big rusty colored one on his chest. Makes me feel like I’m back in Chicago in the early 90’s, and friends are just starting to do apprenticeships at local tattoo parlors. Or it’s almost 20 years later, and I’m still me, in Baltimore City and my contemporaries are aging, just like me, and having children in their late thirties/early forties, just like me.

I wonder what the NYTimes will be serving up to my demographic tomorrow morning. I can hardly wait to find out. There’s always something for me in my special newsprint Sunday friend.

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