I’m Working on It – Thoughts from May 11 and 19, 2004

May 11, 2004

We had my mom over for Mother’s Day on, strangely enough, Mother’s Day this weekend. Our newly finished kitchen can be used to make shrimp, etc. We also had a Mother’s Day celebration at Patti’s mom’s house. I nerded it up with “the boys” most of the time. We were looking at 3-D pictures created in Animation Master – the program I have, but have not had the time to use. (Future note: I don’t remember when I mentioned “the boys” last, but they are Patti’s (my wife) twin nephews. They both used their skills in fancy, high-paying jobs. I like to think I played a small part in developing their interests.)

My old job at JESD (now ESP – it still makes me laugh) is open again. It is the job above the job I had at ESP. I don’t know what city the job would be in. If it is in San Bernardino, I do not want it. If it is in Colton, that would be interesting to go back there. In the end, I do not want the job only slightly less than I want the job I have now. The robot lifestyle of a County employee just does not work with my personality. I need to send out my samples to the literary agents I found who accept animation scripts. I need to … should … could … would … all my favorite new phrases – along with:

I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it … I’m working on it …

… or am I working on none of it? I can’t remember.

When I sit down at my home computer, I need to remind myself what project I am working on. I’ll email myself about that now. As for you, get out of here! I’m done with you for today. (Future note: I used to email myself notes to do things at home. Today, we have apps and devices that make this much easier, but these were the early years of the twenty-first century.)

May 19, 2004

Travel Scrabble, Anyone?

Let me start by saying I plan for this Thoughts paper to be the single greatest essay about boredom that exists. And now …

Great! Now the pressure is on. I can’t even start because I’ve set it up that everything I say is going to be brilliant. In the end, I’ll just say this may not be the most brilliant essay on boredom, but it will be the most honest. My job is the very definition of boredom. Go ahead, look it up. It’s there. The repetitive entry of information I don’t care about makes my eyes sag further every day. Of all the jobs I’ve had in my life, I think this job is aging me the most. When people have found out my age, they have not been as surprised as they have been in the past. I’ve always looked younger than I am. Now, I look my age! I’m even acting my age. I own a house, have a job with a retirement plan, and pay all my bills. How did I get here with my Rock-n-Roll/Hippie background? Hold on, I have to hide this paper when my supervisor comes by. Okay, the coast is clear.

When I was a child, I never understood the concept of boredom. I was never bored. All I needed was a piece of paper and a pencil. The creative world was at my fingertips. Now, the creative world only exists under my nails like the dirt you pick out of your nails once in a while. If I were a bum with no job and plenty of dirt all over my hands, just think how creative I could be! I would be one of those dirty, evil super-geniuses! I don’t know why I’d be evil, but super geniuses usually are, so I might as well be one.

Of course, as I’m writing this, I’m not bored. When I go back to working, I get the bored feeling back so I can remember what it’s like when I write about it. I look forward to times when the work I do is not so repetitive, but then I remember I don’t care about any of this in the end, so I’m a permanent resident of Boredomville. My fellow residents have been in this town so long, they’ve forgotten what life is like in other towns and cities. No one was born in this town. They’ve just forgotten what life is like in the outside world. I haven’t forgotten. I will never forget my childhood. Well, until I become senile and forget everything.

I think that says it all and I have to go to lunch so …