I got a job. Or, more specifically, I got a paid position in the exact field that I’ve been training for these last 14 years. I got a career. I have a permanent room in the Ivory Tower now. It feels good. Cool. Refreshing. Intentional. Adult. That’s how it’s supposed to feel, anyway. Instead, it
Consider this my short response to the news of Osama bin Laden’s death, in three parts. Part One :: The American Way I’m not taking part in the death celebration. I don’t like the idea of celebrating someone’s murder, regardless of the political backstory, regardless of the culpability of the now-dead. Because this wasn’t an
7:00am, Tuesday, August 10th Wake up. Where am I? Where’s that damn alarm? Wait. There is no alarm. FUCK! WHAT TIME IS IT? I overslept, I slept through my alarm again, ohfuckohfuckohfuck. What am I gonna tell the boss? “Yeah, sry… there was a wreck on the interstate. I got a flat tire. I was
I’m stuck… …in a dead-end, low-paying, unskilled office labor job. Frankly, the job is beneath me. That’s not me being uppity—even though I have a ridiculously high IQ, 5+ years of experience as a programs manager, and a god-damned Ph.D.—the job is beneath all of my seven co-workers as well (well, almost all of them).
25 April, 2010. I started a bonsai garden this weekend. It’s not really a garden, just a collection of five or six plants taken from a single japanese boxwood shrubbery with the intent of training to grow as bonsai. It was originally going to be a kind of meditation for me—slowly watching the plant grow,