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Push

by C. Christian Scott on March 14, 2021 at 1:13 am
Posted In: Blog, Main

It was suggested to me by more than one person this week that I should really get my ass back to writing. Anything. Even this piss-wankle.

Well… maybe not that.

I’ve been at my new job since the first week of this year and it’s going well. There were questions on how I would do. By me, I was questioning it. Since they hired me I guess they had some degree of confidence in me that I lack.

It’s not a new skillset entirely. It’s customer service, which is something I have a long time background in. I’d even argue my I.T. career has been based around my customer service skills more than anything. And this job is also based around my tech skills. I do support (mostly over the phone) for people about their Fiber Internet. It’s both very new and more of the same. But I like it. More than anything I like the team I’m a part of. And the office is nice and comfortable, the customers are usually kind and grateful for the help. The pay is good, and I tend to get several hours of overtime each week, mostly because I work through my lunch (which no one has told me not to do yet, so I’ll keep at it until I hear otherwise). Insurance just kicked in and I am now in more of a desperate need to see a doctor because my heart thing is getting more prevalent. I’ve also developed “Tennis Elbow” (self-diagnosed) so my right arm is in near constant pain, moving it or not, and that’s made working at a computer typing most of the day all the more enjoyable. But Covid’s gonna Covid, and even though I’ve gotten my two shots as of last month, I’m sure there’s probably still a bit of a waiting period for things, so I’m just being extra lazy and immobile, which I’m sure is incredibly healthy.

Erin’s about to leave her Home Depot job, which she really loves but does take a physical toll on her, to work at the local coffee cafe. I don’t know if that will be less physically demanding or not, but she loves the place (I do too) and it seems to be where her heart is right now. Her art has continued to do amazing things, and I’m tying to help guide her on getting a web site up (finally) so she can “next level” that shit. She’s still chasing new ideas and creative outlets all the time though, so I don’t know what a site can do to keep up with her really, but at least a landing spot means she has a place for whatever she does next.

But this is journal stuff, and it’s about as creative as talking about the weather. Which, at my age, I’m just as prone to do. Especially as it gets nicer. I’m hoping that “the light at the end of this winter” is coming and is going to perk up my brain a bit. I honestly usually like the cold months, but this has been such an especially trying year that I think there’s a therapeutic aspect to a Spring bloom while the world is maybe finally moving passed some of the Hell it’s been in. And I’ve had it better than most people, but I’m not going to pretend I haven’t been affected by all of it too. In the spirit of being honest with myself (the one person who sees these posts), I can admit that I’m just as prone to falling apart as anyone else. I just tend to shrug things off better than some. But it’s still been hard.

I’m also looking at my frame of mind and trying to be aware that maybe I go through phases of losing track of wanting to be creative based on time of year, or weather patterns, or external things like job stuff, being less-than-optimially-healthy, and so on. So while I feel “blank” right now, emotionally I know I’m in a rut… I’m honestly trying to reassure myself that this will pass. Inevitably I’ll wind up with some idea that draws me in again at some point. It’ll be up to me to run with it, or let it fester in my grey matter for the next ten to twenty years like I usually do. So people kicking me in the rear about writing down my thoughts are really doing me the biggest favor. It’s been a month I think since I’ve come upstairs for more than a couple of minutes. Three months since I spent any time even feigning interest in writing up here.

Is it a dip or a cliff? You only know when you actually try to climb back out.

└ Tags: piss-wankle
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Ketchup

by C. Christian Scott on December 18, 2020 at 12:18 pm
Posted In: Blog, Main

If I try to explain that I haven’t been in the right frame of mind to write, well, then it just sounds like excuses. Which it is. Sure, absolutely, I’ve let myself down again, welcome to the shitpile that is Corey.

But, you know. Fuck it. It’s the last couple of weeks, the holiday ones at that, of a crazy fucking year. I’ve spent the last two months or so trying to get, not getting, and then ultimately getting another job at this place that, it turns out, may be as close to what I’ve been looking for since leaving California than I could have ever expected. I put in my notice at my current (less delightful, but still appreciate it getting me through the last couple of years) job earlier this week, and I just have to get through to the opening of 2021 to move the fuck on.

Also, shit, y’all. Did you see that fucking election??? Talk about wanting to keep your head down for two months after just until the smell clears. Every step forward on it comes with some caveat of “well, sure, yes, technically it’s over, right? But I’m not going to feel safe until this next thing actually happens.” And then it somehow actually happens, but you see that next bump, which shouldn’t even be a bump normally but now feels like climbing Everest with severe asthma and a broken right arm, and you’re like, “Oh sure, yeah, we got through that. But this NEXT BIT…”

Mom had her surgery finally. Trying to socially distance and also be there to help the parents out when they need it is challenging too.

So I’m a bit of a mess. Like, for me. Messier than my norm. And things aren’t going to suddenly shift to normal any time soon, right? They might get marginally better, maybe, god-willing. Or Existence might find a new way to kick us all in the goods. That’s how it’s been going for a good long while. I just read a Facebook memory from like eleven years ago that was all, “Hey, this company wants to try to help me lower my mortgage, I wonder if I should even try it.” Well, dumbass, you should have, and you should’ve pushed even harder, especially when you were out of work, but now you’re in Michigan about to try to do the whole mortgage thing all over again and, holy fucking hell, can you maybe do it in a way that doesn’t plummet you even further into misery for another decade or two? You won’t get any more chances to do this shit right is what I’m trying to tell you, so you better be fucking sure.

And you know me (or you would, maybe, if I wrote more and anyone actually read this shit), but I don’t ever feel sure about much of anything anymore.

But whatcha’ gonna do?

I’ve not only not made any headway on the projects I planned to be working on here, but I have totally latched onto a project that Levi is guesting on for another group of creatives, even though no one has asked me (Levi’s asked me for advice here and there, but I have no formal invitation). So I am I guess happy-ish that my synapses have found something that make them want to fire every once in a while. But also bummed because it’s not my thing and I’m basically fan-fictioning myself into a corner with stuff that will probably not go anywhere since I haven’t been invited to play (no disrespect to the people doing the project. They have no idea who I am or what I’m coming up with). And Levi, while the greatest guy in the world, keeps trying to involve me, it’s not fair of me to just throw shit on him as he’s technically a guest as well. It’s like the person you invite to the wedding and they didn’t have a plus one but they brought their loud cousin who didn’t dress up and drinks all the booze and dances half-clothed before the married couple even made it there from the church.

I think. I mean, I don’t do weddings any more. Some of that was very well-rooted in my personal history though.

I did my physical and drug test for the new job yesterday and I’m am now far more aware of how terrible of a shape I’m in physically. Like, I knew. But I didn’t have the numbers. So numbers are now present, and they’re large, round numbers. Also my eyes are just on the edge of non-functional, and I’m hoping it’s my prescription in my glasses is off, or something else, but I have a harder and harder time trying to see. So reading has been difficult if not impossible, and even using my computer(s) for work has been tougher on me. And yes, I’ll be sitting in front of screens in the new job too, so I need to do something about all of this. Right now, I just want to lay down with a heating pad to get this knot out of my back and nap until the weather shifts and the days are getting longer instead of shorter.

How is any of that new though?

That’s mostly it though. See? Nothing exciting. Nothing creative to brag on. Hence my silence is actually better, or at least less awkward than… whatever this is.

└ Tags: shitpile
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Probably high in fiber

by C. Christian Scott on October 19, 2020 at 5:14 pm
Posted In: Blog, Main

It’s hot. And by that I mean it’s cold, but I’ve got the little wall heater by my desk running, so it’s actually quite warm. Need to remember to shut it off.

I’m trying to remain out of touch this week. Avoiding playing/wasting my fucking time on Facebook. Erin has been working closing shifts, so I have more down time than normal when I’m done with work.

If I’m done at work, he says, having just jumped back on to answer an email even though he’s clocked out for the day.

Anyway, I ordered a Kindle book on writing. If I can manage to take the quiet tonight, I’m going to sit on the couch with Gidget, who hasn’t been doing so hot, and spend some time reading. Maybe try to get my head focused on the story I’ve been wanting to work on.

There’s always some story I want to work on, and every excuse/block that keeps me from making any headway.

It’s Monday. After the weekend of not doing anything, Monday feels like a slap in the face by Reality saying, “See, dumbass? You waste your weekends, and here you are, with shit to do, and NOW you want to fuck around! Eat dick gravel!”

Anyway. I posted. Life’s a fucking dream.

└ Tags: quiet time
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