Doooooooooom!

And so the end begins.

Today, in our training meeting at work, they confiscated the use of work email for anything other than work purposes. (The NERVE!) No, seriously, now that they've shot our morale in the kneecaps AND the jugular, all I can do is resort to listening to REALLY LOUD OBNOXIOUS MUSIC ON MY BIGASS HEADPHONES SO ALL THE PEOPLE AROUND ME HAVE TO LISTEN TO IT AS WELL!

Then they'll just say we can't listen to music either. Now, let me tell you a little secret. Chels can't function when set to moderate a single task. I am, by nature, a multi-tasker, especially when it comes to having to do something I care nothing about. For example: the Mexican border crossing records from 1903 that I'm scanning today. If I don't have something else to do, like email people, or draw or write poetry in Notepad, then I will fall asleep staring at this damn screen for five hours a day. And then I'll miss ALL the images that I'm supposed to be monitoring instead of keeping tabs on them all out of the corner of my eye.

I mean, really. and then they wonder why the turnover rate for part-timers is so high. It's because if you're a part-time employee the environment is excruciatingly painful to work in, the fulltimers can IM and email and do whatever they want...

It makes me want to throw rocks and burn things.

No more email? Gee, mister! That's swell.

At least we get free counseling services, I can go whine to someone an hour a week on company money and tell them how much I hate my job, but can't leave until I get a new one. Which isn't going too well at the moment.

[deep angry voice]Damn the Utah job market! You damn dirty job market! Damn it all to hell![/deep angry voice]

BUGGER! I just used up 11 minutes of my 15 minutes break time to bitch about how corporate america is killing my soul, man. It's killing my soul.


Miserably,
Chels

And Now for Something Completely Different

In other news...

I have no other news.







Wait, I lied. I'm going to see Jackass 2 after work today, and I can't TELL you how excited I am about it.

Also, my crush on Syd has expanded by 300%. I did the math.



Okay, so I didn't really do that math, that's just a guesstimate. I don't think it can expand, actually.











There are cartoon pencils on my desktop here at work. Because someone submitted them for the monthly wallpaper contest. Which was instigated to conform all Imaging Department desktops in a spirit of Professionalism.



I am the only employee to be doubled over in pain at the irony of this.



People in groups are morons. All of them. Especially when it comes to voting for desktop wallpaper.



I hate you, coworkers. I. HATE. YOU.




It's still raining. I am in a good mood.













Fine, there was news after all. Don't ask me why I spaced this post like this. I think I did it to make it seem like there's more than there actually is, like when you eat a row and a half of oreos and then spread the remaining oreos out through the box in attempt to dupe your poor, overworked father when he gets home from his day job and wants to watch Everybody Loves Raymond reruns with some cookies.






Not that I've ever done that. Allegedly.













ChelsEdit: Tab THIS, you damn italics!! *face punch*

Nothing bloggy to post today, really...

In other news, I finally saw 40 Year-old Virgin for the first time yesterday. Holy crap, I have not laughed that hard since a conversation I had with my sister that went something like this:


QUOTE (My sister)
"I did not bake the chocolate!"

QUOTE (Me)
"I said take the chocolate, Laura. I swear, you have hearing problems."

QUOTE (My sister)
"I do not have urine problems!!"



Also, if you haven't started listening to Augie March yet, I hate you. You should. They are an awesome band. "Song in the Key of Chance" is on my list of Top Ten Favorite Songs That Aren't By Pink Floyd.



That's all. I'm off to finish my hunt for Deep Purple mp3s.

Avast!

And now, since I'm currently feeling lazy, and this bit of what I emailed to Syd made me laugh, I'm going to cop out and use it as my blog post. Until I get super-bored later and decide to add on to it here and there throughout the remainder of the day. Well, the workday anyway.

Good lord, I'm in a weird mood today. It's sad. In spite of it being International Talk Like A Pirate Day, which is my favorite holiday, I have hitherto spent the day in a rather foul mood due to a long bout of deck staining (nowhere NEAR as piratish as it sounds) which the Mum had me up and doing at 7 this morning. I mean, seriously, if I don't go to work till one o'clock, (13:00 for you people on...whatever that time measurement is called...it's not metric, is it? *Eddie Izzard doing his American impression* "Yah...get outta here with yer goddamn commie metric system!") why on earth would I need to get up at 7?

Besides, I was up until 2:30 this morning playing Mercenaries. I didn't intend to be up that early, but I lost all track of time hunting down renegade North Koreans. I think most of it was due to some subconscious fervor to find and kill the person who's to blame for Kim Jong Il's ridiculous haircut. And even though I know Mr. KJI 's not involved whatsoever in the plot of Mercenaries, I still just got some sort of personal satisfaction knowing I mowed down a lot of North Koreans and probably got his barber somewhere in the mix.

I confess, there's also another reason contributing to my lack-luster piratey mood. I didn't have time to fix my hair today. Because I decided to spend as long in the shower as possible so that I could de-stain myself. And then, I had to throw on the first thing I could find, which turned out to be jeans, my Teen Girl Squad (What's Her Face!) baseball tee, a black hoodie, my pair of ancient Vans, and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles beanie. Consequently, I am donning a sort of look I've named "Ubergeek the Gangsta" and that's about as unpiratey as you can get. If "unpiratey" were a word, that is.

And now, I'm here at work, and people keep eyeing my beanie with contempt and/or jealousy. It's not my fault they said it was a casual work environment and we have no dress code. (Well, except that you need to be dressed.) And there's not a lick of anything to do, so I decided to keelhaul you in the bilgewater of my ramblings.



It's the Cheeziest,

Chels

Dad says I need to stop being content with thinking that I'm stuck in neutral when, really, I'm just sliding backwards all the time.

I thought about this.


I though about Yankel in Everything Is Illuminated: falling in love with things he never had because he lied them into existence on some plane of his reality. Re-running thoughts in his head. I am not sad. I am not sad. I had to do this for myself.

I am not sad.


Somehow the sadness is bearable when the rest of the world doesn't know about it. Sometimes we realize that we love the idea of loving something, and we don't actually love the something.

What color is it? It tastes like red. It is red. But we cry, because it's not more red. It's not redder. The red we crave doesn't actually exist.



Volunteer, Dad says. What do you want? Don't say nothing. Everyone wants something.

I want to know what I want. I want to really want something so badly that it motivates me out of stagnation. It motivates me out of shuffling my circles at the beginnings of things.


Just finish something. Find something you can finish, that's not the top score of a game. That's not a book you've already read. That's not re-sorting your CD collection.

Finish something that you can put on a resume.

Finish something that will prove to the other people that you're worthwhile.

Dad said: If I don't come home from this trip, I don't want you to think that I thought you were a failure. I believe in your potential. I believe in your possibilities more than you believe in them.

I can't find love in this language. I'll learn another. I can find any more questions, I just have lapfuls of answers that I don't know where to put.



Get over your instant excuses. Lesser people that you have gotten over harder things than you to do things.

DO THINGS.

Do things you can finish.

Finish the thoughts that lead to motivation from knowing what you want.



Get out of your cave. What do you do in your room all day?

I read. I sleep. I draw. I write. I write. I write. I love things that I feel like I should love.

I love the idea of wanting something you love. I want the idea of something. I want the something of an ideal wanting.

I just want to find what I want. And I can't.

It's in the more red, and I haven't found it here.

And I'm tired of the filler. I'm tired of striving for some interesting melancholy instead of just plain melancholy.



You write because writing gives you second chances. Because writing, in itself, IS a second chance.

What do you mean, then, when you say you were born to be a writer?



Nobody will hire you, or pay you, for half-finished things.


I am only the beginnings. I am afraid of wanting things to the point of being compelled into completion.

What happens at the end? You can finish failure. I am crippled by the fear of completing my mistakes. You can't run away from something you've finished. Finished means a total commitment.


I don't want the things written in stones.


I am dry erase. I am fingerpaint on the tile floor.

See my chalk, my slate layers, peel off and crumble...
...so easily displaced.