So there went my first day in AmeriCorp. I thought it was going to take me a few months to get acclimatized. I think the gestation period will be much shorter than that. All in all it is going to be a rather dull job a lot of the time, which is perfect for me, as I have dreamed for a long time now of a nice dull office job. Mostly because I had never had that experience before.
I have to sort of relearn to watch my mouth though. I realized that most of the time I spend talking to other people for longer than a few minutes has been with dudes I've known at least half my life. I can blurt out any damn thing I want most of the time. But when the sort of cute girl at work said something that was every so slightly laced with innuendo I quite literally had to bite my tongue to stop myself from saying what came to mind. I have no idea now what I was going to say, or really what she said, but I knew as it was about to come out of my gapping mouth that it would probably not be appropriate to say. In a way I'm sort of glad that the average age of the people working in the place is around 56, and that is with my and the other slightly younger people averaged in to their ages. It's sort of like learning to crawl in an office environment. Had I ended up somewhere with inexplicably hot women surrounding me I would probably end up going completely mute until I was finally fed up with the job.
The problem isn't that I'm sexist or that I have to try to force myself on every woman that I work with. The problem is that I don't always realize that what I am saying most of the time in public settings is offensive to women. And in an office where there are lots of moments for awkward greetings and weird looks from across the room, it seems as though it would escalate out of control for me.
But that is just my impression on the first day. I'm sure that I can behave myself, at least for a while.
Last night I wrote that story I posted and I was thinking about how incredibly depressing it ended up being. If you haven't read it yet I won't talk too much about it so don't worry (as if you were worried about me spoiling some short story I wrote last night). I didn't mean to make it so depressing. I was just trying to write a Christmas story. And it sort of got away from me. When I write a story it is like my subconscious has already written it out on some level and I go into this sort of trance and it just pours out. I've heard similar tales from almost any one who regularly writes fiction. And when you are done it carries this incredible high. It is quite addictive, it no longer seems strange to me that so many writers are alcoholics/drug addicts/sex addicts. That small feeling of accomplishment and that sense of finally getting that damn story out of your head can be addictive, so it makes sense that people with addictive personalities would, for so many years, spend hours typing and writing and rewriting the same sort of stories over and over again.
Speaking of addictive, I have been hooked on getting giant fountain drinks since this summer. There is this slightly different taste to a fountain drink than to a bottled or canned drink, and it is intoxicating. And yes, I am drinking a large fountain drink right now. This has nothing to do with anything.
I've been debating asking this girl out that I met last week. I had a brief moment of thinking that it would be a good idea when she friended me on facebook tonight, only to realize that I was her 468th friend on facebook. The thing is I probably am going to ask her out, but until I get used to this new schedule I don't want to go on a date during the week. And it's odd to ask someone on a first date on a Monday if you don't want to go out till Friday. I know I am making too much of this, but I think that I need to wait till Wednesday to ask her out for Friday. While I was writing this I stopped to take a long sip from my giant fountain drink and realized that the girl I was thinking about had not just friended me on facebook. It was a different person that I am the 468th friend of, as I just realized, although the first name was the same, the last name was not the same. And I can't actually call her tonight anyway since I simultaneously realized that if I didn't have her on facebook than I had left her number at the office in Carson City. Yes, one day on the job and I am already leaving shit at the office. I also left a bag of pistachios in my desk, but that was totally on purpose. I am going to eat so many nuts tomorrow. And, regardless of the obvious dick jokes that will be made at my expense because of this statement, I am going to love eating those nuts.
Something that I find enjoyable about blogging that I have yet to be able to incorporate into fiction very well is my ability to contradict myself and correct myself in the text. Since I know I won't bother to edit, I just don't fix any mistakes, I just talk over the top of them. Some people might find this annoying, but I feel that it shows that I really am thinking and learning all of this as I am typing it. It's sort of strange to have that real time effect in writing. It's usually so rigid that I can barely get my mouth around it (that is probably the last dick joke) (especially since it doesn't really make much sense).
Before I decided that the world needed more, much, much more of this fantastic blogging I have become so famous for, at least to myself, as I caught myself asking myself for an autograph the other day, I watched some cartoons. Family Guy actually was sort of funny, but only because Hugh Laurie was on the show and he was playing House. Road House. That too. I bring this up because I have noticed that a lot of cartoons seem a lot less funny to me these days. And I wonder if it is because I am simply getting older or if I have lost a chunk of my sense of humor. Granted, I didn't have much of a sense of humor before, so losing even a small part is pretty fucking bad. Penis. See? That's not even a joke, as I clearly said that that last dick joke was the last one. What I really hope, getting back to cartoons, is that they simply aren't as funny as they used to be. Or they aren't meant to be funny for me anymore. They are skewing younger. I remember the first time I outgrew a comedy show that I really liked. I used to listen to a morning radio troupe all the time and then, one day, I turned on their show and it was idiotic and stupid and I never listened to it again. Its not like I ever missed that show, but a part of me missed being able to enjoy it. Ah, the joys of growing up. Everything just constantly gets slightly less enjoyable.
I think my favorite word to say is Potato. This has nothing to do with anything.
My stomach is all full of fountain drink. Why, cruel mistress, do you taunt me so? You make me wish I hadn't even bought you in the first place, yet I am compelled to slurp out every last drop of your deliciousness, foul temptress.
That is probably enough blogging for now. I often wonder what the point in this blog is the point where I just completely lose anyone who bothers to read it. I mean these long rambly blogs, not the awesome ones with pictures and moderately funny jokes I probably stole from Conan O'Brien. My guess is that after about 730 words most people have become over saturated with my thoughts. And after painstakingly have Microsoft Word to a word count for me, I come to the conclusion that at about 730 words I am talking about some girl that added me as a friend on facebook. That sounds about like the time I probably lost most of my readership. But you read it! You can't Un-read it!
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3 comments:
What has been read cannot be unread.
that story was heavy. it was good though imo, especially since it was a lightning draft.
i was reading something about philip k dick the other day and they were saying that his writing process was very intense where he would just shut himself into a room and write a book over the course of 1-2 weeks. I remember that the way he described the formation of the stories in his mind sounded similar to how you described yours.
They say that Kerouac wrote "On the Road" in a couple of days after having painstakingly taped together enough paper so that he would be able to keep typing without having to stop to feed the typewriter. Fiction is one of the few forms of artistic expression that can just flow from a person and have a decent finished project. You can't do it with poetry or painting or sculpting, those all require tons of attention to detail. Which is why I want to be a writer.
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