I don’t revolve around science
listening to “mathematics,” Mos Def.
today we got furniture.
went over to the Salvation Army on 4th St. a salmon-colored living room set. chair and a sofa for like 65 dollars.
looks like it was made in Mexico in the 1970s. probably was. you get what you pay for.
we unloaded it from the truck, took it inside. then, I sat on it. and watched cable.
home, sweet home.
it just occured to me that “we” and “truck” don’t really make sense right now.
I have a roommate. his name’s Greg. he’s 25, from Arizona, and just started at the paper too.
he’s alright. I don’t really have any complaints. it’s not a huge apartment, so we’re forced to interact a lot, but again, he’s a nice guy. so no complaints as of yet.
the motherfucker can drink beer, though. I’ll give him that.
also, I own a truck.
I haven’t read my own blog in a while, but unless I mentioned this before, I now own a pickup truck. wrap your shit around that.
I drove it out here. it actually has cruise control, which makes it a step up from the mighty Saturn. but yeah, I’m trying to work with the stigma of being someone who owns a pickup now. I’ve noticed that people in El Centro generally drive like shit, but I’m not writing them off just yet; it may be that I’m getting used to the intracacies of driving something substantially bigger than a compact car…
fuck that, I’m going with my first instinct. these people suck at driving.
and I mean that. I’m not on the Indy circuit. I do the speed limit, stay in the righthand lane unless I’ve got somewhere pressing I need to be, and I’m generally pretty curteous as a motorist. these savages, however, will pull out into anything. I’ve almost been T-boned about a dozen times, and when it finally does happen, I’m going to fucking snap on the motherfucker who hits me.
my job is… it’s interesting.
being a copy editor, for most papers, means editing and design.
I don’t know how to design. so they’ve been teaching me. for that, I can’t thank them enough. they’re really going out on a limb for me.
however, it sucks at the same time. I feel like I owe them. and I don’t want to feel that way. I like the idea of being able to quit, no questions asked, whenever I want to. which, you know, I guess I could still do, but then there would be some second guessing, some level of guilt involved.
they hired me when I wasn’t exactly qualified, and now they kind of have a piece of my ass. feels strange. I don’t like being beholden to anyone.
but at the same time, I’m not ready to pull up and leave. at all. I put too much of me, too much stock, into coming out here. to bail would be a financial and emotional disaster. no way I could live with myself if I just bailed.
that’s what bothers me the most. the feeling that I can’t just leave. I’ve gotten myself into something that is not easily cast aside: the beginning of a career that I’m not even sure that I want. it is something that requires time and effort. requires me to act like an adult, the way I’ve been trained to do for the last 15 years of my life. I don’t feel like one (I’m considering buying an Xbox 360, for fuck’s sake) but here I am.
I miss home, if only for the change in weather. El Centro only does one season, and that’s “fucking hot.” I’d probably really miss the changing seasons, but it’s not like this place has trees with leaves. I miss the family and friends, mostly. obviously. but I guess this is part of growing up.
it’s sad how bright I got when they hooked the cable and internet back up. I’m truly a child of my generation.
fuck it. move forward. go home someday; this won’t be forever.
I miss you.
