This week I have repeated a mantra: "this will not be a bad week."
Unfortunately said repetition and attempt at positive thought had all the effect of an auto-cue on George W. Bush's oratory powers and a litany of bad stuff has happened and negative thoughts have filled my mind. There have been positives, too, but they mainly involve retail therapy, the Conchords, drinking Guinness, and music (to be discussed later).
Whine? Yes. Meekly poking fun at self? Check. All doom and gloom? Hope not.
What I had felt determined (as much as I ever do, anyway) was going to be at least "above average" as weeks go has turned out to be a mixed bag, with more bad than good thus far (and since it's Thursday night, barring a miraculous Friday its as good as condemned). Bad points of note include failing, by virtue of losing the plot, to grasp opportunities fashioned; the loss of the freedom that came with having the house to myself; managing to injure each of my hands in unrelated incidents - minor scrapes (one splinter, one blister) but annoying all the same; and the overriding one is the sheer mind numbing tediousness and resultant tiredness stemming from work.
I have most definitely reached the point where I cannot bear to continue where I am work-wise any more, but the reason for this is in part why I am finding it so hard to look for anything else - virtual brain death during evenings and weekends (the other factor being not knowing what to do). There are other frustrating reasons for this aside from the menial and soul-destroying nature of the work itself. Notable here is that the one person whom I really liked has left (and I really need to open a line of communication there again...); those still there are pleasant enough, but I don't feel an awful lot of affinity with any of those I know. Then there are those I don't which is a different sort of frustration - one that I will get anywhere, certainly, though perhaps amplified in situ by the demographic of the office. I was all set to attempt to talk to new people, broaden horizons and so forth, but timings, situations and my own reticence to open myself up to the possibility of making a fool of myself (aka stepping out of my comfort zone, or other such psychobabble) all got in the way as ever, and at times the place seems so cliquey as to not be worth it anyway. Again, probably no different anywhere else but it is the here and now open to analysis, not some etheric other.
Reading between the lines: I'm a lonely single bloke with little or no self-confidence in an office full of attractive women (that's the socio-phobic geek in publishing for you; there's a tragi-comic novel in it somewhere). The eye candy is nice and all, but it throws my frustration needle off the scale as my mind goes into overdrive as I berate myself for my social failings.
Anyhow, outside of work I thought it might be a decent week, but between the return from holiday of my mother ending my having full run of the house, the acquisition of splinters helping my brother move furniture into the van he hired (for moving house, which he did on Tuesday; another source of self-beration - my younger sibling has a career path and has just bought his second rung house on the ladder that is property ownership, in London no less), and a serious lack of sleep, life has managed to keep throwing minor little annoyances at me. These wouldn't rank of note at all except for going against the planned grain; little things whittling me down, and doing so whilst I have been ineffective in encouraging good thoughts. My mind has been constantly trying to drag me down further, but the positive thinking mantra may have helped curtail some of these thought patterns though - its hard to think about anything much if you're mentally screaming at yourself over and over!
But despite nothing going to plan and the bad outweighing the good in many ways, I grin as I type because it's impossible not to with such good, happy, music playing, and I know I'll get to dip into a new Pratchett before I drift off to sleep tonight.
This life, it is enigma.
Unfortunately said repetition and attempt at positive thought had all the effect of an auto-cue on George W. Bush's oratory powers and a litany of bad stuff has happened and negative thoughts have filled my mind. There have been positives, too, but they mainly involve retail therapy, the Conchords, drinking Guinness, and music (to be discussed later).
Whine? Yes. Meekly poking fun at self? Check. All doom and gloom? Hope not.
What I had felt determined (as much as I ever do, anyway) was going to be at least "above average" as weeks go has turned out to be a mixed bag, with more bad than good thus far (and since it's Thursday night, barring a miraculous Friday its as good as condemned). Bad points of note include failing, by virtue of losing the plot, to grasp opportunities fashioned; the loss of the freedom that came with having the house to myself; managing to injure each of my hands in unrelated incidents - minor scrapes (one splinter, one blister) but annoying all the same; and the overriding one is the sheer mind numbing tediousness and resultant tiredness stemming from work.
I have most definitely reached the point where I cannot bear to continue where I am work-wise any more, but the reason for this is in part why I am finding it so hard to look for anything else - virtual brain death during evenings and weekends (the other factor being not knowing what to do). There are other frustrating reasons for this aside from the menial and soul-destroying nature of the work itself. Notable here is that the one person whom I really liked has left (and I really need to open a line of communication there again...); those still there are pleasant enough, but I don't feel an awful lot of affinity with any of those I know. Then there are those I don't which is a different sort of frustration - one that I will get anywhere, certainly, though perhaps amplified in situ by the demographic of the office. I was all set to attempt to talk to new people, broaden horizons and so forth, but timings, situations and my own reticence to open myself up to the possibility of making a fool of myself (aka stepping out of my comfort zone, or other such psychobabble) all got in the way as ever, and at times the place seems so cliquey as to not be worth it anyway. Again, probably no different anywhere else but it is the here and now open to analysis, not some etheric other.
Reading between the lines: I'm a lonely single bloke with little or no self-confidence in an office full of attractive women (that's the socio-phobic geek in publishing for you; there's a tragi-comic novel in it somewhere). The eye candy is nice and all, but it throws my frustration needle off the scale as my mind goes into overdrive as I berate myself for my social failings.
Anyhow, outside of work I thought it might be a decent week, but between the return from holiday of my mother ending my having full run of the house, the acquisition of splinters helping my brother move furniture into the van he hired (for moving house, which he did on Tuesday; another source of self-beration - my younger sibling has a career path and has just bought his second rung house on the ladder that is property ownership, in London no less), and a serious lack of sleep, life has managed to keep throwing minor little annoyances at me. These wouldn't rank of note at all except for going against the planned grain; little things whittling me down, and doing so whilst I have been ineffective in encouraging good thoughts. My mind has been constantly trying to drag me down further, but the positive thinking mantra may have helped curtail some of these thought patterns though - its hard to think about anything much if you're mentally screaming at yourself over and over!
But despite nothing going to plan and the bad outweighing the good in many ways, I grin as I type because it's impossible not to with such good, happy, music playing, and I know I'll get to dip into a new Pratchett before I drift off to sleep tonight.
This life, it is enigma.
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