Back in the halcyon days of high school (»shudder«), I had a friend name Shannon Bradley. Shannon was a somewhat portly, though pretty blonde girl who was in French class with me for 3 years. At least once a week, she would sit down just across from my secret crush Amy Roberts swivel around to me (sitting right behind my Valkyrie Mountain Goddess Amy, natch!) and say:
Harold I’m going to complain
Shannon, or “Bob” or “Shannon-Bob” (as everyone from Eastern Kentucky must have a suitable middle name to even-out the abruptness of their first name), was a complainer, you see. She didn’t whine or wheedle, but she did complain about those things that irked her. And so, I warn you:
Dear reader, I’m about to complain.
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Allergies have returned with a vengeance. Since my sojourn in the cold on Sunday, I’ve had constant post-nasal drip, a dry throat, and general lethargy
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Cold medication makes you drowsy
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Not sleeping makes you drowsy. Sleep debt isn’t something I’ve dealt with much since 1999, but it’s back. The bank is open, and I’m borrowing much more than I’m depositing.
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Not getting to your weekly PTR review @ 9am makes baby Jesus cry. For some reason, I thought this mtg was @ 10, and so I sat in my office for half-an-hour until I realized…hmmm…wonder where everyone is?
On the whole, work is actually fine. I got a glowing performance review from my former manager (“Role Model”), so that should mean a decent raise for my salary, from “overpaid” to “truly obscene”, and maybe another promotion, which would mean me getting my own office (if an 8x12 postage stamp can be called a decent office).
Been reading quite a bit lately, trying to catch-up on my “New Yorker” backlog. The managing editor’s weekly anti-Bush diatribes notwithstanding, I still find the magazine to be provocative, well written (of course), and good mental food. I recommend a subscription to anyone who desires writing above the pulp found in “Time” or “Newsweek”. Plus, the cartoons are delightful, if often obscure.
On the book front, I’m working on Krakatoa: The Day the World Exploded by Simon Winchester. The book’s more a history of the entire region both before and after the cataclysmic explosion of Krakatoa in 1883. Like many history tomes, some sections warrant in-depth reading, while others only a brief scan. The various peons the Dutch East India company sent to establish the Batavia colony are, well, boring. On the whole, glad I got this one from the library instead of ordering from Amazon.
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>> begin melodramatics «
Feeling rather sad today. Life seems very, very still at the moment, as though no forward progress is being made. I think I’m going to have to plan some sort of daily regiment of exercise, self-improvement, and positive tasks that are going to get me out of this funk. Moveover, I need to define a goal.
Seriously, this is an issue for me: My whole life was the pursuit of a goal set for me by my parents (specifically, my Mom)–Get out of Eastern Kentucky, get an education, and establish a life of my own. Well, for the most part (minus a house, a wife, and children), that’s accomplished. Thus the question: Now what? Life is a marathon, not a sprint, and I find myself rather ahead of the pack after the first 5 miles, but facing the next however-many miles with little drive or direction.
In sum, I’ve always been a very driven individual, but find myself without any drive, being reactive instead of proactive. I have goals: a house, a family, various material possessions (cars I love, gadgets), but (except for the family part) it feels incredibly hollow and unfulfilling somehow.
>> end melodramatics «
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On the bright side, I bought a pound of Sumatran beans from Coffee Corner in Georgetown yesterday, and the coffee is bold, smooth, and delicious. Maybe a bit of caffiene is just what I need for this particular funk.