Census job is looking pretty good. I’m officially in now, which wasn’t the case up until Thursday. I’m pretty sure this is the job I was born for, and I’m sad that it only comes along every ten years. I need to find out how to get involved in the stuff they do in the meantime (which apparently there is a lot of).
Also, it seems less likely than they made it seem that it will go over into the summer, so I may get to do Manhattan this summer after all. It’s the best of all worlds.
So. I just got a job offer from the Census. Interestingly enough, it’s the third one I’ve gotten since I’ve applied. Each successive offer has been for a better paying and more desirable position. The first was a clerical job, located in an office that was just too far away. The second job was the one I was gunning for, but my return trip to get the bus was a dealbreaker for them. This third job is close to home, and starts after I’m back with the bus. Marvelous!
However, it presents an interesting predicament. This job may very well last the entire summer, conflicting with my plans to live in NYC. If push comes to shove, this job will win. I can’t scoff at this money, since it will put me much closer (probably a year ahead of schedule) to getting my own place and unplugging. I am going to do New York at some point…it just may not be this summer. :(
I’ve long been pegged as a picky eater. The running joke is that if a food has more than three ingredients, I won’t like it. Often that’s true. I like to eat simple things. I eat oatmeal, salad, hamburgers, pizza, pasta, pancakes, all plain (or very nearly). I can be totally content with a piece of cheese or bread, but combining them decreases my enjoyment of both. My food preferences are something people always give me a hard time about.
I was recently introduced to the concept of overtasters and undertasters. I don’t know if either of these concepts are based on casual observation or actual research, but it seems intriguing to me. I certainly know people who like lots of flavours, salt, and spicy stuff in their food. I’m going to start pointedly reminding those people that they’re just as picky as me, only in the other extreme. They wouldn’t want to eat most of the dishes I eat – they tell me so – too bland for them. Who’s picky now? I’ll be over here enjoying my bread.
I spend most of my time out in the garage. I can be loud at all hours, and it doesn’t disturb anyone. It also means that each night I have to walk back from the garage to the house to go to sleep. It can’t be more than a hundred yards, and lasts under thirty seconds, but every time I take that walk I think about being somewhere else. I get to look up at the sky after staring at a page or a screen for hours. I’m pretty familiar with where the constellations sit above the trees at various times of the night. I’m probably at the point where I could ballpark the time just by looking up. I imagine that instead of walking to my house, that I have no destination, and I’m on the side of a road somewhere just as quiet as my neighborhood. And all there is to do is to walk until I feel like stopping.
Things I ordered have started showing up. My pack is here, along with two little trinkets that may help me on the road. More is on the way. I just need to make a penny stove and get my mess kit back from the bus, and I’ll be all set. I should have just about everything I’ll need to live out of my backpack in summer weather. It isn’t too hard to convert it to accommodate cool weather, but it cuts into the amount of food I’m able to carry.
I obsessively research gear before I buy it, and take cues from others who do the same. Tynan and Tim Ferriss both have good tips, but expensive taste. There is certainly gear where performance corresponds to price, but there is much that is simply unnecessary to splurge on. That’s kind of what my pack looks like now.
I go back and forth on some things, like a lighter, knife, and footwear. I can get decent lighters and knives for a couple bucks, and so far, I think that’s the best option. I might feel differently once I’m in a situation where I need more from my tools than they can give me, but until then, I’ll keep it cheap. Shoes are the item I go back and forth on the most. A cheap pair will do fine, but I would be far more comfortable and presentable in a more pricey pair. So far, I’m erring on the cheap side. We’ll see how that pans out.
I don’t know if I’ve ever been as destitute as I am now, or if I’m just now realizing how poor I’ve always been. I wonder what it’s like to be rich – my greatest fear is that I’ll never know.
I want to be gone so badly. I have no reason to stay here.
I’m sedating myself with movies and music and books, and it’s not working.
I’m this close to just starting walking.
I left my last job about two weeks ago, right before the snowboard trip. I liked that job, but it was too far away. Far too far. I started looking for a job again, and it’s a very odd process. I’d imagine it’s more odd for someone like me who has no specific trade or skill. There is really nothing out of bounds. And I might have found a new one, that I can do from home. Which is a good thing, because that powerball ticket I bought the other day was bunk.
I’ve been reading The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, and I’ve been loving it.
This passage in particular, from Kesey’s speech at the Vietnam Day rally:
I was just looking at the speaker who was up here before me…and I couldn’t hear what he was saying…but I could hear the sound of it…and I could hear your sound coming back at him…and I could see the gestures…and I could see his jaw sticking out like this…silhouetted against the sky…and you know who I saw…and who I heard?…Mussolini…I saw and I heard Mussolini here just a few minutes ago…Yep…You’re playing their game…
We’ve all heard all this and seen all this before, but we keep on doing it…I went to see the Beatles last month…And I heard 20,000 girls screaming together at the Beatles…and I couldn’t hear what they were screaming, either…But you don’t have to…They’re screaming Me! Me! Me! Me!…I’m Me!…That’s the cry of the ego, and that’s the cry of this rally!…Me! Me! Me! Me!…And that’s why wars get fought…ego…because enough people want to scream Pay attention to Me…Yep, you’re playing their game…
Reading this actually made me cheer.
Didn’t snowboard much, and I’m grateful for that. Considering giving it up as a hobby – I don’t get enough out of it to justify the cost. I don’t really want to get more out of it either. Some of the folks we were with were really passionate about snowboarding, and that helped me see that it just isn’t something I really care about. Whatever. It’s not like it matters.