Sandy Springs has the worst traffic on the face of the planet as an exercise I’m going to keep typing until I advance past this stop light which has been 10 minutes so far and only five cars out of a billion are making it through at a time and the surface streets are deadlocked more than Whoopi Goldberg in the figure four, Texas cl
Month: November 2010
It’s not that awkward, thankfully
But InDesign CS5 absolutely blows.
Awkward is . . .
Yes, the thought of knowing that Pedobear might be watching you pee is a little awkward (btw, this was taken on the wall in front of a men’s urinal at the Borders in Marietta, Georgia).
But that’s not what my awkward moment of the day is.
Awkward is, getting a call from the agency, and telling me that the company where I met the girl, is calling, and is in need of designers. And seeing as how I can’t seem to get myself a real job, and the work well has been a drier than a 70-year old nun’s twat, I’ve little choice but to accept, since it is 3-4 weeks of guaranteed work.
I know that I probably won’t ever hear from her, or see her again.
Welp, I was wrong.
Honestly, I don’t really know what to expect. Actually, on second thought, I do – probably a bit of coldness, forced ignorance, lots of ear buds, and of course, awkwardness. Going to be an interesting next few days . . .
Never been so insulted in my life
Because I wear fingerless gloves, or “hobo” gloves when it’s cold outside, this guy at the place I’m currently freelancing at asked me if I rode a bicycle into work. Apparently, nothing says bicycle messenger douchebag like hobo gloves do or something, but here I am in business casual dress and not like some gay nuthuggers and thrift store garbage, and this asshole thinks I rode a bicycle into work. I don’t even own a fucking bicycle anymore.
Random writing that shouldn’t be looked into too much
The sky is crisp and clear, and the stars are scattered throughout up above. I crane my head up to the night sky, keeping in my line of sight the tops of the trees, with diminishing leaves, along with the sky. Slowly and deeply, I inhale and exhale, watching the visibility of my own breaths. It is quiet outside, except for the light sounds of dog feet grazing in the grass as they sniff about, doing their business. It’s chilly outside, but I do not feel cold, being sufficiently clothed, dressed in layers, wearing gloves. Breath, after breath, I watch my breaths take shape, and vanish into thin air. And then I realize that the dogs are done, and I should probably go inside, and curious to why I feel so compelled to write about it.
Maybe because it’s because I’m not doing Nanowrimo this year, or maybe it’s that I’ve got a lot of jumbled thoughts swirling around in my own head that even I can’t comprehend just yet that is seeking some sort of expressive outlet. Or maybe it’s the three pints of Guinness talking. Who the fuck knows, but it still feels really solitary out there, sometimes.
False truths
Fact: 5000% of potential companies looking for graphic designers are located in Norcross, Lawrenceville, Duluth, or Alpharetta. They all list their offices as “Atlanta.”
Truth: 0% of these are remotely even close to the City of Atlanta. Technically, I don’t even live in the City of Atlanta, but as sure as shitting out of my asshole, I’m a lot fucking closer to Atlanta than any of those regions 25+ miles outside of the city.
But it’s not their fault. It’s mine. I chose to live in this part of town where robberies occur more frequently than others, none of my local friends live anywhere near, and I’m completely on the polar opposite side of the city from where I could probably already have a job by now. And nothing can be done about it, because regardless of what the news and media is boasting about an improving economy, homeowners like myself can’t possibly even fathom wanting to sell property, and even have a prayer at breaking even.
A small bit of truth
Even though the alarm is set, admittedly, over the last two weeks, in the back of my mind, is some fear. As I lay in bed, before sleep befalls me, my eyes dart over to the security panel on my wall to verify and re-verify that the red light indicating that the security system is on. I used to set my television to sleep timer on some of the plain music channels, just because I had some insomnia, but I grew to preferring silence. But now I’m back to the former, because I try to convince myself that classical music can possibly mute some of my thinking. It doesn’t. But the sound is comforting.
I hate this feeling. And as much as I’m aware the passage of time reduces the feelings, there is never going to be light at the end of the tunnel.