Yearning for something on a slow day
This will be the first time I've blogged on consecutive days since February. It's long overdue. Today I've had more time to lay around and not do anything, so it's gone pretty slow. The last couple days I've been rushing to do everything in the last five or six hours of the day. Here's why:
On Monday I started a job at ACT. I'm scoring essays for the Foreign Service, a division of the State Department. People applying for jobs with the State Department have to take a test, which includes the essay I'm scoring. The scores I give could decide whether or not those who applied are going to be interviewed. Sometimes it feels like I have these people's dreams and desires in the palm of my hand. Of course, I'm not alone. There are about forty other scorers there, and each essay is scored by two people.
I only started scoring today (training took all Monday and Tuesday) and I'll actually have to quit on Friday. Pat, my boss at the school district, called and asked if I'd like to be a part of a small paint crew starting on the 22nd. I jumped at the opportunity. The truth is I'd much rather paint, work with my body and be outside during the day, than sit in a large room, reading essays and bubbling in their scores. Plus, painting is fun and artistic. I love making things look nice and new, mending things that are broken. A little putty and a fresh coat of paint can do wonders. And there's always a special camaraderie between crew members. At first nobody knows each other; everyone is shy and trying to gage how much of themselves they can be. But after a while, when the work is progressing, people open up and everyone starts having fun. It's one of the main reasons I've reapplied all these years.
So, it's sad I'll have to leave ACT after a week, especially since I'm working with an old friend. But the lure of painting and fun times is hard to pass up. In two weeks I'll have started two jobs. Go figure.
Before today, I was required to stay the entire training session: 8 am to 5 pm. Surprisingly, the days were quick. The "facilitator" was entertaining and a good MC through the entire process. After walking home (the ACT campus is only a mile or so north along First Avenue) I'd be exhausted. I'd eat, lay on my bed, run, then try to read and write a little. By nine my body and mind shut down and I could no longer function well. It seemed like there was no time to do anything I wanted to. The day was spent. All my personal chores and entertainment had to be compacted into five or six hours. I was left unsatisfied. But today was different.
I got off work at one and walked home. I took a nap and got up. Then what? I'd decided to take the day off from running, so I sat around and read. I looked at the clock, hoping it was around four thirty or five, but it was only three. From not having enough time, I had too much time, almost like the Styx song (that one's for you, Matt Cover). It's amazing how I'll bitch and moan about not having enough time when I'm chained to work, but I'll yearn and pray for something to come up, something to occupy me, when I have nothing going on. My weekends last summer were like that. All week I had to work, and my friends (who worked varying shifts) would call and want me to go out with them. I couldn't. Well, I could, but I didn't like the idea of drinking all night and waking up early to work at seven the next morning. On the weekends I'd sit around my house, bored as hell, wanting something to do. There was no one to hang out with or drink with because everyone had to work on the weekend. I did nothing but think about Monday, when I could go back to work and be around people.
On Monday I started a job at ACT. I'm scoring essays for the Foreign Service, a division of the State Department. People applying for jobs with the State Department have to take a test, which includes the essay I'm scoring. The scores I give could decide whether or not those who applied are going to be interviewed. Sometimes it feels like I have these people's dreams and desires in the palm of my hand. Of course, I'm not alone. There are about forty other scorers there, and each essay is scored by two people.
I only started scoring today (training took all Monday and Tuesday) and I'll actually have to quit on Friday. Pat, my boss at the school district, called and asked if I'd like to be a part of a small paint crew starting on the 22nd. I jumped at the opportunity. The truth is I'd much rather paint, work with my body and be outside during the day, than sit in a large room, reading essays and bubbling in their scores. Plus, painting is fun and artistic. I love making things look nice and new, mending things that are broken. A little putty and a fresh coat of paint can do wonders. And there's always a special camaraderie between crew members. At first nobody knows each other; everyone is shy and trying to gage how much of themselves they can be. But after a while, when the work is progressing, people open up and everyone starts having fun. It's one of the main reasons I've reapplied all these years.
So, it's sad I'll have to leave ACT after a week, especially since I'm working with an old friend. But the lure of painting and fun times is hard to pass up. In two weeks I'll have started two jobs. Go figure.
Before today, I was required to stay the entire training session: 8 am to 5 pm. Surprisingly, the days were quick. The "facilitator" was entertaining and a good MC through the entire process. After walking home (the ACT campus is only a mile or so north along First Avenue) I'd be exhausted. I'd eat, lay on my bed, run, then try to read and write a little. By nine my body and mind shut down and I could no longer function well. It seemed like there was no time to do anything I wanted to. The day was spent. All my personal chores and entertainment had to be compacted into five or six hours. I was left unsatisfied. But today was different.
I got off work at one and walked home. I took a nap and got up. Then what? I'd decided to take the day off from running, so I sat around and read. I looked at the clock, hoping it was around four thirty or five, but it was only three. From not having enough time, I had too much time, almost like the Styx song (that one's for you, Matt Cover). It's amazing how I'll bitch and moan about not having enough time when I'm chained to work, but I'll yearn and pray for something to come up, something to occupy me, when I have nothing going on. My weekends last summer were like that. All week I had to work, and my friends (who worked varying shifts) would call and want me to go out with them. I couldn't. Well, I could, but I didn't like the idea of drinking all night and waking up early to work at seven the next morning. On the weekends I'd sit around my house, bored as hell, wanting something to do. There was no one to hang out with or drink with because everyone had to work on the weekend. I did nothing but think about Monday, when I could go back to work and be around people.
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