Don't let me be misunderstood
So, there's this song off the Kill Bill Vol. 1 soundtrack, called Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood. I'm quite fond of it, really. Mainly because of this lyric:
'Cause I'm just a soul whose intentions are good,
Oh, Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood.
If ever I commit myself to a song lyric, these might be them. I think I have some subject/verb agreement issues going on, but cut me some slack. It's late (for me). I'm tired. It was a long week. Plus, the song has got the best breakdown and bridge that I've ever heard. It lasts for about 6 minutes. It's also almost awesome enough to get me to want to be a salsa dancer. Man!
What's perhaps even stranger is that I'm up at all. Considering that - again - my first thought upon waking this (Friday) morning was "lord, I can't wait to go back to sleep tonight", why would I stay up at all? All I want to do is go back to bed, and go to sleep. I certainly don't get enough sleep during the week, and so here I am, with no plans for the weekend - meaning I could just as well stay in bed all weekend - and yet, I'm not exactly taking advantage of that, and here I sit, dreaming of salsa dancing to a song from a movie.
I know that during the week, at least, it's rough when you get home at 10 at night, and face the prospect of going to bed at 11. That means, that out of the 16 hours spent awake for that given day, 3 hours were not spent at work. A friend recently asked me, mostly rhetorically, why we end up living and dying by our jobs. Like, why does this crap job that we may have dictate how we spend out time? it's just a job, not a lifestyle.
Maybe there will come a time where my job will more closely align with my lifestyle, in general. Maybe once I choose a 'career'. Which is an awfully big step, I think. Do I want to be a spy? A political analyst? A chef, even? I have no clue. I trust that at some point, I'l figure some shit out, and go from there. but in the meantime, I just need to get my bills paid.
And so it is that I have a job that affords me a great deal, but to which I owe a lot. Or, if I don't owe my job anything, that I must meet its demands. Which can be anything and everything. At a real moment's notice. For example, it might mean staying until 10 at night unexpectedly. Oh well. Gotta get the job done. And, of course, be ready to go getting the job done the next day. So we get into a certain... a certain routine, maybe, where we just go in in the morning, and do our job mostly half-assed, staying late if need be. And then coming in the next day to repeat. If only there was a rinse cycle that could be used to wash away the stink of office work!
Now I'm being facetious.
It's tough, too, because you can grow accustomed to a certain lifestyle. Like, I've gotten used to my monthly salary. In fact, I'm grown dependent on it in order to pay off my mounting credit cards. But far from curbing my own spending - which would be blatantly un-American in these tough times - I just barely keep even. If that. Which leads then to a greater dependence on a job that blows, and that deadens my mind. Damn you, office work.
I remember when I was first looking for a job after school, and to be honest, I would have been happy to death with a job at Borders. A. I like books and CD's, both of which Borders carries in abundance, and B. most of the other people that work there are totally hot. I mean, I got the application, and there wasn't a question relating to one's hotness. And yet... and yet, at the area Borders, they manage to find some people that are pretty cute. Not as cute as the girls who work for Trader Joes, but I think they bus them in from the suburbs.
But instead, I found my way into an office job. Which I really shouldn't complain about too much, since it's a great deal better than what most people have in this world. And yet... and yet, come Friday night, what do I want to do? Sleep. Forever and ever - sleep.
ddm
email me
So, there's this song off the Kill Bill Vol. 1 soundtrack, called Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood. I'm quite fond of it, really. Mainly because of this lyric:
'Cause I'm just a soul whose intentions are good,
Oh, Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood.
If ever I commit myself to a song lyric, these might be them. I think I have some subject/verb agreement issues going on, but cut me some slack. It's late (for me). I'm tired. It was a long week. Plus, the song has got the best breakdown and bridge that I've ever heard. It lasts for about 6 minutes. It's also almost awesome enough to get me to want to be a salsa dancer. Man!
What's perhaps even stranger is that I'm up at all. Considering that - again - my first thought upon waking this (Friday) morning was "lord, I can't wait to go back to sleep tonight", why would I stay up at all? All I want to do is go back to bed, and go to sleep. I certainly don't get enough sleep during the week, and so here I am, with no plans for the weekend - meaning I could just as well stay in bed all weekend - and yet, I'm not exactly taking advantage of that, and here I sit, dreaming of salsa dancing to a song from a movie.
I know that during the week, at least, it's rough when you get home at 10 at night, and face the prospect of going to bed at 11. That means, that out of the 16 hours spent awake for that given day, 3 hours were not spent at work. A friend recently asked me, mostly rhetorically, why we end up living and dying by our jobs. Like, why does this crap job that we may have dictate how we spend out time? it's just a job, not a lifestyle.
Maybe there will come a time where my job will more closely align with my lifestyle, in general. Maybe once I choose a 'career'. Which is an awfully big step, I think. Do I want to be a spy? A political analyst? A chef, even? I have no clue. I trust that at some point, I'l figure some shit out, and go from there. but in the meantime, I just need to get my bills paid.
And so it is that I have a job that affords me a great deal, but to which I owe a lot. Or, if I don't owe my job anything, that I must meet its demands. Which can be anything and everything. At a real moment's notice. For example, it might mean staying until 10 at night unexpectedly. Oh well. Gotta get the job done. And, of course, be ready to go getting the job done the next day. So we get into a certain... a certain routine, maybe, where we just go in in the morning, and do our job mostly half-assed, staying late if need be. And then coming in the next day to repeat. If only there was a rinse cycle that could be used to wash away the stink of office work!
Now I'm being facetious.
It's tough, too, because you can grow accustomed to a certain lifestyle. Like, I've gotten used to my monthly salary. In fact, I'm grown dependent on it in order to pay off my mounting credit cards. But far from curbing my own spending - which would be blatantly un-American in these tough times - I just barely keep even. If that. Which leads then to a greater dependence on a job that blows, and that deadens my mind. Damn you, office work.
I remember when I was first looking for a job after school, and to be honest, I would have been happy to death with a job at Borders. A. I like books and CD's, both of which Borders carries in abundance, and B. most of the other people that work there are totally hot. I mean, I got the application, and there wasn't a question relating to one's hotness. And yet... and yet, at the area Borders, they manage to find some people that are pretty cute. Not as cute as the girls who work for Trader Joes, but I think they bus them in from the suburbs.
But instead, I found my way into an office job. Which I really shouldn't complain about too much, since it's a great deal better than what most people have in this world. And yet... and yet, come Friday night, what do I want to do? Sleep. Forever and ever - sleep.
ddm
email me
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home