Ruminations Upon the Year
A year has officially passed since I moved to Southern California and thus stopped working full-time. When I think about it like that, the sick pang that permanently resides in my stomach vomits a little. Even though I'd feel better if I didn't dwell on it, I find I can't get past it. It mocks me and makes me second-guess every decision I've made in the past twelve months. Perhaps then, it would be therapeutic for me to confront this year and think about all the things that I've learned from it.
To begin, I've learned that having free-time doesn't mean that I'll be more productive. In fact, as most probably know, it is quite the opposite. Without a set schedule, it's too easy to finish watching whatever sub-par eighties movie happens to be on HBO in the morning. This was supposed to be time for me to develop all the brilliant ideas that have sat mouldering in my head. As it is, those ideas are still rotting, and my biggest achievement this year has been to make a mix tape. It only took me three months, but I needed help.
Extra leisure time also drains my desire to exercise. How I envisioned running marathons during San Diego's balmy winter months! Instead, I've still yet to run twice in a month, and I haven't weight trained in over a year. But I do have big plans for an immediately more healthful lifestyle: I bought ping-pong paddles last week.
I'm going to skip anything to do with my increasingly dire financial situation. There are just some things that cannot be faced, no matter how great the need for healing.
On a brighter note, I've further cemented my already firm desire to leave the sciences for good. Not even the idea of pursuing a career that would place me in the plains of Africa or the icebergs of Antarctica can sway me now. I do feel that I may've found a calling, and I am getting increasing support from my family to pursue it. However, I will now relate a series of professions that I have seriously considered and subsequently dismissed within the past year:
There, my hour's up. I don't think I'll be coming back for any more sessions. Maybe I'm cured? Actually, it's mostly because I can't afford it.
To begin, I've learned that having free-time doesn't mean that I'll be more productive. In fact, as most probably know, it is quite the opposite. Without a set schedule, it's too easy to finish watching whatever sub-par eighties movie happens to be on HBO in the morning. This was supposed to be time for me to develop all the brilliant ideas that have sat mouldering in my head. As it is, those ideas are still rotting, and my biggest achievement this year has been to make a mix tape. It only took me three months, but I needed help.
Extra leisure time also drains my desire to exercise. How I envisioned running marathons during San Diego's balmy winter months! Instead, I've still yet to run twice in a month, and I haven't weight trained in over a year. But I do have big plans for an immediately more healthful lifestyle: I bought ping-pong paddles last week.
I'm going to skip anything to do with my increasingly dire financial situation. There are just some things that cannot be faced, no matter how great the need for healing.
On a brighter note, I've further cemented my already firm desire to leave the sciences for good. Not even the idea of pursuing a career that would place me in the plains of Africa or the icebergs of Antarctica can sway me now. I do feel that I may've found a calling, and I am getting increasing support from my family to pursue it. However, I will now relate a series of professions that I have seriously considered and subsequently dismissed within the past year:
- Teacher - two months with the Princeton Review disabused me of that silly, silly notion.
- Lawyer - perhaps the cruelest thing I put my parents through this past year was allowing them to convince me that law school was a good option.
- Marketing asshole - I actually interviewed for a position in marketing, but it became clear to both the interviewer and me during the interview that advertising and I should never again meet (and give each other big, manly, crushing handshakes). He didn't call me back, and I didn't care.
- Rock guitarist - who am I kidding? It's still there. It's always there.
There, my hour's up. I don't think I'll be coming back for any more sessions. Maybe I'm cured? Actually, it's mostly because I can't afford it.
posted by Skim at Friday, August 19, 2005
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