Diary-ah
"I've come to the end of me."
Man, I love that line. It's so wonderfully melodramatic. Too bad I couldn't have used it three days ago so that I could have quoted the movie on the actual day. Oh well, there's always next year.
Anyway, the last time we looked in the old diary I was a fresh-faced 22-year-old girl with nothing but my future and a butt-load of crappy jobs ahead of me. A year or so later I finished university, moved to Toronto and began an exciting career in a) explaining what Anthropology is and b) why I chose to major in it.
When I finally entered the white collar world, this was all I had to say about it:
August 29, 1995 (age: 25 - mood: thankful for making rent)
The down side is that I work in Insurance, but the up side is I have a job. Of course they're paying me a secretary's salary for Junior Broker work (which between you, me and the ficus, is pretty much the same job anyway, so I shouldn't really complain).
Not a very interesting entry, you'll agree. Now, times that level of interest by 8 hours a day, 5 days a week and you'll understand the Insurance biz. Thankfully, I got laid off and had a chance to branch out...
June 25, 1997 (age: 27 - mood: thoroughly confused)
I am unemployed. I thought I had a job at [horrible ad agency], but... nope. So, I've got until September 8th to find a job (in Advertising hopefully). So I've got a lot of time to sit and think what I want to do with my life (& how to do it - which I have no idea).
Oh no, no, no. Advertising is NEVER the answer. HEAR ME YOUNG PEOPLE AND BEWARE! You see, that is the problem with being even slightly interested in writing or visual arts. Well-meaning people in your life tell you you're "creative" and should "do something with that". Then innocents like me think "hey, advertising is creative!". This kind of evil thinking is what those jackals feed on.
Years later, when I was well and truly entrenched in the belly of the beast, I realized that my earlier prediction about my sister's boyfriend had come true... about me! I was miserable and coming to some sort of fuzzy conclusion about my work situation. In my last ever entry I expressed my feelings on the subject:
May 11, 1999 (age: 29 - mood: ismudlicheit)
You know, I saw a PBS program once where they were talking about whales in captivity. The only way they will cooperate with their trainers to learn tricks etc, is ONLY if the trainers PLAY with them for at least a sold hour every day. Or else, NO WAY, they're not going to work.
I think I might be a whale in captivity.
Not only are the physical characteristics startlingly similar, but I need to have fun to be motivated to work. I'm earnestly industrial for the first year or so in every job but then... something happens. I lose the desire to flip through the hoops. Especially when they're on fire. I HATE those ones.
I'm in trouble at work right now. They're starting to notice my crippling inability to get anything done in a normal amount of time. I doubt they can fire me for it, as I stay late to get it done, but I've grown cranky and they've started to look at my timesheets. I feel a change coming... I may have to leave just to save face. Or to get some new motivations.
It's hard to find good trainers these days...
Shortly after that I decided to become a temp. And, counterintuitively, my life got better almost immediately. I got a couple of really interesting jobs, met some interesting people, and have been to some really cool places. Sure, I've had to explain myself a lot about not wanting a real job, but I'm used to explaining myself by now. The point is I stopped worrying about it and it became much more easy.
But you know it's funny. You live your life just being you, discovering the things you discover, feeling the emotions you feel, developing habits and likes and dislikes, drawing certain conclusions based on those things, and you think you're totally unique. Then you read your diary and you realize that at any given time you're just going through a phase.
Boy-crazy pre-teen phase? Check. Pseudo-intellectual, righteously-indignant, Smiths-loving teenager phase? Check. First-crushing-heartbreak phase? Check. Soul-searching, angst-ridden twenties phase? Check.
Sure, not all adults go through the exact same ones, but there are plenty of them to go through all the same. There's the finally-getting-your-parents'-point-of-view phase, the hey-I'm-not-actually-going-to-live-forever phase, the my-boss-is-a-know-nothing-jackass phase. Hell, there's even a I-think-I-might-be-the-Son-of-God phase (granted, this one's pretty rare).
The fact is there is nothing new in this world, no new emotions to feel, no new thoughts to think, no new mistakes to make. Sometimes I find that depressing, other times not so much. It certainly takes the pressure off to be original, that's for sure. Maybe that's why I haven't written in my diary in about 6 years.
(Oh yeah, and I got my computer around then, too. Heh, go figure.)
Anyway, that does it for this week's updates. I hope you enjoyed peeping into a stranger's diary as much as I did. I MEAN IT WAS MINE ALL MINE AND NOT MY ROOMMATE'S! I mean, uh...
Have a great weekend everybody!
Man, I love that line. It's so wonderfully melodramatic. Too bad I couldn't have used it three days ago so that I could have quoted the movie on the actual day. Oh well, there's always next year.
Anyway, the last time we looked in the old diary I was a fresh-faced 22-year-old girl with nothing but my future and a butt-load of crappy jobs ahead of me. A year or so later I finished university, moved to Toronto and began an exciting career in a) explaining what Anthropology is and b) why I chose to major in it.
When I finally entered the white collar world, this was all I had to say about it:
August 29, 1995 (age: 25 - mood: thankful for making rent)
The down side is that I work in Insurance, but the up side is I have a job. Of course they're paying me a secretary's salary for Junior Broker work (which between you, me and the ficus, is pretty much the same job anyway, so I shouldn't really complain).
Not a very interesting entry, you'll agree. Now, times that level of interest by 8 hours a day, 5 days a week and you'll understand the Insurance biz. Thankfully, I got laid off and had a chance to branch out...
June 25, 1997 (age: 27 - mood: thoroughly confused)
I am unemployed. I thought I had a job at [horrible ad agency], but... nope. So, I've got until September 8th to find a job (in Advertising hopefully). So I've got a lot of time to sit and think what I want to do with my life (& how to do it - which I have no idea).
Oh no, no, no. Advertising is NEVER the answer. HEAR ME YOUNG PEOPLE AND BEWARE! You see, that is the problem with being even slightly interested in writing or visual arts. Well-meaning people in your life tell you you're "creative" and should "do something with that". Then innocents like me think "hey, advertising is creative!". This kind of evil thinking is what those jackals feed on.
Years later, when I was well and truly entrenched in the belly of the beast, I realized that my earlier prediction about my sister's boyfriend had come true... about me! I was miserable and coming to some sort of fuzzy conclusion about my work situation. In my last ever entry I expressed my feelings on the subject:
May 11, 1999 (age: 29 - mood: ismudlicheit)
You know, I saw a PBS program once where they were talking about whales in captivity. The only way they will cooperate with their trainers to learn tricks etc, is ONLY if the trainers PLAY with them for at least a sold hour every day. Or else, NO WAY, they're not going to work.
I think I might be a whale in captivity.
Not only are the physical characteristics startlingly similar, but I need to have fun to be motivated to work. I'm earnestly industrial for the first year or so in every job but then... something happens. I lose the desire to flip through the hoops. Especially when they're on fire. I HATE those ones.
I'm in trouble at work right now. They're starting to notice my crippling inability to get anything done in a normal amount of time. I doubt they can fire me for it, as I stay late to get it done, but I've grown cranky and they've started to look at my timesheets. I feel a change coming... I may have to leave just to save face. Or to get some new motivations.
It's hard to find good trainers these days...
Shortly after that I decided to become a temp. And, counterintuitively, my life got better almost immediately. I got a couple of really interesting jobs, met some interesting people, and have been to some really cool places. Sure, I've had to explain myself a lot about not wanting a real job, but I'm used to explaining myself by now. The point is I stopped worrying about it and it became much more easy.
But you know it's funny. You live your life just being you, discovering the things you discover, feeling the emotions you feel, developing habits and likes and dislikes, drawing certain conclusions based on those things, and you think you're totally unique. Then you read your diary and you realize that at any given time you're just going through a phase.
Boy-crazy pre-teen phase? Check. Pseudo-intellectual, righteously-indignant, Smiths-loving teenager phase? Check. First-crushing-heartbreak phase? Check. Soul-searching, angst-ridden twenties phase? Check.
Sure, not all adults go through the exact same ones, but there are plenty of them to go through all the same. There's the finally-getting-your-parents'-point-of-view phase, the hey-I'm-not-actually-going-to-live-forever phase, the my-boss-is-a-know-nothing-jackass phase. Hell, there's even a I-think-I-might-be-the-Son-of-God phase (granted, this one's pretty rare).
The fact is there is nothing new in this world, no new emotions to feel, no new thoughts to think, no new mistakes to make. Sometimes I find that depressing, other times not so much. It certainly takes the pressure off to be original, that's for sure. Maybe that's why I haven't written in my diary in about 6 years.
(Oh yeah, and I got my computer around then, too. Heh, go figure.)
Anyway, that does it for this week's updates. I hope you enjoyed peeping into a stranger's diary as much as I did. I MEAN IT WAS MINE ALL MINE AND NOT MY ROOMMATE'S! I mean, uh...
Have a great weekend everybody!
posted by Alanis at
7:45 AM
2 Comments:
I'll be using some of your words as my new tagline for my blog title. Hope you don't mind. Enjoyed reading your blog! Keep up the good work. (Don't bother with mine, unless you like linky blogs. I don't tend to post a lot of personal stuff, for which some blogger friends constantly give me grief.)
By
Trey, at 2:50 PM
Hey, no problem. Use all the words you like, I've got plenty to spare. Glad to hear you enjoyed the blog. I am terribly remiss with it myself, but I am trying.
Incidentally, my cute boyfriend is a Rooster, too. Coincidence? Um, yeah, probably.
By
Alanis, at 10:37 PM
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