travel down the road and back again

.

.

…and if you threw a party

and invited everyone you knew

you would see the biggest gift would be from me

and the card attached would say

thank you for being a friend.

.

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Boy, is that stuck in my head. My other coworker, Springer? He has a seemingly limitless appetite for The Golden Girls. After getting his tax refund, he bought a Jeep Grand Cherokee, a laptop, and probably also a big bag of weed, because most of his time at work last week was spent looking incredibly blown out and nodding off to DVDs of the Golden Girls. He’ll pass out and the disc will go back to the title screen, and i’ll hear the theme song on repeat until he wakes up.

And people wonder why i love working at night.

My mom loved that show, so i remember most of these episodes. I’m keeping an eye out for the one where Quentin Tarantino plays an Elvis impersonator.

Although, these lazy days might be over for good. Not only do we have that new electronic enforcement system, but they just altered it so there’s almost twice as much work to be done every night. It’s now past some critical mass point where i can no longer reasonably do ALL of it myself… else i’d have no time left to work on drawings, which is the only reason i’m really there.

Sigh. People are too used to me being cool. They’ll stagger in for overtime either after or before their regular shift because they can count on taking a six-hour nap while i take care of everything. Just the other day, Butler was there, and moaned “oh, i can’t learn this new technology, my eyes are tired and it’s dark and my ankles are swelling, i’m doing nothing!”

That used to work just fine. But it won’t work anymore. I have to let people know — hey, i’m going to do 50%. You’re responsible for the other 50%. You can do it, or choose not to. Everything is logged by name and number so they know exactly who is doing what at all times. It’s all up to you. I’m not going to wake you up and pester you to do your half.

Sigh. This will last until the first time i work with a sleepy Ketsia and she pulls out her pout and sexy foreign accent… and i’ll melt like an M&M inside a fat man’s ass.

Pleese, Muhommy-doo, i am so sweepy!

>__<

Of course, this entire system might go away in May if the contract expires. We might go with it, or we might stay. 45 days until the point of no return and we still don’t have a clue what’s really going to happen.

I do miss the old days, though. The days when i’d peck away leisurely at a drawing with a movie on in the background while my coworker falls into a comatose state. Good times. And… i always thought i could transfer back to my old beloved KRH at some point, but now i really don’t want to. There’d be so much to do now that i’d have no time for photoshopping. None. I might as well just go back to a call center and make more money.

Sigh.

I’m lonely.

My brother and John are the last two people that i know. Now my brother hangs out with Mary all the time, going to restaurants or just sitting on the couch and being lame. And John is so busy with his new girlfriend that it takes him five days to respond to an email, and never mind the writing that we were working on, or his music. All of that is on indefinite hiatus. I look at the way things are going, and imagine them a year from now, and i don’t like what i see. I thought i was lonely before, but now i’m facing alienation beyond anything i’ve ever known. What the fuck. Help me.

.

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Hmm.

Ummmm.

I’m back to the last book of the Dark Tower series. I had forgotten how utterly wanky some parts of Song of Susannah truly are. If Krysten ever gets that far, wow, prepare for the ultimate wank. You have no idea. One part that involves the Stephen King character reminded me that… gosh, yeah, there was a time in the ’80s was Stephen King was kind of, you know, edgy. He’s not anymore. He’s a respectable guy who writes entertainment columns where he refers to himself as “Uncle Stevie” and expresses his admiration for Harry Potter…

…but remember back in the ’80s, before the internet demystified everything? Stephen King was in the same boat as Metallica; they were considered dangerous by normal folk and possibly associated with Satan. You didn’t really know what Stephen King looked like, or how he talked, and there were rumors that he was some kind of reclusive howling madman who lived in a creepy mansion and exorcised his demons through drug-fueled writing binges, lest they devour his tortured brain. People who read his work were depraved weirdos who whacked off to his descriptions of violence and twisted sex. Previews for movies based on his work seemed incomprehensible and frightening to my childish mind, always being about some nameless evil that was never fully explained.

But as an adult… yeah, good ol’ Steve King, he’s pretty cuddly. Good guy, writes some interesting stuff.

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I’m returning that Bamboo tablet i just bought. It’s… hopeless. They say that it just takes practice, but i already know it’s no good because of the weird right-left dichotomy that my hands have. I draw with my right hand, but mouse with my left. My left hand has all the precision, and the right one feels like a blunt instrument. Trying to get my dumb right hand to do the thousands of tiny clicks in Photoshop that my drawings require is… is impossible. It can’t do it. And feeling the tiny button? No way.

I still think this has something to do with when i sprained my right hand really badly in the fifth grade and never saw a doctor for it. I just walked around holding it still for a month or two.

Lousy drunken dad.

I drive past a cemetery in Nashville on the way to work, and i don’t even know if it’s the one where he’s buried. It might be. I can’t say.

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