April 6th, 2006

Volvo

Life is good, I think.

"If you're going to be out of work," my friend said, "you couldn't have picked a better time of year than right now."


I wake up at 9 every morning because I am a morning person. I exercise in my living room and eat a bowl of cereal and look out the window and feel wonderful. Sometimes I read, sometimes I just look out the window. There are trees in my neighborhood and there are birds in the trees, and I like to listen to the birds-- not because they have particularly beautiful birdsongs (they don't), but because it's so rare, living in the city, to wake up to the sound of anything that sounds that happy for no reason. There was a man today, sitting on the supermarket curb whistling and I tied my shoe within listening distance so I could hear him whistle for a while.
I bought a digital camera (a display copy for 70 dollars!) and took a picture of a lawn ornament duck that is (for whatever reason-- my neighbors are weird) buried up to its neck in someone's front yard, as if they are nervous that someone is going to steal it.
I did errands until noon, applied for 3 jobs, talked on the phone to a friend for half an hour and sat down to write.

My friends are split two ways-- the normal friends tell me that I'm very smart and a good worker and that I'll find a job soon. And this makes me feel better and I thank them.
My comedian friends tell me not to look for jobs until July or August. They tell me to use this time to work on my writing and my comedy, to really get to work on everything and I'll see a lot of progress in a really short time. This is the option that seems easier, but is actually much harder. I'd like to dismiss this option as ridiculous and lazy, but it isn't and I'd like to tell the people promoting it that they're wrong, but they aren't. I would be happier writing for a few months, but at the same time it would be harder to let myself do that. I can't explain why, other than general cowardliness.

My parent's view toward my life was always, "Follow your dreams, but have health insurance." I have no idea what they thought my dreams were-- people with a father like mine do not have dreams of becoming investment bankers. But right now my goal is "be picky." Look and accept interviews for jobs that you want; not that you think you need. This should have been my mentality always, but it wasn't, which is sort of embarrassing.

I'm happy but a little anxious about what's going to happen to me. Which, reading it over, seems like the sort of mindset I'd like to adopt for the rest of my life. Just enough anxiety to keep me in check, but not so much that it debilitates me to the point where I don't notice birds, or whistling old men, or lawn ornaments buried up to their neck in mud.
That duck always seems so content, every time I walk past him. I'm considering burying myself up to the neck in that front yard to find out his secret.