Sorry for whining everyone! There is a fine line between meaningful critique of the labor situation in our current society, and whining, and I am guilty of crossing that line a lot. Sometimes it’s hard to see where the line is.
I like my job and I’m glad to have it. I usually am better at focusing on the positives than I have been lately, I think just because I am unusually tired and have gone an unusually long time without a day off and am unusually lonely for friends. But I do like my job. I work surrounded by the sounds of people practicing all kinds of instruments and it is so fun. I sit at my desk and hear saxophone scales on one side and someone playing just the ophecleide part from the fourth movement of Symphonie Fantastique on the other. Mostly horns, I’m just now realizing, I never hear piano or singers or strings, even though the cello studio is right across the hall. I like horns though. I also like teaching and designing classes. I like the varied schedule of academia–even though I work 7 days a week, I do some of it from home, some of it on campus, etc. If I had to work 7 days a week at the same desk it would not fly. I like the rise and fall of the intensity–I like how during the semester it’s this crazy sprint that is just on the cusp of not being manageable, but then summer comes, and you get to relax and focus on your own work. Also, while I do find the imperative of writing a book or getting fired to be harrowing, I do like writing.
I also love pens
Future big projects also excite me, like throwing all the weird bad music history books from 1948 that are in my office into the garbage, and actually getting a filing system together.
It is also rewarding to realize that I am learning. When I first started the job, it felt totally overwhelming just in terms of all the shit I needed to understand about the program, the department, the curriculum, the majors, the minors, the grad students, everyone with their own degree requirements, etc., not to mention all the interpersonal/political stuff, all the potential wasps’ nests I am afraid of wading into. I’m slowly picking things up. There’s so much stuff they don’t teach you in grad school, because they can’t! Every school is different. The learning curve once you actually get a job is steep. I can’t imagine actually speaking at a faculty meeting! And yet one day, I surely will speak at them all the time, as a I hector my colleagues on various points. That kind of confidence seems intensely out of reach right now. It will be interesting to feel things evolve over the next couple of years. I hope.
I am supposed to fly to a conference today and United keeps sending me alerts about how weather is going to cancel and delay all my flights but I keep looking at the weather in all my cities and it’s just sunny and normal. I don’t know what to think, believe, or do! It’s like life
I dreamed I was at a performance of the Magic Flute, but I had to sit right on the stage, and I kept yelling “IS THIS A SINGSPIEL” uncontrollably. Then Gary Cole seduced me at intermission by taking me to the mall and buying me Sbarro. I would say this is one of my better dreams.
There is really so little to report aside from work stuff, which is boring and also devolves into whining too easily. My parents constantly want to talk on the phone, like more and more as time passes, and I don’t know what to even say to them. Perhaps my life’s utter lack of unusual or interesting events is making them need to call me more and more because talking to me is so unsatisfying. It snowed again. I went to the gym again. Goodbye
I think I have gotten mildly depressed about not having any friends. I’ve never had to make friends as an overworked adult before! In grad school you automatically make friends. In Iowa it was just like being in grad school. In Portland I already have all the friends I could ever wish for. Now here I am, with no weekends or free time, surrounded by strangers I know nothing about. And I don’t want to make new friends; I want MY friends, the ones I already made. Boo hoo.
Sometimes I get a call for papers and it’s like “modes of spectatorship in fifteenth-century Italy” and I’m like “hmmm, what could I submit to this?” and then I say out loud “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT” and I delete it
Ok I gotta get ready to go the airport
life is chill
dudes are cool