My boss's wife is having a baby any day now (she will be induced next week if he's not here by then). They went with a Dr. Seuss theme for the nursery and paid for a muralist to come in and paint a giant Dr. Seuss mural (I will post the photo later from my phone). It's ridiculously cool.
My boss, being a businessman and whatnot, just said how the painter must love his job. After all, he gets to be creative and paint murals all day.
The guy said, and this is pretty much how my boss stated it, "I realize as I am painting this, I hate doing this."
My boss asked him "Really?". He was stunned he would be so blunt.
"Yes, I despise painting these things. I only do it to pay the bills. If I could get paid for merely existing, I would do it."
Well okay then. Wouldn't most of the world? It got me thinking though...so many people envy the people who get to be creative for a living. Writers, painters, actors, dancers, etc. But at one point, what becomes pleasurable eventually becomes work. The fun could easily be taken out of it by now being forced to do whatever it is you love merely to get a paycheck.
It's kind of sad really, especially because it's not too terribly uncommon for me to sit around and daydream about doing something completely unusual like that. Perhaps it's not all that it's cut out to be. Maybe any career path I go down will yield the same results as this one: a job that drives me absolutely crazy, but that I deal with to make a living.
Okay, enough philosophical talk from me.
This week needs to be over with already. Gah. Work is tearing my soul out, I swear. I should be doing some work now, but I am just so tired. There really aren't enough hours in the day anymore. I won't go into all the details, but let me just mention that most of my problems are with Excel. And when I say Excel, I mean very complex pivot tables that pull from operating statements on a terminal server in Arlington, VA. The file got corrupt and we need to post Excel document for the entire company tomorrow. TWO days. TWO freaking days working on this one file, with one tab that corrupted everything.
Imagine the agony.
Though good news for my family. My mom got the guts to write my step-dad's sister a letter asking for help. Since my step-dad loses his unemployment in April (they get $175 a week, $100 goes to bills, $75 put away, but the electric company just demanded $357, which she had $350 exactly saved from what she put back and borrowed $7 from a family friend. That's how bad it has gotten).
They owe back taxes on the place, this is the last year they can miss before their property would be auctioned off, leaving them homeless. They don't have it.
My mom has applied for disability, but that takes 6 or more months. My step-dad can't apply for disability until 6 months or so after unemployment runs out. He is close to retirement age and should be able to draw security next year, but that's a year away.
Oh wait, I said good news, didn't I? I'm getting there.
So she wrote Nancy a letter, typed it actually. Which shows how nervous she was to ask for help since she usually writes by hand, but she said her hand was shaking so bad. My mom doesn't ask for help. She never wanted to go on disability because she didn't want a handout, but considering she has never fully recovered mentally from her coma 16 years ago, and she has arthritis in her back and hands, heart problems which cause her to take 10 different pills to live and diabetes (the type overweight people tend to get, but my mom might weight 100 pounds soaking weight, she's desperately thin and always has been). So disability shouldn't be an issue, it just hurts her pride to realize she needs it.
It also hurt to admit she needed help, but she did.
Nancy called her yesterday and is sending her some money. She is paying the property taxes and is going to help them out for a bit, possibly until they get other income. My mom doesn't know how much she is going to help, but obviously every little bit helps.
Nancy has thanked my mom for taking care of my step-dad because he is losing his mind in his own age and couldn't care for himself. It's why he can't find work. He really isn't capable of holding a normal conversation, much less being able to interview for a job anymore.
Nancy lives out here, not too far from me. My step-dad was born and raised in Orange County. So she was worried about me moving out here all by myself and wants me to come over for dinner. I have met her and her girlfriend once (while she never came out and said she's a lesbian, her and her female partner have been living together for 20 or more years now). They might even fly my brother out here for a visit and he could also visit me.
I have no idea where I was going from here. I am absolutely exhausted. It's 7:30, I have work to do and I am contemplating falling asleep very, very soon. You got the gist of the story I was trying to tell at least, right? I think so.
The weekend could not get here soon enough.
java_fiend has a goofy, geeky, dorktastic surprise adventure he's planning. I am super excited. I like goofy adventures and I like surprises. He's just so sweet, I can't wait to spend the weekend with him again. I just wish every day was Saturday. Or that I could get paid to merely exist. That would work too.
Night, everyone. I probably won't physically go to bed, but I am not fully awake at this point either.
My boss, being a businessman and whatnot, just said how the painter must love his job. After all, he gets to be creative and paint murals all day.
The guy said, and this is pretty much how my boss stated it, "I realize as I am painting this, I hate doing this."
My boss asked him "Really?". He was stunned he would be so blunt.
"Yes, I despise painting these things. I only do it to pay the bills. If I could get paid for merely existing, I would do it."
Well okay then. Wouldn't most of the world? It got me thinking though...so many people envy the people who get to be creative for a living. Writers, painters, actors, dancers, etc. But at one point, what becomes pleasurable eventually becomes work. The fun could easily be taken out of it by now being forced to do whatever it is you love merely to get a paycheck.
It's kind of sad really, especially because it's not too terribly uncommon for me to sit around and daydream about doing something completely unusual like that. Perhaps it's not all that it's cut out to be. Maybe any career path I go down will yield the same results as this one: a job that drives me absolutely crazy, but that I deal with to make a living.
Okay, enough philosophical talk from me.
This week needs to be over with already. Gah. Work is tearing my soul out, I swear. I should be doing some work now, but I am just so tired. There really aren't enough hours in the day anymore. I won't go into all the details, but let me just mention that most of my problems are with Excel. And when I say Excel, I mean very complex pivot tables that pull from operating statements on a terminal server in Arlington, VA. The file got corrupt and we need to post Excel document for the entire company tomorrow. TWO days. TWO freaking days working on this one file, with one tab that corrupted everything.
Imagine the agony.
Though good news for my family. My mom got the guts to write my step-dad's sister a letter asking for help. Since my step-dad loses his unemployment in April (they get $175 a week, $100 goes to bills, $75 put away, but the electric company just demanded $357, which she had $350 exactly saved from what she put back and borrowed $7 from a family friend. That's how bad it has gotten).
They owe back taxes on the place, this is the last year they can miss before their property would be auctioned off, leaving them homeless. They don't have it.
My mom has applied for disability, but that takes 6 or more months. My step-dad can't apply for disability until 6 months or so after unemployment runs out. He is close to retirement age and should be able to draw security next year, but that's a year away.
Oh wait, I said good news, didn't I? I'm getting there.
So she wrote Nancy a letter, typed it actually. Which shows how nervous she was to ask for help since she usually writes by hand, but she said her hand was shaking so bad. My mom doesn't ask for help. She never wanted to go on disability because she didn't want a handout, but considering she has never fully recovered mentally from her coma 16 years ago, and she has arthritis in her back and hands, heart problems which cause her to take 10 different pills to live and diabetes (the type overweight people tend to get, but my mom might weight 100 pounds soaking weight, she's desperately thin and always has been). So disability shouldn't be an issue, it just hurts her pride to realize she needs it.
It also hurt to admit she needed help, but she did.
Nancy called her yesterday and is sending her some money. She is paying the property taxes and is going to help them out for a bit, possibly until they get other income. My mom doesn't know how much she is going to help, but obviously every little bit helps.
Nancy has thanked my mom for taking care of my step-dad because he is losing his mind in his own age and couldn't care for himself. It's why he can't find work. He really isn't capable of holding a normal conversation, much less being able to interview for a job anymore.
Nancy lives out here, not too far from me. My step-dad was born and raised in Orange County. So she was worried about me moving out here all by myself and wants me to come over for dinner. I have met her and her girlfriend once (while she never came out and said she's a lesbian, her and her female partner have been living together for 20 or more years now). They might even fly my brother out here for a visit and he could also visit me.
I have no idea where I was going from here. I am absolutely exhausted. It's 7:30, I have work to do and I am contemplating falling asleep very, very soon. You got the gist of the story I was trying to tell at least, right? I think so.
The weekend could not get here soon enough.
java_fiend has a goofy, geeky, dorktastic surprise adventure he's planning. I am super excited. I like goofy adventures and I like surprises. He's just so sweet, I can't wait to spend the weekend with him again. I just wish every day was Saturday. Or that I could get paid to merely exist. That would work too. Night, everyone. I probably won't physically go to bed, but I am not fully awake at this point either.