Jesus-Crucified-Christ, Earthquakes? And Joanna
I know this may sound kind of strange, but is anyone as afraid of earthquakes as I am? Jesus-Crucified-Christ, am I ever afraid of them! And I think what aggrivates the fear even more is fact that I live on a busy street, and my room is on the second floor – which means that when trucks go by at night, various objects (including the chair I sit in) shake and rattle. Not enough to knock anything over, but just enough to disturb the stablity of stationary objects. And I suppose that the fear of earthquakes is a more deep-seated fear of the “unknown.” Earthquakes could strike at any time. And because they are unpredictable, what more could elicit fear than rattling objects in a dark room at 3:30 in the morning? Yes, it may be just a truck passing in the night. But about a year ago that very thought passed my mind when suddenly the house began to shake even more violently – lasting about 15 or 20 seconds. It was then, after about the first 5 seconds, that I realized it was an earthquake – only reinforcing my fear that much more.
Now why am I going on about this? I have no idea. Maybe because it is 3:30 in the morning and I can’t sleep because of this conflict I’m having right now concerning my job. I need a job. Yet, I must confess that I hate it. Yes, many people hate their jobs. But they can find something good about it to keep them going. What can I find good about it? The pay. That’s it. And I hardly believe that money is a good substitute for happiness/sanity.
Imagine yourself seated at a computer terminal for 8 hours a day, looking back and forth between the monitor and a sheet of paper with, I’d say, about 6 or 8 for a font size. Without going into too much detail about the contents of the sheet of paper, one must look at the sheet and transfer the data from the sheet to the computer. For hours on end, this becomes so incredibly mind-numbing that one can barely function. Because you make so many repetitious movements, any deviation from that pattern instantly induces a state of disorientation – the feeling that finding a letter on the keyboard without looking is likened to figuring out the square root of Pi on an etch-a-sketch. You wait in hopes of that longed-for break. Fifteen minutes is such a short period of time. Just barely enough time to clear one’s mind, to free one’s self from the confining walls of repetition.
But enough of the elucidation of my plight. I will simply state that my resignation from this position is looming. Now, there are those who may consider me “lazy” for such actions. May I simply state that, in their assumptions, that were I to remain in this position, I would indefinitely become a bitter person who has nothing better to look forward to than retirement.
I would like nothing more than to find a job that I could “live with.” Something that I could say makes me “happy.” Something tolerable. I feel that such a position is near, and that I will “enjoy” work whence this juncture comes. Until that time, I will continue my search of gainful employment. “Work isn’t life. Work is a tool to facilitate a lifestyle.” ß That’s my quote. I feel that sums up my feelings about employment.
My dear sweet Joanna, I miss you so much. I can’t wait to see you again. I love you more than anything in this world. I hope you know that. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. Tonight when I talked to you, all I could think about was wanting to be there holding you, telling you how I feel – not being separate, using only words. I want to look you in the eyes and just let you see how I feel for you. Sometimes words can spoil perfection. Telling you that I love you is not enough. If there is anything that I am, I am the physical form of love that is for you only – nothing that can be described in words. Only in being. Being there with you. You are my other half. For what am I without you? A lonely soul without direction. I can only hope you feel the same. I love you.