April 18: Job Satisfaction, Out Loud, Church Musicians

Arthur and Ford have just met Marvin the robot, who just expressed his disdain for the programming of the Heart of Gold spaceship . . . 

Marvin regarded it [the door] with cold loathing while his logic circuits chattered with disgust and tinkered with the concept of directing physical violence against it.  Further circuits cut in saying, Why bother?  What's the point?  Nothing is worth getting involved in.  Further circuits amused themselves by analyzing the molecular components of the door, and of the humanoids' brain cells.  For a quick encore they measured the level of hydrogen emissions in the surrounding cubic parsec of space and then shut down again in boredom.  A spasm of despair shook the robot's body as he turned.

"Come on," he droned, "I've been ordered to take you down to the bridge.  Here I am, brain the size of a planet and they ask me to take you down to the bridge.  Call that job satisfaction?  'Cos I don't."

He turned and walked back to the hated door.

"Er, excuse me," said Ford, following after him, "which government owns this ship?"

Marvin ignored him.

"You watch this door," he muttered, "it's about to open again.  I can tell by the intolerable air of smugness it suddenly generates."

With an ingratiating little whine the door slid open again and Marvin stomped through.

"Come on," he said.

The others followed quickly and the door slid back into place with pleased little clicks and whirrs.

"Thank you the marketing division of the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation," said Marvin, and trudged desolately up the gleaming curved corridor that stretched out before them.  "Let's build robots with Genuine People Personalities, they said.  So they tried it out with me.  I'm a personality prototype.  You can tell, can't you?"

Ford and Arthur muttered embarrassed little disclaimers.

"I hate that door," continued Marvin.  "I'm not getting you down at all, am I?"

Marvin is comic relief.  A depressed robot that hates his job, knows he's smarter than everyone around him, and yet still worries about people's feelings.  He's a metaphor for every person who has ever worked at McDonald's or retail.  Underemployed and underpaid and underappreciated.

Now, I know you're thinking I'm going to launch into a long rant about my current employment situation.  I'm not.  Yes, the pay stinks.  Yes, the hours are long.  Yes, I get yelled at a lot on the phone by dissatisfied patients.  It's all part of working in healthcare.  Sick people are frightened, angry, and lost.  Like Marvin, they have very few outlets for these emotions.

No, I'm going to talk about what I'm doing tonight.  It's my monthly dose of Out Loud at the Joy Center.  Out Loud is an event where poets, writers, storytellers, and artists come together to share their thoughts and work.  Every time I attend Out Loud, I walk away somehow uplifted and enriched.  Rolling into Easter weekend, I need that.

If you have never been a church musician or involved in music ministry, you probably don't understand the stress of Holy Week.  It's the most important time in the entire Christian year.  The Big Show, if you get what I mean.  There are liturgies followed by more liturgies followed by side liturgies followed by a small nap followed by liturgies.  It's stressful and beautiful at the same time.  In the next four days, I will be involved in five separate Masses and church services.  

All of this wouldn't cause me so much stress if I were a truly gifted musician.  I'm not.  I'm a hard-working musician, requiring a lot of practice.  I have already spent many hours at the organ going over music for this weekend, and I still don't feel prepared.  Gifted musicians practice as much as I do, but that practice is so much easier and more joyful for them.  

No, my gift is writing and poetry.  It comes easily to me.  Working on a poem is not stressful.  It's a wonderful challenge.  I enjoy it.  A lot.  Practicing music, on the other hand, is a chore for me.  I love the results, but the process is incredibly difficult.  By noon on Easter Sunday, I will be brain dead.  That is a guarantee.  

Thus, I need Out Loud this evening.  To charge my batteries for a long weekend of holy stress.  Poetry may not pay much, but it's where I feel most alive.

Saint Marty hopes you all hug a church organist this weekend.  They will need it.

July 25: Back to Work, Divided Life, Perfect Job

On the morning after that wet dream, Billy decided to go back to work in his office in the shopping plaza.  Business was booming as usual.  His assistants were keeping up with it nicely.  They were startled to see him.  They had been told by his daughter that he might never practice again.

But Billy went into his examining room briskly, asked that the first patient be sent in.  So they sent him one--a twelve-year-old boy who was accompanied by his widowed mother.  They were strangers, new in town.  Billy asked them a little about themselves, learned that the boy's father had been killed in Vietnam--in the famous five-day battle for Hill 875 near Dakto.  So it goes.

Billy's daughter thinks that Billy is losing his mind.  He's living in a house without heat or food, talking about alien abduction and time travel.  If I were in his daughter's shoes, I would probably be checking into nursing homes and psychiatric medications for Daddy, too.  Yet, Billy goes back to work, because that's what he always does.  It's his life.

I have to say that I've never really had a job that I was excited about every day.  In fact, I've never had a job that really excited me at all.  I like the people I work with at the medical office, for the most part.  I find some satisfaction in making patients laugh and relax.  I like teaching young people at the university, opening minds up to new ideas and experiences.  For a while, I was the poetry editor of the university's literary magazine.  That excited me.  However, for the most part, job satisfaction is kind of illusive.

I think my problem is that my life has always been divided.  I work in the medical office for the health insurance.  I teach at the university for the money and creative outlet.  It's like I'm two separate people, using two different skill sets for the jobs I hold.  My dream has always been to have one job that allowed me to have free time and disposable income to pursue some of my interests.  Instead, I get up before the sun, every day, work all day, sometimes into the night, and return home tired.  Dead tired.

If you can't tell, I'm feeling a little down on myself this evening for some reason.  Nothing really triggered this attack of self pity, aside from this little passage from Slaughterhouse.  I guess I'm tired of being tired.  I'm sure, after I take my vacation next week, I'll be in a better frame of mind.  Four days away from all of my daily worries and cares.  I'm hoping it will exorcise all of these negative thoughts from my mind.

There are very few people, probably, who have their dream jobs.  It just doesn't happen that often.  Maybe for Oprah Winfrey, Stephen King, and Tiffany Trump.  That's about it.  The rest of us go through the motions, punch the time clock, and hopefully have a few laughs during the course of the day.

I stay sane by writing these blog posts, working on poems, reading books that make me believe in beauty and goodness.  It's not a perfect life, but I am able to go to bed every night feeling good about myself, for the most part.  That's something.

Tonight, Saint Marty is thankful for his upcoming vacation.