April 8: Getting You Down, Pig-Pen, Cloud of Darkness

How do you deal with a depressed robot? . . .

Zaphod leaped out of his seat.

"She's not asking you to enjoy it," he shouted, "just do it, will you?"

"All right," said Marvin, like the tolling of a great cracked bell, "I'll do it."

"Good . . ." snapped Zaphod, "great . . . thank you . . ."

Marvin turned and lifted his flat-topped triangular red eyes up toward him.

"I'm not getting you down at all, am I?" he said pathetically.

"No, no, Marvin," lilted Trillian, "that's just fine, really . . ."

"I wouldn't like to think I was getting you down."

Again, I totally get Marvin here, worrying about how his attitude is affecting the people around him.  I think about this all the time, with my family and friends and disciples.  Yes, I realize that my blog posts have been less than uplifting recently.  They're sometimes not fun to write, so I'm sure they're not all that fun to read.  I sort of feel like Pig-Pen from Peanuts, walking around with my own little cloud of darkness.

First day of work at my new job.  Showed up at 6 a.m. and scanned medical reports for an hour-and-a-half.  Believe it or not, that was the best part of the day.  I was by myself.  It was quiet.  Didn't have to worry about anybody interrupting me.  I think I liked it because it sort of felt a lot like the job I just left where I functioned independently for a good portion of the time.

After that, I answered phones for the next seven hours.  And there were a lot of calls.  A lot.  By the time I punched the time clock to leave, I had a pounding headache and hated the entire world.  After teaching this afternoon, I can say that my attitude has NOT improved much at all.  And I still have my evening class to get through.

Each time I've changed jobs in the last five years, I've gone through this rough period of adjustment.  However, this time it's been a little rougher because of the permanence of it.  By the end of next week, I will have settled into a new routine, and my attitude will probably improve.  At the moment, though, I feel a little . . . trapped.

If you see me in the next week or so, pay no attention to the storm clouds swirling around my head.  They are just outward manifestations of my inner joy.  Yeah, that's it.  I'm trapped in joy.

If Saint Marty says that enough times, it might come true.

June 2: Brain Dead, Mind Training, "Web" Dip

I just left my job about an hour ago, and I feel brain dead.  Tired beyond description.  I'm not complaining.  It's simply that I'm not used to feeling this way when I leave work.  At my old job, when I left at the end of the day, I was energized.  I went for five-mile runs.  Wrote poems.  Read novels and poetry collections.  About the only thing I can think about right now is a nap.

I don't think this current state of lethargy is a reflection of my age.  My afternoon exhaustion started happening about two or three weeks ago, right when I started my new job.  For the past 17 years, my alarm went off at 4 a.m.  By the time most people punched the time clock in the morning, I already had four hours of work under my belt.  My mind and body have been trained to function best before the sun has a chance to rise.

I need to retrain my mind and body.  I know I write best in the early morning, but I can't do that right now.  At the moment, writing has to be an afternoon or evening activity.  That's going to take a period of adjustment.  The last poem I wrote was for my brother's funeral, before I began my new work schedule.  Now, I have to write another poem for a Father's Day event, and I haven't a single flutter of inspiration in my brain yet.

My question this Web dip Monday is:

Am I going to be able to write this new poem in time?

And the answer from E. B. White is:

"That's wonderful," said Wilbur.  "How is the plan coming, Charlotte?  Have you got very far with it?  Is it coming along pretty well?"  Wilbur was trembling again, but Charlotte was cool and collected.

"Oh, it's coming all right," she said, lightly.  "The plan is still in its early stages and hasn't completely shaped up yet, but I'm working on it."

Okay.  The question is whether I am Wilbur (nervous to the point of puking) or Charlotte (cool and collected).


Saint Marty feels more like a pig than a spider tonight.

I'm trying