Get Me Through The Night

After a week of rigorous training (consisting,largely, of having a lot of fun and teaching people about earthquakes and mammalian dentition) I am now a certified instructor here at the Tower, and it feels fantastic. Got myself a certificate and everything.

I will say, in all honesty, that it hurts my head a bit. I got quite a migraine the other day, and I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say that I'd never had a headache quite so bad before. It felt like a baby bald eagle was trying to eat its way out of my head through my eyes. Bastard eagle. It stopped its excrutiating barrage after I passed out from pain, but a niggling ache has remained throughout the week.

Subsequently, now I'm fending off what could turn out to be yet another headattack, while sitting here in the offices of the Tower taking my first application course, learning to use Dreamweaver (a wesbite design program) that I might instruct others to use it as well.

So here I am, bona fide instructador, and I really couldn't be prouder with myself. It's something I honestly never considered myself actually doing in this lifetime, getting a real job, but this thing is going to pull in some real money, more than most almost every single one of my immediate circle of compatriots. If I were to drop out of college right now and devote myself to this job, I'd be making more money than I'd know what to do with.

For a little while. Then, I'm relatively certain, I'd come up with many, many things to do with it. For example, I'm currently wearing the most expensive pair of shoes I've ever worn, I believe, which I'm extremely happy with, and which I purchased for the purpose (not a porpoise) of wearing to work. Of course, should a fancy dinner roll around and I find myself with stunning, appropriate, and stunningly appropriate footwear... well so be it.

I've also found myself eyeing a bunch of dress shirts. I think I'm going to start wearing suits all the time. Like, all the time. All of it. I'll get a few suits for work, some for rough housing, and some for fighting in, that can fit underneath my armor. I will wear suits all the time. And when a man wears a suit, he becomes known for wearing suits.

Does anyone rough house anymore? Is it hyphenated? These are the burning questions that have been plaguing me of late.

So I think I love my job. Really. I've been burned a couple of times on that front between the Center (fuck the Cube) and the Beast (fuck the Blood), so we'll have to hold out for final confirmation that everyone that works here isn't a total shit beneath a thin veneer of smiles and interesting war stories... but I really hope it isn't. I hope this turns out to be as awesome as it appears to be now.

If nothing else, I'm over my initial trepidation. I'm certain I can do this, and I'm glad I followed through with it to see if I could. The only thing I'm worried about is the obvious expertise required in order to answer some of the questions posed by full-fledged adult students who need to know shit that, having just taken the beginning class last week, you don't necessarily know. Can I tap dance around it? Can I concievably answer the question? I don't know!

As I said, I'm posting during my break in class, so this isn't going to be my usual manifesto, but things are slowly but surely returning to a state of mean happiness, of prosperity, and of general levity and possibility. I have a lot of things to get in order before I leave for Colorado in a week. Let's hope things go well.

Because of that song. Dreamweaver. Fuckler.

What I Did This Morning

Is that... is that three Christmas trees?


Is... is that like... like six or seven Christmas trees?


Do I have eight or nine Christmas trees?

No. No I do not.

...


I have thirteen Christmas trees.


Apparently, people were just leaving these things out on the side of the road! I mean... what the hell? You're just going to throw away a perfectly good Christmas tree? Just like that? The holiday's over, and you're immediately ready to move on? Nothing remains? Strip the festivities and get on with normal life?

You're all so ready to just abandon Christmas as soon as the day passes, like the Christmas spirit comes and goes accoring to a calendar. Well I defy your scroogish sensibilities, and while you were sleeping in on a lazy trash day, I was driving around thinking up fictitious charities I was collecting old trees for in case I was confronted by some angry homeowner wondering why someone who wasn't in a safety-orange work vest was collecting their "garbage."

Three trips, a local neighborhood, and the cracked rear signal light of an out-of-commission Camaro later, and I'm swimming in evergreens.


So guess what, Gritches (Grinches/Bitches)? I'm living in a fucking winter wonderland, and you're trudging into January with nary a spruce to show for it! I am the proud owner of my own personal forest! What will I do with it? Will I re-enact scenes from the Chronic(what)cles of Narnia? Will I create a large arboreal cushion to land on after a glorious yuletide-oriented leap from my second-floor roof? Will I dress up in my medieval garb and galavant amidst them, having secured them to the ground somehow with stakes and twine?

I just don't know!

I'll most likely end up using them as war camp enhancements, looking so rugged and naturally beautiful as they do, but until that becomes a necessity... the possibilities are limitless. Christmas trees are surprisingly light and extremely inconvenient if, say, piled around and on top of a friend's automobile before they need to leave for work. Not to mention the needle saturation that occurs upon attempting to alter their position in the slightest. Christmas trees are the gift that keeps on giving.

I finally got what I wanted for the holidays. A whole shitload of Christmas trees.

THIS IS THE BEST. CHRISTMAS. EVER!

...

EVER!