doodles

I need to get a scanner, if for no other reason than scanning pictures I've drawn and posting them on this blag. (Yes, blag.)

I have been reading through my old psychology texts and notes recently. I have been doing this for two reasons:
1) To try and keep my mind somewhat scientifically oriented
2) To study for the upcoming Psychology GRE Subject Test.

One of the things I sort of forgot about was how I doodled in the margins of my notes. Some classes' notes have no doodles, indicative of fast paced note-taking (or particularly gripping lectures). The classes where we could download powerpoint slides beforehand are pretty intricately decorated. I tended towards illustrations of silly phrases that popped into my head, and occasionally abstract designs that I would then try to turn into pictures. Sometimes there is commentary on the text of the notes. Sometimes there are pictures of me stabbing my eyes out with pens because I was really bored. All around, it's made the note re-reading process interesting.

Which brings me to one doodle in particular. It is not a picture, but clearly came from the same frame of mind. And given my currently abiguous future, it's strange to see how my mind was working on the options one sleepy morning in class. It reads:

        Future jobs:
            -Rock Star
            -Work at Monkey Colony
            -Psychologist

The first is, of course, everyone's dream. The third is the current plan. The second... I don't remember this nor do I know what to say about it. I will simply point out that "Monkey Colony" is capitalized, so clearly in my mind it was some sort of proper noun. If you find one, let me know, I'd like to keep my options open.

If you're not outraged, you're probably thinking about something else that's more important to you (and maybe the world in general)

You are currently reading my blog! That puts you into the category of "people who read my blog," so I can assume that you know all about me. So of course you know that I have been working at Starbucks for a while. It's funny how adamantly some people feel about my job! I'm just trying to make a dime, work with my friends, and get some help paying for health insurance. Some people are so against me working for what they see as the "big evil corporate machine" that they try and to proselytize about it, or at least scoff at the idea that I like my job. Someone told me once that it was "like selling out" (they were in the store, mind you). Let me tell you people, first of all it's a good company to work for (it's not nearly as evil as Wal-Mart, for example). They take GREAT care of their employees and have excellent quality control to make that latte worth $4. Second of all, I don't freaking care. I'm so sick of the "if you're not outraged, you're not paying attention" mentality. I work hard to make the world a better place. I'll work on what I think is important with my skills, and you work on your part with your skills, and between all of us things will get better all over. I'm a good friend, a good employee, a good student, and when I get to work in psychology I feel that I'm doing more good for the world than a million bumper stickers. Your favorite local coffee shop (or other cool indie business) doesn't give health insurance to their employees, their employees all drive to work in gas-guzzling cars, and they probably use bad grammar, so don't pretend they're perfect because they're indie and get all righteous on me.

There, I've said it, now I don't need to say it again. I really don't get upset about what other people think. I really don't care very much. I don't even drink coffee. As Andrew Bird so incisively put it, "Listen up, I just work here."

Changing gears, I had an interesting epiphany while at work the other day. When one works the register at Starbucks, one is supposed to greet the customer as he or she enters the store or approaches the till. You end up saying the same thing over and over, so you look for ways to make it a bit different. Ask them how their day is if you need an extra few seconds to finish something up. Save "greetings!" for an older or more distinguished looking customer who will enjoy it more than a casual "hey there!" And occasionally I like to bust out a rarity in this region, "howdy!" I was thinking about the etymology of that word, and I realized it is probably a very simple derivation of "how do you do?"

How do you do --> How doya do? --> Howdy do? --> Howdy!

I came home and looked it up and hell yeah I was totally right! At the time I shared my revelation with my coworkers. Nobody was impressed.

You come across some random things when you're reading.

"There are three things extremely hard, Steel, a Diamond, and to know one's self."
-Benjamin Franklin

nice

And on a totally separate note:

"And if thou say in thine heart, How shall we know the word which the LORD hath not spoken? When a prophet speaketh in the name of the LORD, if the thing follow not, nor come to pass, that is the thing which the LORD hath not spoken, but the prophet hath spoken it presumptuously: thou shalt not be afraid of him." -Deuteronomy 18:21-22 (King James Version)

in other words

"You may be wondering among yourselves, "How can we tell the difference, whether it was God who spoke or not?" Here's how: If what the prophet spoke in God's name doesn't happen, then obviously God wasn't behind it; the prophet made it up. Forget about him." -Deuteronomy 18:21-22 (The Message Version)

I can think of some people who've said they were doing God's work and made some predictions that didn't pan out. Can you? Looks like God says we should stop listening.

Sunday Morning

Sunday mornings are a special time. My mother is at church, usually gone before I wake up. My father spends the whole morning in the basement doing work or goofing off or doing whatever it is that he does, presumably enjoying the change in routine as much as I do. I sleep as a first order of business. I work Sunday evenings, so Sunday morning is the one time I can sleep without my subconscious buzzing with the thought that maybe I’m late for work. I don’t always sleep late. In fact sometimes I’m up rather early, ready to start my (Sun)day.

I wake up on Sunday mornings and instantly try to fall back asleep. I was never able to fall back asleep until a year or two ago, and I’m still not great at it. If I can’t, I usually smile and mash my face into the pillow, enjoying the warmth and the lack of urgency. There is no “usual” time to wake up on Sundays, sometimes it’s 6:30am, sometimes it’s noon. While I am mashing my face I let a few thoughts drift through my head, and more often than not one of them sticks and I ponder that for a while. I reach my hand over the side of the bed and pad it around until I find one of two things: (1) my cell phone, or (2) the book I’m reading. If I find the cell phone first I check the time (smiling again at my lack of schedule) and see if there were any messages left for me after I fell asleep. Usually I find the book first, it is a bigger object after all, and I completely ignore the phone and its time and its messages. I turn on the light next to the bed and snuggle back into my cocoon with only the tips of my fingers exposed to hold the book. Before I can get through a page my eyes start to water and I have to wipe the tears and sleep dust away, but since no part of me wants to leave the warm womb of my bed, I just mash my face against the pillow again. Having cleared my eyes, I read the book that is balanced on its side in front of my reclining face. I don’t stop myself from dozing off in the middle of a sentence.

I stay in the warm bubble of flannel sheets and printed words for as long as I can. Usually the first thing I do in the morning is head for the bathroom to evacuate, but not on Sundays. Every step on Sunday is a sort of game where the goal is to press back against the usual morning routine. How long can I go without opening my eyes? How long can I stay in bed? How long before I have to go downstairs? To eat? To shower? To put on pants? Eventually, after maybe an hour, the need to eat or wash overtakes me. Usually it’s the need to eat, but that depends on the Saturday night that preceded the Sunday morning– notably if I ate something substantial or hung out with lots of smokers I’ll feel the needs to bathe before I need to eat. (This morning my hands smelled like plastic, which was as distracting as it was inexplicable.) Often, after eating or showering or both, I’ll go back to bed, reclaiming my cocoon, and read or sleep some more. Sometimes I’ll feel compelled to write and I reach for the pad of paper that lives under my bed. Occasionally I’ll find something scrawled on the paper already, the last remnant of Saturday night left behind before I drifted off. I’ll write whatever Sunday thoughts I’ve got going on in the form of a note-to-self journal or a letter to a friend. All the writing invariably gets shoved back under the bed into a pile of late-night and early-morning thoughts. That pile, if anyone was to read through it, tells the story of my life from the periphery of consciousness. I have not read through it. I took the pile from Cleveland back with me in a box and started a new pile here in Buffalo.

Finally Sunday morning (long-since turned in to Sunday afternoon, just not in my mind) will come to a logical close. A friend will call me and invite me to lunch, my mother will return home from post-church brunch and rouse me, or I’ll just have my fill of dozing and reading and writing and thinking. I will put on pants, which is the final step in my acceptance of a new day. The writing goes on the pile, the cell phone goes from charger to pocket, the book lays closed beside the bed. Today I looked out the window and was surprised that it was snowing, because in my Sunday morning world there is no weather, there are no seasons, there exists nothing beyond my immediate surroundings and the comfort of my mind. The snow draws me out the window into a world with weather systems, traffic patterns and even Other People. I see the cars on the street and know that the world doesn’t value Sunday mornings the way I do. I doubt they could understand the value of my lazy Sunday morning life. But Sunday morning has bolstered my constitution for another week, and I am ready to confront this world. I am wearing pants after all.