Plastics.
22 July 1999
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Plastics.
22 July 1999
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3:41 PM: I figured I'd better start this off while I can actually hit the keys of the keyboard and see letters appear on the screen here. Something has been going seriously south with the new server. I suppose one letter every five minutes could encourage a contemplative and serene state. In someone else. Me, I say fuck a lot.
I need to think of some kind of real profession to learn. Instead of just faxing [faxing?? oy. faking i meant. - Ed.] it in six directions at once. Like being, I don't know, a chemical engineer or something. I've been around this track before, though. Last time I gave up, because who wants a 32-year-old grad student? Which should logically be even more compelling for a 42-year-old grad student.
Maybe I'm just too cranky to care anymore. Maybe, too, it's because this isn't about having job prospects, really, and it's certainly not about contributing to research in any significant way. But with a genuine skill, I could at least participate in a meaningful way. Maybe.
It's 90% bullshit and pipe dreams, of course. I dunno. There's work to be done, though, that's for real. Just watching is losing its appeal. Heretical notion, that, I realize, hardly being true to my barfly nature. But there it is.
10:00: Oh man. Passport pictures today.
When I get out on parole as I expect will be real soon I want to make sure that I start right out in a different directiom from before. You're letters have been a big help to me already for that and I am kind of hoping that I will be able to see you and we can talk out loud instead of on paper, thatll be a change, ha ha! So here is my photo so you will know that its really me if we do hook up, which I hope we do really.
Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.
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All names are fake, most places are real, the
author is definitely
unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep.
© 1998-1999 Lighthouse for the Deaf. All rights reserved and stuff. The motto at the top of the page is a graffito I saw on Brunswick Street in Melbourne. | ||||
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