took out the grant lee buffalo and had no choice but to slip in this is the way it goes and goes and goes.

i would say out of the frying pan and into the fire, but it really is more like out of the light rain and casting one's self into the storm ridden sea.

i have spent the majority of the morning going through files that are 3-5 years old, deciding what is important and separating that from the rest. the way my boss keeps files is utterly amazing. it would make more sense to throw them into the trash. those who know me know that i am not an organized person, but even i looked at this mess and shook my head. because, if it were my files, they would never have made it into folders at that stage. but once folder-ready, they would be filed away neatly.

though no one has ever seen it, i actually have a nicely ordered hand-carry file. it's at my parent's house. if i ever needed anything in that file, it wouldn't be in there. it would be in the mess around my desk.

and even though i know it's my job to be the monkey girl for these people, it makes little sense to have me decide what is important and what is not. in my opinion, if it's 2 or more years old, throw it out. why would you possibly need it? do we really need to have a printed copy of the materials ordered by some client 4 years ago?

ah, this is all too opaque as explained here, and it's really too fucking boring to write an exposition on.

here's the meat of it: i fucking hate my job.

i really really really . really . need to figure out what i am doing.

because if i don't, i am going to start making myself sick. i know myself well enough to know that if i get miserable enough with a situation, my body will create physical reasons for me to avoid it.

for example, high school. i absolutely hated it. so, i was sick at least once a week. literally. i didn't always get to stay home, but i tried really really fucking hard. people must have thought i was on drugs, i was so strung out half the time. the disappointing truth? i was not. had i been on drugs, i probably would have enjoyed high school a hell of a lot more.

and, it may occur to more than one of you that i am a moron because i have never once ditched a class. at least in high school. every single one of my absences were accounted for by my mother. and my father had no clue what was happening because he's my dad. he lives on another planet.

i never thought about missing class as "ditching" in college, either. i thought of it as "sleeping in".

but i digress.

if something doesn't happen soon, i am going to start going completely out of my mind. i don't want it to get to this point, so i am trying hard to not resent having to do the type of shitty grunt work that they are asking me to do right now.

i don't know how successful i will be, though.

all i know is this: i do not belong in this job. it is below my skill level, and it requires far too much of my time. i think i will take the kind advice of a friend and start working up articles for online/print publications and just sending them in, hoping to hook someone on my writing enough to pay me to do it. i figure then, i can live wherever i want (particularly if it's an online thing), and i could probably keep my own hours. helloooooooooo sleeping in.

this would be the ideal life for me, i think. i just need to figure out what to write and to whom to send it.

this, though, this sitting in a cubicle and doing the worst jobs that i probably shouldn't even be doing because i don't know enough about what happened here 3-5 years ago to do it, nor do i care...this is not for me.

i started looking at houses in oregon and washington state last night. along the coasts. really small towns. huge houses for small dollars. houses with acreage. no one around for miles and miles and miles. reviving old daydreams of living in alaska, far away from every everything. just me, basic utilities, maybe a place for a garden out back, a dog, stuart, all my books, music and a high speed internet connection to keep in touch with friends, order more books and music and watch the world at a distance. writing writing writing and reading for all i'm worth. letting the books and music stack themselves up along the walls of my house, making themselves furniture. painting. taking photos. building a darkroom. laying in the backyard for hours, just staring at the sky. thinking without all this life around me to cloud it all up, confuse things.

sometimes in these daydreams i include some faceless person as company and love. imagine that i make a home for us and he drives an old pick-up truck.

but for the most part i daydream of the loneliness of trees and the quiet and the sky.