different forms of transit

Since being fired I've managed to work in the two jobs I had before I started my commuting to DC. I tune organs with a friend of mine while his regular tuning partner is away and I substitute teach at a high school.

Both jobs are interesting. Both are a bit depressing and uplifting at the same time.

Teaching is full of realizations about the kinds of people that will end up making decisions that affect my life soon. It runs the gamut between seeing students with real potential and seeing stereotypes personified in almost apish ways. At the end of each day I leave wishing that I had managed better in my old job. I'll be bussing to school right along with the kids soon.

Keyholding is boring. So much so that I bring a book with me to read while I do it. I can hold the book and turn pages with my left hand and depress keys and stops with my right. It's not unenjoyable, but it's temporary and it's not challenging. Driving between DC and Baltimore with a friend is enjoyable.

I can make the rent for March. I guess that was the big question mark. Now I just have to find a real job so I can make April's. Month to month.

sharp days as things fall apart

About a month after my last post I got fired.

I was coming home from work on a Thursday on the train. My phone rang and I answered to the voice of my agent, nervous and ready to put off telling me what she had to. So before the train entered the tunnel that burrows beneath downtown Baltimore to Penn Station, I was told that I shouldn't come back to work the following day.

The long and short of the reasons is that I was comfortable in an environment that wasn't comfortable with me and I failed to recognize this.

It's funny how completely worlds apart from that I feel now.

I'm hunting again. Not necessarily hungry and full of things to do and do away with.

I keep thinking about 1996 and how that year was the pinnacle of my generation's culture. That everything else so far has failed to see progress, it's all even managed to regress. All the music that had any potential within the past fifteen years happened within three years plus or minus 1996.

I'm not so much reminiscent, as I am disappointed that all the potential that I recognized shortly after that year has been squandered both by society and by me. Wave crested and then failed to wash anything truly interesting up on the shores of modern culture. In fact, modern culture feels eroded and primed for a cataclysm to wash it off the face of the earth in favor of some new beach of thought.