Writing, Dishwashing and Monkeys (Stupid Monkeys)
12/11/2009 12:09 PM – 12:30 PM
Oh. Right. Here’s this thing that I’m doing. So I didn’t even bother to set my alarm last night. I woke up at 11 after not being able to fall asleep until sometime after 2. This is bothersome. If I take the sleeping pills, I’m lousy tired even after I wake up, if I don’t take them, I don’t fall asleep. But here I am now. I watched “Bones” and drank coffee. Oh, and ate a maple frosted doughnut.
I haven’t worked on “real” writing since Wednesday and that was only like a hundred words. This new project is confounding me. In my head it veers back and forth between The Chocolate War and this YA fantasy that I can’t remember the name of but I read it as a kid. The one that I read that I can’t remember the name of ended up being an elaborate “it was all a dream” thing but you sort of knew it going in. The protagonist went from sometime in the early 20th century to some other fantasy world with magic by way of getting his head dunked in a barrel of water. The end of the book ended with him getting his head yanked back out, no time having passed. But while he was there, he fulfilled a prophecy and became king and did heroics. You know, “low-fantasy” typical stuff.
Or is that high-fantasy bookended by low-fantasy? I never figured that particular genre classification scheme out. Once again, there are a billion things that I should be doing with my mornings in addition to writing. I am not doing anything including writing. A brief rest and then back to work, that’s what it was supposed to be. Bah. I cut myself twice last night at work. Both wouldn’t have hurt if I hadn’t been soaking my hands in dishwater for four hours previous to the incidents. Dishwashing as a vocation has certain drawbacks. I find it odd that people assume that it’s an easy job. I don’t think that there is such a thing as an easy job. The amount of work that I have to do sandwiched into eight hours is not physically possible unless you’re Barry Allen. That’s the Flash. DC. From the comic books. Admittedly, most of the time, my mind doesn’t really need to be fully present to accomplish the task at hand, but it’s still not “a job a monkey could do.” A phrase that I have heard an unusual number of times in my dishwashing career. Often from bosses. Often from non-bosses. Seriously? Then buy a fracking monkey. For the initial laydown of 10K, you should be able to get ten years of excellent dishwashing for banana’s and the occasional cage cleaning. But I’m thinking about work while not there. That’s a no-no. Back to something.
Oh. Right. Here’s this thing that I’m doing. So I didn’t even bother to set my alarm last night. I woke up at 11 after not being able to fall asleep until sometime after 2. This is bothersome. If I take the sleeping pills, I’m lousy tired even after I wake up, if I don’t take them, I don’t fall asleep. But here I am now. I watched “Bones” and drank coffee. Oh, and ate a maple frosted doughnut.
I haven’t worked on “real” writing since Wednesday and that was only like a hundred words. This new project is confounding me. In my head it veers back and forth between The Chocolate War and this YA fantasy that I can’t remember the name of but I read it as a kid. The one that I read that I can’t remember the name of ended up being an elaborate “it was all a dream” thing but you sort of knew it going in. The protagonist went from sometime in the early 20th century to some other fantasy world with magic by way of getting his head dunked in a barrel of water. The end of the book ended with him getting his head yanked back out, no time having passed. But while he was there, he fulfilled a prophecy and became king and did heroics. You know, “low-fantasy” typical stuff.
Or is that high-fantasy bookended by low-fantasy? I never figured that particular genre classification scheme out. Once again, there are a billion things that I should be doing with my mornings in addition to writing. I am not doing anything including writing. A brief rest and then back to work, that’s what it was supposed to be. Bah. I cut myself twice last night at work. Both wouldn’t have hurt if I hadn’t been soaking my hands in dishwater for four hours previous to the incidents. Dishwashing as a vocation has certain drawbacks. I find it odd that people assume that it’s an easy job. I don’t think that there is such a thing as an easy job. The amount of work that I have to do sandwiched into eight hours is not physically possible unless you’re Barry Allen. That’s the Flash. DC. From the comic books. Admittedly, most of the time, my mind doesn’t really need to be fully present to accomplish the task at hand, but it’s still not “a job a monkey could do.” A phrase that I have heard an unusual number of times in my dishwashing career. Often from bosses. Often from non-bosses. Seriously? Then buy a fracking monkey. For the initial laydown of 10K, you should be able to get ten years of excellent dishwashing for banana’s and the occasional cage cleaning. But I’m thinking about work while not there. That’s a no-no. Back to something.
posted by Spike at 9:36 AM
2 Comments:
genres are so useless.
I mostly agree. But I wouldn't want Hrgnfagack the Destroyer, Son of Kragnotagack the Nerfherder appearing in my Tea-Cup Cozy. Actually, yes. Yes I would.
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