rationing out rationality 11:37

There is a car parked on the street in front of my apartment building and for the past day, maybe two days, its alarm has been going off. Not constantly. It goes in rounds, it will go off for maybe thirty seconds every five minutes for an hour or so. I am making all these times up. Here are the cold hard facts. The tan Honda accord parked on Pacific between Leavenworth and Hyde, yes, that one, its alarm keeps going off, often enough for me to notice that something was awry yesterday, figure out which car it was, contemplate calling some government office, hear it again this morning, decide to tell, since I heard it again and I said if I heard it again I was going to tell somebody, then decide I actually don't want to talk to some police dispatch office or the department of traffic and parking or who ever it is that you call when something is disturbing the peace.

I am worried. I have been thinking and I am worried. I mean, what if this job is awful and it kills me softly or hardly and quickly or what if it just sucks. Oh god, there is the car alarm again. That's it. I'm googling this problem. Google gave me nothing, which is okay because I remembered that when I go get some coffee on the corner I am going to leave a note on the car. It is going to say:
Dear Car,
Please STFU.
Best,
Russian Hill

Russian Hill is my neighborhood, for those of you unfamiliar with San Francisco burros. No, what I am thinking about is: I DON'T WANT TO WORK! I WANT TO BANG ON THESE DRUMS ALL DAY. So, I am a little worried about going to work tomorrow. I mean, I tell myself that if I had a cool gardener job, then I wouldn't be worried, then I would be all psyched. And its probably true, like if I had a gardener job so cool that it also gave me things to put on future resumes about computers, or managing or kids or other skills, I mean, if it was more than a gardener but still having the majority of my work be centered around plant cultivation, then, well then I might be interested and able to abandon all worries about the rightness of my choice to take the job. So, that job doesn't exist.

I am worried about so much. About this job not being good for me. About losing my freedom. The weighty hours of unemployment seems so far and all I keep thinking is, but, my freedom!, my total control of my time. Not that I exercised self control enough to make my period of unemployment (car alarm is going off again. no shit.) um, you know, what I wanted it to be. I mean, jeez to think of all the opportunities lost but well, now I am going to have an obligation to someone, something outside of myself. I mean, sure family and friends, don't you worry, I feel plenty of obligation to be someone I cant ever be to fill all your holes and voids. But I am talking about a forty hour a week obligation. This is pretty huge. Whats weird, is that my past two jobs, which have taken up more than a year and a half of my time, have been live and work positions. So, I am kind of like, wait a minute, you want me to work and live in separate spheres? And you want me to work 40 hours a week? hmm.

Well, its true that I am opposed to the forty hour work week. I think its too much. Not that I am suggesting that society restructure its self so I can flatten out my fat ass by sitting on the couch eating Doritos (ohh, Doritos, I was thinking about these last night. Really, what I was doing was imaging that I was talking to my future coworkers about my eating habits, and telling them that I am an everything eater, but then thinking phrases about not processed, the whole whole foods (the not copyrighted meaning of whole foods assholes) thing, but how I can still get down with some Doritos. but then, I had to be honest with myself, and admit that I haven't had Doritos in years and years. Like, when I think about eating Doritos, I think about being in high school. The uniform triangles, the heavy orange colored cheese flavored dusting that would cover your fingers. Or maybe it was the cool ranch variety (this brings me back to elementary school) with its red and green spice flakes covering each chip like little christmas presents for the tongue. Anyway, the point it that I was wrong, I had a wrong thought (alert the press!) and though its true that I can get down with some junk food, these days I prefer tortilla chips and chocolate over Doritos. Forgive me father, I have sinned.

Anyway, what I am suggesting is that 40 hours a week is too long to spend at a place, or engaging is something that is not connected to your daily survival, like eating, sleeping, etc etc. Sure, work may pay rent or buy food and I'm not suggesting that it shouldn't, but I have thought that its impossible to live the life I want and work forty hours a week for someone else in exchange for just money. Money cant buy consciousness. On the other hand, I haven't worked this kind of forty hour week before, all for one entity, the same schedule everyday. in and out. punch in, punch out. I just have to see it as an experience. Thats all it will ever be. Thats all it will ever be to me.