Wonder Why In LA.

So, apparently for me, trying to write more means not writing at all. You could call it writer's block, or feeling like anyone who reads this doesn't really care, but then again, if you're here, you at least give a half a shit. I had a discussion about having all this information flowing through my head and then, when trying to write something, the inability to get anything out occurs. I know it comes from being "trained" as a journalist, wherein everything you write will either be seen and/or read by someone. It's a kind of self-editing that makes a single paragraph take an hour to write. With the instantaneous-ness of writing on a computer, ideas can be deleted in a single keystroke by a feeling of doubt or fear or anxiety or even carelessness. One way to counteract this is physically writing in a notebook, you know, with paper and a pen/pencil (seriously, do they still make those?). So that's what I've started doing. So, I've come here to write that I've been writing. So, writing more means not writing but really writing more?

UPDATE:
I've moved up in my current position at the job; more hours, more responsibility and more work. Still, it's at a point where I'm on top of a pile shit. I may be on top of that pile of shit, though I'm still just really on a pile of shit, but I'm at least happier.

Wonder Why In LA

Leaks.

I woke up this morning completely congested in one nostril and not at all in the other. My cat threw up sometime last night; it was viscous. My car is dripping power steering fluid. It seems to be coming from the wheel/axle. The front of my car scrapped against one of those cement parking block things in a parking lot. The same thing happened last Thursday, in the same place, with the same result, though it seemed to stop by Friday morning. I saw water flowing from underneath the refrigerator a little bit after I got home from work today. I watered the plants and the one on top of the refrigerator was still holding a lot of water and overflowed. And I think brain matter is coming out of my ear after a six hour, non-stop shift at work.


Volvo In G

I'm Rolling Up The Corporate Ramp.

I spent this entire last week training. Training to do something I already knew how to do. Sure, I was rusty for about an hour, but it all came back to me. 1 weight tare #PLU 4011, 4048, 4050, 4498, 4499; if any of this makes sense to you, then you know what's up. Day one consisted of six hours in the basement of a grocery store. Did you know grocery stores had basements? Neither did I. Instead of paying attention or reviewing things I didn't really care to re-learn, I listened to the music being piped into the tiny room. It was surprisingly depressing. Some key tracks:

"I'm On Fire" - Bruce Springsteen
"West End Girls" - Pet Shop Boys
"All I Want Is You" - U2    *especially depressing, oh my GOD.
"With Or Without You" - U2
"Always Something There To Remind Me" - Naked Eyes
"What Can't Be Erased" - Grandaddy    *they did not play this, but it would've been apropos.

It all culminated today in the (finally) dealing with customers. I must admit, I'm not very familiar with the North Shore outside of Evanston and a lot of John Hughes movies, and even then it's a pretty iffy. I got to deal with Wilmette folks today. I really want to post a clip from Wayne's World 2 wherein Bob Odenkirk and Robert Smigel play these two nerdy fans, one from Cicero, and one from Wilmette. Mostly because it cracks me up. Anyway, the people of Wilmette seem to be a bit tamer than the load of jag-bags I've dealt with in Evanston. Maybe it's because there are fewer college students. Nothing destroys what little ego I might have more than bagging groceries for rich Northwestern University students. Evanston is just a younger, richer, hipper Naperville, and that makes me sick. Not only have I gone back 10 years job wise, I've also relocated. I am in my own personal hell. I have to go lay down now.

Introduction

My name is James, I'm 27 years old and I work at a grocery store.

I graduated in 2007 with a degree in journalism. I have used this degree approximately once, as a freelance writer, before the entire freelance department was axed. After that, I spent most of my time as the assistant manager of a gas station/convenience store in DeKalb, Illinois. Following the dissolution of a four year long mistake of a relationship, I found myself, by myself, with few friends and nothing keeping me where I was. Nights of crippling loneliness, old vinyl records, cigarettes and vodka tonics were starting to wreak their havoc. I took an offer to move to Chicago and re-kick-start my 'career' in writing. 

After a few months in the city, I'm now a 'grocery clerk' (read: bag boy) at a grocery store in Evanston, Illinois. These are my words, like them or loathe them.