Life, continued

Time for me to fly!
Oh, I've got to set myself free
Time for me to fly!
And thats just how it's got to be
I know it hurts to say goodbye
But it's time for me to fly. (REO Speedwagon, "Time For Me to Fly")


So life has continued recently, although I've been neglecting both this and my "real" journal. I'm sure future me will be angry at my current negligence, but the joke is on him -- the present is fluid, and as such present-me can't be touched.

I finished the spring semester with a 4.0, which is damned impressive given my performance in Marriage/Family, where we were routinely tested on information not covered in lectures -- our only source for information. I figured I'd do well to finish with an 86 in that class, but I took advantage of every extra credit opportunity I could. It apparently worked, as I got an A. I don't know how high, and don't especially care. It's a friggin' A. (Pun unintended.) After returning to Selma in triumph, I spent May doing nothing but looking for work, reading, and playing computer games. After a couple of weeks my life in Montevallo seemed as if but a dream. Was it only a few months ago that I lived in perpetual bliss? That is not a romanticized view of my life in Montevallo: I constantly wrote in my real journal about how damn pleasant life was there. It was amazing. I woke up, and I was happy to be there. Here...well. I'd say Selma isn't that bad, but I'm tired of it. So many tired, bad memories. But here I am, and I'm determined to make the best of it.

A few days ago, I called one of the staffing agencies in town as soon as I woke up, and lo! They had a job for me. They said it was only for four weeks, which caused me some worry. I might be able to find a job for June, July, and most of August -- but it might be a bit more difficult to find a job for just July and most of August. I figure, though, if four weeks from now arrives and I still have no job, I'm going to be kicking myself. So I took the job. It's at a factory that distributes various kinds of oily crap -- lighter fluid, lubricant for cars, windshield wiper fluid, transmission fluid, that sort of thing. My job is to dump boxes of empty jugs onto a line, where they are subsequently filled and re-boxed. On my first day there, I was given a pair of safety goggles and a back-support belt and told that I would have to turn them in at the end of every day. Damn! There went my plans to make off with them. Safety goggles would have SO caught on in Montevallo as a fashion statement.

The first day was absolutely exhausting, but things have gotten better. I know how to take advantage of lulls in production now (read: sitting down when there's no work), and I'm getting plenty of sleep. It's an unpleasant way to spend 40 hours a week, but I don't really have a choice. As Isaac Asimov said, "Miracles don't happen. Sweat happens". I can't expect the gods* to grant me a financial miracle to pay for college, so I have to work for it. Considering that I dislike getting dirty, factory work is definitely not what appeals to me. I'm not one of those people who has to work to feel good about themselves: the only reason I'm working there is for money, as distasteful as I find the premise. I'm doing so that I can go to university, enjoy life to its fullest again, and then start working in a library, where I'm working for something I BELIEVE in. This base "working for money" thing won't last too much longer.

To end on a somewhat amusing note. The people in management are all "white" and the peons all "black" -- with the exception of myself. The managers (who ride around in golf carts frowning at us) work from an office that is labeled "Overseers' Office". This carries an unfortunate connotation to a history major -- even more so considering that this place used to be a cotton mill.