flight 2433 tampa , 7 boxes  -  (unfetched airbill number for Saturday, unfetched airbill number for Sunday)
sunday;
27686385 , 12:03 ETA call before leaving, indicate that you need it asap after midnight ; SWAC website tracking ; 


My recent thought explorations have been centered around the small identity crisis I've been
thrust into by an acquaintance of mine named Ben - the resources it has consumed are becoming
a problem for me, so I do hope to stumble upon topics that will feel more legitimate, fulfilling
to pour hours into. Defining a perspective and chiseling out a temple from the previously formless
marble is something I'm not averse to doing - in the moment, however there is little oportunity
for relief from the subject as it pertains to a complex, nearly unaddressable problem, so the
healthy thing would be to find a good temporary distraction. I currently am living in a state of
limbo - no hobbies to satiate my mind with apart from neophytic drumming and working on my
website. Sleeping accounts for a lot of the time I'm left with after work, and with an uncertain
living quarters situation afoot, it (the blockade, the crash) will persist until a resolution is
found, until a fresh beginning can be capitalized on. I'm frustrated by the landscape of change
happening and how it is displacing me; I wake up to the strong odors of either cigarette smoke or
a fusty plate of spaghetti being consumed 6 feet away. This is no doubt a correctible situation if
I were to sleep in a bedroom versus the couch, but my strictures in the department of habit and
allocatable space are sure to persist and prevent this change from happening. I don't mind it on its
own (the being awakened under unideal and occasionally disgruntling conditions), but when coupled
with the water leak in the bathroom, living room and bedroom I at one point stored nearly $10,000
of equipment in, forcing the dismantling of a hyperbaric creative environment in which thoughts could
be tabulated into drum sequences and fortuitous (or just annoying) random sample loops, it becomes a
chaotic situation. The timing couldn't be much worse with the philosopher coworker becoming
comfortable with criticizing my every action, the absurd side job getting out of hand with what I
wished was a straightforward runner job being stretched into a live fish/shrimp caretaker, and the
ever-present competitive atmosphere with Trey reconciling with Cameron and making some questionable
art. If the "housecat" issue were still ongoing (thankfully it has been resolved pleasantly), I
would have grounds to do something drastic; with just the three however I think I'm still within
tolerability. To elaborate on the "temple chiseling" metaphor, I do strive for a future in which
I'm unflappable owing to years of thorough disassembly of mentalities and conflicts and teaching
myself through honest legending the worthwhile values and cautions. I am not one to simply adopt
without understanding the routines of other people, which puts me on a track of willful subjectivity,
ignorance and embarking on a route with obstacles ahead; what worthwhile path doesn't contain
obstacles?
At the primary job, Ben has soured what used to be a feeling of uprightness, of justified purpose
and a feeling of relative security - I had made various discoveries which added resolution to a
conservative worldview prior to Ben coming along; realizing why employers are typically intolerant
of long hair, I make a consistent effort to eliminate any hair which falls out and contributes to
the dust and dirt specs on the shop's white counters. While this sounds quite instrinsic and not
something
which requires an epiphany to begin doing, it isn't something my eye was trained for initially.
Attempting to keep the work area clean for professional and sanitary reasons, you eventually take
note of your impact and evaluate what your choices are; to cut your hair and keep it trimmed to
eliminate the need for frequent plucking and palm sweeping, or to maintain the hairstyle and keep
up the mitigatory efforts. And it was the thought train basing itself in a business owner's
mindset where I developed an appreciation for Paul hiring me on, forgiving the aesthetics and
it evaporated any silly mutinous attitudes that would spring up when a vacuuming or dusting was
requested (Paul didn't mind expressing these things - the new owner is apparently less gracious in
his preference of silence and accumulating negative stats.) What I mean when I state my eye wasn't
trained to watch out for the hair shedding is that the storefront is the first place apart from my
dimly lit apartment where I was the only consistent presence; if you see hair on a school desk,
there's no guarantee its yours with the constant congregations and dispersions. So there was no
opportunity for my brain to deflect when I'd find a number of seven inch long brown hairs all over
the place; the condition of the shop was generally good respecting the lobby and visible regions
of the counters, but the carpet behind the counter (from the customer's perspective) and nooks
under/beside the key machine and cash register would become a bit unsightly. The carpet we had was
light gray and showed stain perimeters and paper scraps and, of course, dark hair quite well, and
as it was carpet, the only method of beautification was a questionable vacuum cleaner - when the
new ownership replaced the flooring with dark woodgrain similar to my former apartment, I thought
it was a great choice. About 8 months out, while the flooring is generally pleasing appearancewise
and sweeping is an easy affair, the efficiency of the tiling - which too was discarded - at the rear
of the space was superior for containing materials sometimes abraisive, heavy or both.

Being likened to retards and the reprehensible is not something that would sit well with most people,
so I don't feel hesitance in my climbing disgruntlement with Ben and peers of his mindset. The basis
for these comparisons is a list of innocuous and typical traits and perspectives; certainly not
warranting a grim prognosis or summary condemnation. When I talk to Ben and the course of the
conversation falls into an orbit of an action (not unbarring the door immediately upon arrival),
or collection of expressions of mine (sentiments substantiated by over three years of customer
service), I think about my role models and realize that my role models are people that would find
themselves being debased in a similar fashion, more than likely - Anthony Cumia, born 1961 has
contributed the details and debaucheries of his pre-1994 existence (which is when he stumbled into
a lucrative radio gig) and they paint a picture of someone not unlike myself in the way of disorganization;
work ethic was likely superior in him but for the most part, we'd probably share a lot on a venn diagram.
Unfortunately for me, as I've been conscious of for some time, my role models are/have been predominantly
musicians, which is a breed of human that has evolved in isolation from the elements of the corporate
and professional world as it applies to most. Selection of unfit platforms to emulate can short change
you of the organic ammendments to your individual; if you're too busy looking at an overhead plane,
chances are high that you'll either collide with a vehicle in front of you or, less dramatically,
miss your exit and need to drive longer, grow longer to reach a destination which should've been
straightforward.