sparate from myself

I have come to a harsh conclusion. I am strung out too thin in my endeavors.

I have done the math. I am expected to: Practice 14 hours a week minimum, do 2 hours of homework per class per class hour, participate in 14 hours of class per week(28 hours of homework for those of you keeping the algebra alive in this entry(minus 8 hours for classes involving practice(then adding 14 hours a week(minimum) to that hourly load)) work 32 hours a week until midnight, and , in the off times, take care of my daughter. evaluate:14+14+2(14-2)+32+Td=...
...84 hours +Td a week of misc. work. divide that by 7 to get the expected work a day, and you get 12+1/7Td hours a day. factor in that weekends are more work than any other day and the fact that most of the sleep I receive is actually a nap before class, and also factor in that Td is anywhere between 2 and 8 hours a day, and the fact that Td varies by the amount of molar pain my daughter has, nights can add another 2 hours to the already existent 2 to eight. My expected workload therefore is anywhere between an uncomfortable 14 to 22 hours a day. not to mention the fact that I need wind down time in a day. another hour donated to the Gods of blogging and pixelated virtual interaction with an "AIent" being inside the PlayStation II. Also factor in the constant nurturing of a marriage. more like a houseplant then a romantic painting. you have to water a marriage, fertilize a marriage, and (for the love of god ladies) cross pollinate marriages in order for the plant to stay alive.

I am tired, as always. I have also come to the conclusion that, in fact, I have had more days without a shower than a man should without being locked in a plastic, air tight box. My week has sloshed together into one greasy streak and I'm starting to lose my focus on time and space. is it Monday? Wednesday? the forth of July? 2001? 2007?

As far as I can tell today is today and I have no idea how I got here. Time has caught up with me recently and I can't help but wonder if I'm so tired, what have I done to become so? I have a stack of notes in my own handwriting that i don't remember taking and a book of homework I do not remember doing.
I feel like jack from FIGHT CLUB. snap awake at LAX, Boston, JFK, Galatin field... While and alter ego seems to be setting up another life without my participation, letting me in on a few things about the organization but keeping me in the dark on the methods and sick practices employed to successfully overcome the world. but I digress...

I seem to digress a lot in my blog... oh well...

I seem to have a lot on my plate right now. And as my once stalwart visage succumbs to fatigue, I can't help but wonder what kind of person I am when I don't pay attention to it. I am apparently more studious in my sleep that in my waking hours. and if that part of me can break free, it will be like Tyler Durden all over again, only instead of scorching smileys on office buildings, I'm doing my homework for me, and keeping myself from cleanliness. I'm a dirty scholar when I am not paying attention I guess.

Well, I don't know what the kcuf is going on.

I've been working at my new job now for about 4 weeks... Well, I had a week where I had to attend and perform at a wedding... And 4 days without experience due to a slow day that I was supposed to work until volume and was sent home... And a few days that I had to tie up some loose ends at my previous job... And all in all, I have probably been working for a week and a half, but what the heck! Yea, I've been working there for four weeks.
In that time, I have learned that I have no idea what is going on... EVER! I work as hard I can for as long as I can and can't keep up. Joe, the proprietor of the establishment I make my occupation even observed motive to interject "Ryan! Have you learned anything in the past 4 weeks!" And to tell him the truth, I had learned about 1 and a half weeks worth of information which was more like a religious dogmatic tripe, point being that I have learned about 5 ways to prepare a house salad and all of them conflict with each other and the crappy training video I watched in the bar of the Outback Steakhouse 4 weeks ago.
I arrived at 3 on a Wednesday afternoon to work in order to open cold side, or the salad, fryer, and dessert stations for the whole night. I had never done it before and was given an ultimatum "Have it ready by four." To put it into perspective, it was like asking my baby daughter to report on her findings about the underside of the couch. As much as she sees the underside of the couch, she lacks the verbal skills to make such a report. I lacked the common sense of a restaurant to set up the stuff I was using. I wish I did; I would have not about had a nervous breakdown in a walk-in cooler after Joe informed me that it was 4:05 and he had to bail my ass out. The night before I had run out of... All salad making material. Upon my restock of the line, I had 20 minute salads... (A salad is late after 2 minutes) On top of that I was also having to make the fry stuff myself because the guy that should've been doing that was busy closing the stations. I didn't know how to make a lot of the stuff that they asked me to and when I asked about it, well, let's just say they are all vets of the arches and this makes them fry jockeys and jackasses to boot. It was like calling a San Fransisco condominium complex, I couldn't get a strait answer. (but a whole lot of gay ones.)

It's not all bad though, I actually got a compliment form Joe. He said that I did a good job today. John, one of the other managers, said that I was improving, and they did realize that I had worked a week and a half, not four as the books said. I am still working to be better. In the end, this chick Gracy told me that it would be impossible to learn all of this stuff in a week and a half and so long as I bust my ass she has no problem with me. She then said she wanted a beer and continued to grill steaks until the sun began to rise again.

Um...

Well, I've been a while posting and a long time coming. I think I have been to busy for this stuff recently but now I have a couple of seconds to spare before dinner. I currently received a raise at my crappy little retail chain job and it seems that everything is just peachy. 8.50 seems to be a reasonable wage for unloading a truck at 6 am, but sometimes I wonder just how much longer I can take this crap. Some people make their first million by the time they are 23 and I simply don't make ends meet daily. It's just nice to know that I am a 23 year old loser with a wife and kid living at my parents place and that some other chode is out there on a yacht sucking jello shots out of their paid for escort girlfriend's naval. He will never know sacrifice just because his dad knew a guy who knew a guy who killed this other guy to give this guy's guy's kid a job in some place that pays him a salary to babysit pencil sharpeners and spreadsheets for 4 hours a day.

I'm tired. Let me rephrase that. I am a male and therefore immune to the rigors of childbirth, labor, and pregnancy and so I am, but have no right to be, tired. I don't know what it is about a guy who wants a nap that drives women to disregard any anguish that any man endures. Let me be frank! I am not a sexist by any means, but please realize that men have to work for a living. The next time any woman wants to whine at me because I have a higher wage in the workplace, she should first realize that I work in retail, so every grunt is treated equal with wages in the tower of retail. Second, when was the last time that any of you whiners moved over 100 pounds of brick for some dumb chick who thinks she needs 20 bricks to frame a bunch of flowers that her husband works so hard keep alive. Let's not forget that the men are the babies of you women that when a megalomaniac president can find just cause to send to a sandy crap hole covered with oil, they could be forced to pick up a gun and a tee shirt with a bulls eye and go kill some charlie or towel heads, or whoever we deem is the damned threat to the world. Women don't register with SS on their eighteenth birthday. You scream for equality when all you really want is the perks with none of the side effects. Many of you are no better than slave owners 400 years ago, who wanted plantations but no toil in the field. Take it or leave it that is just my opinion of convenience feminists. But I digress.

I am tired, but I am disallowed to rest. The guilt pushed on myself is too much to let myself stop, and at the same time too tired to be an effective worker, father or husband. So, what to do... rest? Seems easy enough. But I have to be the one to stand strong, to be emotionless and a steady rock in which the world anchors itself. In the words of Jack "I'm the warm center that the world gravitates to. I am Zen" Zen is work. Zen is turbulent. Zen is not Zen. Now what? I shall remain stoic.