It's making me sad how little I've been writing. There are these huge gaps between posts. I love writing, too, which is what makes it so depressing. It's like not peeing for a few days. Ok, ok -- it's not that serious...

In the last post I mentioned that (and I quote) "[t]wo of my sisters are still in high school, and at times I almost wish I could be back there" (Kyle Stewart, The Business of Being An Adult, May 5, 2005). Well, I take that back. After work this morning (night shifts, y'know) I went looking for a McDonald's -- because I had a craving for a Sausage & Egg McMuffin -- and ended up driving down through this long stretch of street with a bajillion high schools and elementary schools on it. To my joy, it was right when all the parents & buses were dropping off kids, so I had opportunity to sit and contemplate and reflect on the Business of Being A Teenager. And to my aforementioned statement I say this: a gang of rabid space monkeys couldn't get me to go back to high school.

Alright, high school really wasn't that bad. I don't have any horror stories or anything. I had great friends, and had some good times. But high school sucks. There's just no two ways about it. "I bite my thumb at you!" That's what I say.

I guess I've been dealing with the "Grass Is Always Greener" syndrome. Every time I move, or go through some big life change, I have to deal with it. Unfortunately, there's no real medicine to treat it save to just keep doing what yer doin'. I also like to force myself to remember all the hellish memories. That way I'm not kidding myself into thinking "then" was paradise and "now" is an abyss.

In fact, work is going quite well. While I was working last night I was creating a rating system in my head to help me chart the goodness-level of all the jobs I've had. I don't have time to reproduce that at the moment, but tomorrow I will (oh, sweet weekends). But basically, I rate all my jobs on five categories, on a scale from 0 to 5 (0 being worst, 5 the best), and then add the scores together, and compare. The perfect job would hit 25, the worst, well, 0. Tomorrow I shall put it to paper -- it shall be a day of reflection, introspection, contemplation, etcetera etcetera. It has henceforth been decreed.