Many of you have known me long enough to know what I think of Karl Marx. While I'm not as much of a proponant of his ideas as I once was, I have definitely become a member of the proletariat: the workers party. I own nothing but my labor, some climbing gear, $3000 worth of music gear, and a beat-up pickup truck. The only way to continue living as I do is to sell the labor that I have. So I mop floors, wash windows, sweeps, scrape gum from the floors and duct tape from the walls. At least I get to listen to sermons while I do it.
It does, however, feel FANTASTIC to be working again. It will take awhile to figure out how much food I have to eat to fuel my lifestyle, because a few cups of pork stirfry, an apple, pop tarts, and maybe a sandwich for dinner just aren't cutting 8 hours of work in additon to afternoons spent climbing. I'm chillin' out today, but I am trying to keep busy.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
GRADUATION!?
So just the other day, I was a student at Clark College, sitting through the wrong English 101 class on my first day as a college kid. As I apologized profusely I stumbled out of class, probably tripping over everyone's bags on my exit from Hannah Hall 103, as I asked myself what I was going to do now. Luckily I found the appropriate classroom, which I discovered as Larry Blakely told me that I had found a chemistry classroom. The look on my face must have been classic, because everyone laughed at me as Mr. Blakely let me feel awkward for a second before telling me I was in the right place. I found my seat and sunk into my chair. So this is college, I thought.
The next day, I threw my few possessions into my Ridgeway Gamma 921, my dorm room at Western Washington University. As I attempted to get acquainted with my new roommate, I hoped not everyone felt nearly as awkwawrd as I did. I was a sophomore surrounded by freshman, a history major surrounded by art majors, a musician surrounded by graphic designers. All of a sudden, I was a "good" Christian guy stuck in a sea of people talking about sex, drugs, and alcohol, and grew immune to the huge pile of Busch and PBR cans that appeared in the recycle bin on Sunday morning as I deposited the bottles left over from my weekly ration of Henry Weinhardt's Root Beer. As I walked onto north campus for the first time, not knowing a soul, trying to find Old Main 480 at 8 AM on a Tuesday morning, coffee in hand I looked around and tried to envision what I was getting myself into. So this is university, I thought.
365 days later, I started my job as a resident advisor in addition to, as Residents Life will tell you (falsely,) being a "student first." Fresh off a summer spent rafting in Idaho, a was thrust back into an environment similar to that of my first day. Unable to handle the stress of the job, I quickly discovered it wasn't for me, resigned, and relocated to an apartment on the southern edge of campus. I had given up my security in housing during a time that jobs were near impossible to find, and baerly being able to scrape up rent for the next month became the norm. After my first meeting with my new landlord, I walked back to my room with less money than I had coming out. Junk, so this is life, I thought.
I just finished my application to graduate in fall 2009. Hitting "print" was like a punch in the sternum. I'm almost done. Out on my own. Kind of.
I wonder what'll happen "tomorrow." I'm sure it'll be entertaining.
The next day, I threw my few possessions into my Ridgeway Gamma 921, my dorm room at Western Washington University. As I attempted to get acquainted with my new roommate, I hoped not everyone felt nearly as awkwawrd as I did. I was a sophomore surrounded by freshman, a history major surrounded by art majors, a musician surrounded by graphic designers. All of a sudden, I was a "good" Christian guy stuck in a sea of people talking about sex, drugs, and alcohol, and grew immune to the huge pile of Busch and PBR cans that appeared in the recycle bin on Sunday morning as I deposited the bottles left over from my weekly ration of Henry Weinhardt's Root Beer. As I walked onto north campus for the first time, not knowing a soul, trying to find Old Main 480 at 8 AM on a Tuesday morning, coffee in hand I looked around and tried to envision what I was getting myself into. So this is university, I thought.
365 days later, I started my job as a resident advisor in addition to, as Residents Life will tell you (falsely,) being a "student first." Fresh off a summer spent rafting in Idaho, a was thrust back into an environment similar to that of my first day. Unable to handle the stress of the job, I quickly discovered it wasn't for me, resigned, and relocated to an apartment on the southern edge of campus. I had given up my security in housing during a time that jobs were near impossible to find, and baerly being able to scrape up rent for the next month became the norm. After my first meeting with my new landlord, I walked back to my room with less money than I had coming out. Junk, so this is life, I thought.
I just finished my application to graduate in fall 2009. Hitting "print" was like a punch in the sternum. I'm almost done. Out on my own. Kind of.
I wonder what'll happen "tomorrow." I'm sure it'll be entertaining.
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