The last week has been
work, almost non-stop. Contract work here,
nine-to-five there, it leaves very little time for anything else. I don't mind, really, I enjoy my work, but
it wears on the soul, after a while.
Things are going well at
CHUM, if you ignore the fact that my workload is going to
run me into the ground. I have about two thousand
graphics that have to be made by the end of the week, with another hundred-odd-thousand to be
queued after that. It's
monkey work, really, but there's a lot of it. It's not
design, there's no design in it when you have to pop a new one off every five minutes.
I enjoy the
working environment, though. The
people are great, the
offices are great, the
atmosphere is great. I couldn't ask for a better place to work, really. I just wish the work itself was something I could look forward to. I want to be working with the
web, and creating, not just
cutting and pasting and
cropping and
resizing for eight hours a day. Even if there's
free coffee.
I shouldn't complain, really. I have a job working with computers, and it's not horrible. It's not
tech support.
It could be worse.
...
Jes and I aren't having one of our better weeks.
I tell myself that anything worth having is worth working for. It's a fairly
apt quote, I do think.
Internalizing it is proving to be more difficult.
...
Christmas is nearing, as well. It looks like I'm not going to be getting paid before christmas, so it'll be a sad sad year for my friends. No money for
gifts, for anyone. Not for Jes, not for Jes'
family that have been putting up with me for the last half-year, not for my
little brother, not for my
mother.
Add that to the fact that I already feel like
hell for having taken so much from everyone with so little to give back, and you have
a very unhappy little boy.
Maybe not unhappy. That's not entirely accurate. I wish that I could do more, though, and that I had the means to
tangibly express my
gratitude and
affection for my
friends and family, this Christmas.