Wow I wonder if any one from work reads my blog?
I was thinking about this because it’s occurred to me that my job eats into my precious blog time. Rather than nourishing my imagination with ideas and people fodder, my job only impedes the proper maintenance and daytime electrification of Phoenixism.
Now granted, I think I depend on my job less than many people at work…
By “depend on” I refer to modern man’s common rut in which he buries himself beneath layers of accumulated helplessness with the shovel that is his job. The practice of building one’s life, structuring it, upon the shaky foundation that is one’s job in today’s precarious economic world. Modern consumerist man has built a very delicate and capricious house of cards upon a wobbly table.
Upset the table and your wonderful life is no more. The life you are used to. The life you have built.
In that respect, compared to my co-workers, my lifestyle, sparse and simple (other than all this damned electronic gizmodry), while hinging on my job, will not be radically upset if my job was pulled from under me.
As Janis Joplin said, freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose…
Still, who the hell wants to lose their job in today’s climate?
I’ve been unemployed and it is no fun.
No fun at all.
So you know, I work for a behemoth international conglomerate that is demonically protective of its brand and its image. For me to sit here and publicly write, in detail, about my employer and/or its employees would probably condemn me to regular visits to the local State unemployment office with its hordes of helpless and dumbfounded inhabitants as they come to terms with the new jobless paradigm gracing our beautiful post-banking crisis society.
There’s always an “ie” with me.
Because I rarely just directly say shit.
What’s the deal with that?
The reason I don’t touch my blog at work is because that would involve the work computer and the employee handbook clearly states “don’t even think of Phoenixising from your workstation, motherfucker!”
Literally, that’s what the handbook says.
I wonder about my blog and work. Do people read it? Anyone in the whole freaking place?
I don’t think so. No one has ever alluded to Phoenixism out of the blue.
It’s not like I’m standing in the bathroom pissing away and the VP of Sales walks in and shouts “Hey David, I loved your post about cussing!”
That would freak the shit out of me.
For all my bold bluster, I don’t know how I’d feel if people I sorta knew vaguely happened to read this blog.
My brother and my son occasionally glance at it. My parents don’t. My dad spends tons of time surfing news sites and other sites where he can play billiards or bowl, but I don’t think Phoenixism is exactly in his bookmarks. Still, I wouldn’t be bothered if my parents read this.
But, I would be freaked out if people I barely know, borderline acquaintances, did.
I’m odd and I can’t figure myself out.
Work is a strange environment for me. Because of everything I wrote right now.
It’s a different mentality than what I bring to the table.
I’ve never been a serious-minded person.
Which is not a trait that bodes well in the workplace or endears you to the upper levels.
Funny thing is, I believe I’m very capable and pretty sharp, but you just can’t make me give a flying fuck. Because more often than not, I’d rather have a good laugh.
I simultaneously indulge in random irreverancies while working hard and productively.
I balance myself out.
Hey so much for that post about “mediocrity” huh? Instead you got this pseudo resume.
The charm of Phoenixism is that there is absolutely no game plan.
I’m driving this sucker by the seat of my pants!