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Finished a big grant application Friday.  Worked Saturday.  Took off yesterday.  Back to work today, and I feel like I should be stressed out about something.

Back on my bike, too, after six days off, taking transit and walking.  Knee was bothering me, and it didn’t go away after a lot of time off the bike, reinforcing my belief that it’s more from sitting than cycling.  It’s not really a sharp pain, and I think I’m making it worse by holding my leg funny.

It’s very very cold, and I’m looking forward to cycling at any rate.  My ride into work is almost entirely downhill, so I don’t think I can really hurt my knee any more (?).

This list is over.


I’m not used to getting up in the morning without having to spend hours job-hunting. I still wake up with that sour taste in my mouth, soon so be replaced with the taste of a purpose and a nice bike ride every morning to get there.  And lots of coffee.

So, my job.  I can’t say too much because I’m excessively paranoid and would prefer that anyone I know at “work” not find this here blog.  Let’s just say that I am going to be spending a year in the “domestic Peace Corps” that is VISTA.  I am assigned to a local university/college, where it’s like I’m an employee while I’m really a government employee.  Makes a lot of sense, huh?

I am going to be working with community groups and local schools to pool resources and foster a sort of service relationship between the two.  You know, schools often float in their surroundings.  I know this from the famous “Goucher Bubble” we used to live in, prior to it’s…bursting.  There’s a lot of work there to be done.  While my relationship with academic philosophy is likely over for good, my relationship with higher education might not be.  I don’t think it’s useless, not at all.  [Not that I think academic philosophy is useless.  I think I got a hell of a lot out of it.]

So I get a nice 4.something ride every morning, and another on the way home, which can be dallied on by taking a few laps around Druid Hill.  The pay is terrible, but Mrs. P. says we can afford it, and she knows.  I don’t.  I don’t know anything about money.  I just try not to waste it.

It’s a good deal.

I am going to Philly next month for  week of training, which is weird.  I don’t like time away from my other half, and I’m very shy about meeting new people.  But I think it will be productive, maybe even fun.  And I get to spend a week in downtown Philly.  Poor me.

The week before that, we are going to do a little travelling.  Hit New York, likely Washington.  Going to a sweet 90s concert in Baltimore.  Gonna be a nice summer.

I suppose I should edit that dissertation draft I wrote nearly a year ago and send that puppy in.  You know, finish my doctorate and all that.

And dude, I get business cards!

Gonna kick em.

I declare to myself today: The next person to make fun of me for not having a job or to make a remark about my long education. Yes. This person.

I am kicking them in the junk.

Why is it Okay to make fun of me for not having a job just because the Mrs. has one, and the bills get paid? What? Oh? It’s not. Yeah. It’s rude at best. Mean on average. It’s not as if I like not having a job.

And the education: making fun of. “All that education and…” Can you mask your jealousy and/or insecurity a little thinner? Yes, I went to a lot of school. Yes, I have a lot of non-practical knowledge. Yes, I read a lot. Yes, I think about things a lot. You know, this might be more of a good thing than a bad thing. I would be a jerk to make fun of people who didn’t go to college. But I don’t have a chip on my shoulder wherein I have negative thoughts about people without stupid letters behind their names. So I would have to fake it to make it up. Maybe I have anti-higher-ed tendencies at times*, but those come from experience, not insecurity and/or jealousy.

Of course, there’s the defense when someone calls me “college boy” that they are just kidding. Joking. That I’m too sensitive and can’t take a joke. Like insensitive people’s required standard of sensitivity means anything to me.

Well, fine. My kick in your crotch is a joke, too. Don’t be so fucking sensitive.

[* I am told.]