Many of you may have been expecting me to blog about how awful St. Petersburg is and how it is just not good enough. How the Hermitage and her candy blue-green paint can't seem little more than pukey, forest green in my eyes. How Russia's second city is filled with an overabundance of aggressive females who can't find a man and wreak havoc as sluttish drunks with hepatitis C infected bodies of the most horrid of succubi . How such common piquancy of "the wonderful, breathtaking historical sites" (said like the most stereotypical British introvert from a mid-sized city, unable to behave assertively abroad or like the most sheltered, American Jesus family from the heartland of the country. Naturally.) just can't manage to stimulate my touristic, intellectual, or otherwise INTERESTED g-spot. Sick point made there, but the hating of the Kultural Kapital will wait for another day ... well, actually, I feel the urge to hate on it every day, but that simply boils down to my obsessiveness. An even sicker thing for which this blog has little space.
No. This post is different. It's about how I've basically become adult-like. How going for any period of not doing my occupation, be that a student, worker or whatever else, makes me feel utterly useless. Such was not true when I was sixteen or seventeen when I could lie on the couch and continue to play video games. My only real fear was the chagrin of my parents, although I much more likely received permissive encouragement from my grandparents. I was not usually made to feel guilty or half as bad for not doing something less productive. If I was, I could get over it. I could have a beer or two with friends and complain about how the higher-ups done us wrong!
But now that I am approaching thirty (disbelief, single tear), I am beginning to stop feeling that way. While it's always been important, work has now become so much more vital for me. Taking vacation time is at least twice as calculating an effort. Realizing how much you could be out of pocket for taking even a three day trip generates even more unnecessary fear. Why go on a trip in the first place if planning for it wrecks your nerves??
You get more set in your ways. Things begin to seem harder than they were before. While saying that they are Kafkaesque is not quite right, they just get to be a pain in the derriere. Thus, the planning for a vacation becomes too much and you realize that it's better for your mental health to just stay where you are. Of course, you end up needing time off for seeing new things, yadda, yadda, yadda. But it just becomes ever the more onerous when you part with your routine. I mean think of Yelena X. Even if she only serves hotdogs, that pre-babushka at least derives some comfort in serving the umpteenth thing of questionable meat day in and day out. No surprises (those would happen in the toilet of an unfortunate customer ... ). No readjusting. No attempts at begrudging sympathy/empathy of someone of a different culture or background, who will always remain a sh!t-eater. Period. No, Yelena X serves those hotdogs because it's what she knows and because it's her safety.
In short, I guess my main point is that skipping out on your duties just gets harder when you it hits you that you're an adult. It doesn't get harder so much for people around you as it does for yourself. Whether that's some vaguely related separation anxiety about leaving your routine or simply fear that gets collected with age, the result is the same. Changing and readjusting is just harder.
And that's my rant. Happy Autumnal times, everyone.
 |
| So there's a book now?! Please tell me it's just business ploy to attract people who don't read ... but would upon seeing this. |
No. This post is different. It's about how I've basically become adult-like. How going for any period of not doing my occupation, be that a student, worker or whatever else, makes me feel utterly useless. Such was not true when I was sixteen or seventeen when I could lie on the couch and continue to play video games. My only real fear was the chagrin of my parents, although I much more likely received permissive encouragement from my grandparents. I was not usually made to feel guilty or half as bad for not doing something less productive. If I was, I could get over it. I could have a beer or two with friends and complain about how the higher-ups done us wrong!
But now that I am approaching thirty (disbelief, single tear), I am beginning to stop feeling that way. While it's always been important, work has now become so much more vital for me. Taking vacation time is at least twice as calculating an effort. Realizing how much you could be out of pocket for taking even a three day trip generates even more unnecessary fear. Why go on a trip in the first place if planning for it wrecks your nerves??
You get more set in your ways. Things begin to seem harder than they were before. While saying that they are Kafkaesque is not quite right, they just get to be a pain in the derriere. Thus, the planning for a vacation becomes too much and you realize that it's better for your mental health to just stay where you are. Of course, you end up needing time off for seeing new things, yadda, yadda, yadda. But it just becomes ever the more onerous when you part with your routine. I mean think of Yelena X. Even if she only serves hotdogs, that pre-babushka at least derives some comfort in serving the umpteenth thing of questionable meat day in and day out. No surprises (those would happen in the toilet of an unfortunate customer ... ). No readjusting. No attempts at begrudging sympathy/empathy of someone of a different culture or background, who will always remain a sh!t-eater. Period. No, Yelena X serves those hotdogs because it's what she knows and because it's her safety.
In short, I guess my main point is that skipping out on your duties just gets harder when you it hits you that you're an adult. It doesn't get harder so much for people around you as it does for yourself. Whether that's some vaguely related separation anxiety about leaving your routine or simply fear that gets collected with age, the result is the same. Changing and readjusting is just harder.
And that's my rant. Happy Autumnal times, everyone.
