Dedication. That’s a tricky word. I mean, on the surface it sounds all well and good. Easy, even. But is it really? I can’t even remember the last time I wrote something for this blog, all I know is that it was at work and I rambled too much which I proceeded to be angry at myself about. So is that why I stopped writing? No, I really don’t think it is. I think it’s because I started marathoning The X-Files, playing World of Warcraft, working out, and developing an affinity for white wine. I’ve only really continued to do the fourth. I grew sick of the X-Files, I had a ton of fun with Warcraft but for some reason didn’t find it fun anymore, and I realized that I’ve been driving around the state a lot and that working out after sitting in a car for two hours kinda sucks. The latter two there are both things I still try to do, but lately I’ve found that my motivation and dedication have hit an absolute all-time low. In case you’ve never realized something like that – it sucks. I dealt with the same shit this past spring when I was diagnosed with depression. Hopefully this is just because I’ve been working and doing more lately, and I’m just fried when I get home, but to a certain extent I’m not that confident in myself. I have a problem with dedication.
I’m at work right now. That means sitting in a moderate-sized office, surrounded by computers, waiting for lovely, caring, genuine, patient callers with honest problems, plenty of time, a desire to learn, and a cheerful attitude. I wait for them. They don’t usually call, but the people who do are generally bearable or their problems are simple enough that I can solve them as soon as possible with no time to chit-chat. (Disclaimer – the aforementioned is for light comedic effect and introduction to my post. I love my job dearly and value everyone who calls. Please, if someone from my work reads this, don’t fire me.) But then, of course, when I think about what it’s like to be on the receiving end of an IT support line, I inevitably think about what it’s like to be some poor individual who has reached a point in their life when they need to either man up and call someone else for help or live with not having access to University services for the rest of their fleeting time on This Green Earth. I don’t know about you, but I have never once reached this point. Generally, if what I am experiencing isn’t something I can’t fix with my own (staggering, I might say) ingenuity and a solid internet connection, it’s not a task which *insert holy Being here* has deemed me worthy of solving or completing. I feel like most, if not all, of my coworkers are the same way. Perhaps, even, most phone support technicians the world over are like this – people who answer phones to solve problems, and people who call other people on phones because they have problems.
Good lord. Good fucking lord. What am I doing? What the fuck am I doing? I’m not a writer. God damn it. Well, here I am, so I might as well give it a shot. I’ve always wanted to write, I’ve just never actually done it. Seriously, I mean. Seriously outside school, I mean. I write for school all the time. Of course, majoring in English, I suppose that’s to be expected. This post is going horribly, isn’t it? That’s right, you can nod your head or say “Jesus, Grady, what are you doing?” or just say “You’re a horrible writer”. You can stop reading right now. In fact, you can click the back button right here at this asterisk -> *