9.52 on a tuesday morning

still working the graveyard shift at the factory, as most of you know. i've heard rumors that this week holds the tenuous promise of reviews, which hold an even stringier promise of a raise for some of us. really looking forward to good news on the raise front. it would be a real shame to be overlooked for my performance over the last year, in which i have consistently performed the tasks usually set forth for two separate worker-entities. would be a real shame... if that building were to go up in flames..

kidding. i don't even own matches anymore.

in other news, if you haven't noticed, any and all updates regardin

g my creative writing attempts/progress have ceased, and for some time now. the work schedule is taking a toll both physically and mentally, and i don't have the particular drive lately to work on any personal creative projects. which is a shame (that word seems to be popping up a lot in this post), because i do daydream up all sorts of stuff at work while i watch the labels wizz past at speeds topping 400 fpm. once i'm home, however, all drive to actually put any of it to down, aside from some light scribbling on scrap paper, goes away. here, on the desk next to me, sits a pile of napkins, receipts, and assorted other torn or wrinkled pages, containing 100 beginnings of 100 great american novels. someday, someday soon, the writer inside will wake up and hopefully put pen to paper proper (finger/keyboard, whatever).

i could blame it all on lack of sleep, which there is no lack of (no lack of lack of sleep, not no lack of sleep. follow?), but i feel that there may be more to it that that. lack of sleep, sure, but also lack of interaction with others. lack of family time. lack of scotch? serious. i get home from work, and once the kids are off to school, i just want to go to bed and disappear until work starts again, so i can get through the week as quick as possible, make it to that wonderful, dreamlike period of time called "the weekend", in which i barely sleep at all, spending time with the family during the day, and staying up all night to keep the weekly schedule.. um.. scheduled. there is barely any drive to put on pants most of the time, let alone sit myself down for an hour or two a day to work on something.

i know what you're thinking. excuses, excuses. and you're right. they are excuses. i've got more of them, too, involving everything from diet, to car trouble, to 3 teenagers in the house, to showing all of the telltale signs of depression. all of these are excuses i could throw out as to why i haven't been writing. i'm going to stick with the work schedule for now, though, until it gets old.

i am, secretly, inside, hoping that i don't get that raise, so i can start looking for another job. during the day. or the

evening. anything but overnight. i want to sleep in the same bed as my wife at the same time, have dinner with my kids, and enjoy a scotch in the evening. because a quick beer at 7.30am is nothing like a nice Glenmorangie after dark.

that last passage was a secret wish, like i said, until now. because now i've said it, and you all read it.

so, as far as the job goes, i'll keep you posted. and as far as the writing goes, i'll keep you posted.

up until very recently, other things were brewing over here. i began a little project on the weekends involving a bunch of old home movies, a newly purchased vcr, and a fresh youtube account. by clicking here, you can fast-travel to Clifton Park Home Videos, a (small) collection of newly-transferred videos from my high school days in New York, and then in Indianapolis. only a few so far, but i've lots of tapes to sift through, so more to come.

enough for now. tune in next time to hear about what i've been reading, my never-ending dream to run my own comic book store, my love of cheese, and what it's like to run a family of six (plus two cats, one awesome* and one not-so-much**), on a pressman and a saleswoman's salaries (the saleswoman would be my wife, not me).

*the awesome cat noted above. his name is jeph.

**the other, not-so-awesome cat, not worth picturing.