An Existential Weekend

Got through the first couple of days at the library temp job, despite suffering insomnia again. It's your standard library gig, with the usual cast of characters amongst the staff (though thankfully everyone seems to get along well) and the patrons. The system is behind on a number of improvements, even quite behind the system I left in Austin, which had really suffered through some lean times.

I do feel like I've done this job before and that I didn't need to move across the country to do it again, but at least I'm getting my finances and professional life back on track, which is something, I suppose. There are also a couple of jobs within the system that I'd be interested in doing permanently that are in intriguing areas of town. Not sure what my chances are, but in the event that no permanent jobs have come through by December and nothing else is keeping me here, I will start making plans to move back to Austin. I just don't have the fight left in me, although it is my roommate's belief that I "haven't tried hard enough."

I'm also debating closing out the blog. It was started in a spirit of movement and change, and now that I'm back in maintenance mode, it may not have much of a point.

I'd like to catch 11th Hour this weekend, you know, just to cheer myself up. I also came across these appealing weekend activities in the August 17th LA Weekly:

Eastern Philosophy Book Group/ Santa Monica Public Library
You're tired, you work too much, you don't know where your life is going or why you're here. Try a little Eastern philosophy.

And--

From the Just-Trust-Us-and-Go Department: When lady comics Karen Kilgariff and Laura Milligan do anything together, you know it’s going to be clever and funny as all get-out (whatever the hell that means). These two always go the extra creative mile, and for The L.A. River Anthology, the pair is joined by Ed Crasnick, Jen Kirkman, Frank Conniff, Eddie Pepitone and others for a spoof of The Spoon River Anthology with a show-biz bent themed “Our Dreams Are Just Dead on the Inside.” You’re practically guaranteed up to eight laughs a minute, followed by a desire to kill yourself.