September 26–October 31, 2005 — Cankers and medallions

Now that I’m worrying less about being fired for smoothie-related incompetence, I can concentrate on settling into working every day, forever. And learning to sleep in a loft bed, with the ceiling close enough to touch with my elbow when I turn halfway onto my side.

The latter is proving to be easier than the former. Except for the morning I woke up in a panic thinking I was late to meet my parents, I haven’t banged my head against the ceiling once. It’s a bit like sleeping inside a box not much larger than a coffin, but it’s really not so bad.

Not having days off is a bit harder. At first it didn’t feel too unusual: It was like a long and involved Doublenaut project, but with blended fruit two days out of seven. Even with long and involved projects, though, there used to be an ending to work towards. Sometimes I could even make the ending closer by working harder. I don’t have that option anymore.

I’ve been getting more migraines, though I didn’t think much of it at first. I’d curse no one in particular, lie down for a few hours and resume my day. They aren’t something I want to make routine, but dealing with them in a routine way does seem to help.

And routine is everywhere. I’ve found patterns in my days at the restaurant, putting the things I like to do (peeling kiwis, juicing pineapples) at the start, and those I don’t (cutting oranges, prepping almond butter) at the end. Each day breaks down into smaller pieces until each piece is only a few minutes long. Weeks go by as caravans of moments relevant only in allowing me the smallest of endings to work towards.

I’m starting to worry that this is how seasons begin to pass like weeks, that I’ll look back two years from now in wonder at all the time I’ve managed to waste doing little more than make drinks and Web sites for people willing to pay too much and not enough, respectively, for each.

And for a few minutes I’ll try to live in a given moment, cutting fruit or debugging online shopping carts, until I realize maybe this moment would be better used looking forward to its ending, to some milestone a few minutes in the future I can work towards. And eventually that next milestone is sleep, and with nothing to look forward to, I satisfy myself with the knowledge that there’s a pretty good chance I’ll wake up the next day and have the wits about me necessary not to give myself a concussion by sitting up too quickly.

Small victories.