First things first...

When it comes to doing things, I am generally a fairly decent go-getter.  I like to work, and am of the habit of being the most fastidious employee that people have ever seen.  Were it not for the fact that I look like an Aryan poster child, Communist China would likely have held a parade of sorts as a testament to my punctiliousness and diligence as the most amazingly fantastic worker of all time. 

Regardless of how banal or odd the job (let it be known that I've had my share of the banal and odd jobs - more on that later), being productive on the job allows me to win at life.  Productivity at work equals me being more sociable, friendlier, cleaner, sexier, exercising, eating healthier, utilizing valuable free time to do constructive things, and generally becoming and feeling awesome.  

Productivity, to me, means having something to do for the hours which you are at work - a task, a goal, something that has to be achieved between the hours of X and Y.  That's the point of work, right? However, I've lately been working a series of increasingly unproductive temp jobs while trying to gain gainful employment in my future career and it's been terrible.  This past week I was to work 20 hours. I was there for 11, mostly, looking for something to do to fill my time.  Last week I spent the majority of my hours staring at a wall, no joke.  I was paid $15/hr to do absolutely nothing.  NOTHING?! When I do nothing, I become the nothing.

Not in the above sense wherein I become a whispery wolf who tries to devour shirtless "Indian" boys that just lost their beloved horse Artax, but in the sense that I literally... cannot... do... anything. When one cannot do anything, everything is a chore.

The problem may lie in the fact that I am temping.  It seems to me that most temps are milking their hours sitting around on their butts waiting for a paycheck.  I am not most temp workers, my delicate tuckus cannot be idle.  My body does not want for such extensive sitting.  I am a giantess with a bony ass, a free-floating broken tailbone, and most office chairs are too short for me so my knees get all crampy from too-acute angles.  Sitting sucks.  

Doing nothing, being nothing, turns my brain into the friend egg from the Just Say No To Drugs PSAs of the 80s.  I can't stand for that, so I started a blog.  This may allow my brain transform into an omelette, or a fancy frittata.   We'll just see how it goes.