“Nice” seems to come cheap these days. When people bore me or rub me the wrong way and I speak my mind, it seems to be the new thing to prove me wrong. “Why man? He’s nice. He really is nice. I thought he was rather nice. Trust me, he’s a really nice person. Moo bleat nice NICE NICE”. I’m so sick and tired of nice! Could there be anything more boring to be? People are born nice, they’re supposed to develop some fucking character along the way. When they fail, “nice” is all there is left and I’m seriously reaching that point where I would just like to pick a fight (and lose it if necessary) just so I could pound all that niceness into a fucking pulp.
Sweet people give me cavities. When you take all there is to a person, it’s the last thing there is left. Everyone does good once in a freaking while, “nice” people do it with such self-promotion that for some sick reason, the whole fucking world appears to deem them worthy for heaven. I’ll gladly send them on their way.
Child rapists are nice to your face. Murderers will smile. It doesn’t make them good people. It makes them nice, which clearly doesn’t stand for a whole damn lot.
What the fuck happened to reliability? Strength? Insight? All traits vividly present in the people I admire most. I must have missed the meeting where those were judged irrelevant to a good character and replaced by a whole heap of steaming NICE. Note to self: suggest “mediocre” as a better fitting term next session.
YOU BORING LOT. Never be nice. Avoid falling in that category, at all cost. Be kind, be helpful. Supportive, generous, optimistic, charming if you must. But have some fucking dignity. Have some character! Principles! Be an asshole from time to time, show some fucking spine! This god damn flood of grey faces of late is pulling my nails out.
I miss my job. Five and a half years of waking up not knowing what will happen at work, or if everyone will go home unscathed, is more than long enough to get used to it. Now that I’m tossed into this nine-to-five routine (longing for the weekend, even), I stay up all night because I just don’t know what to do with myself. If I go to bed now, I will soon be in that same place again, doing the same thing.
Don’t get me wrong, I like what I do. Working for a decent wage at decent hours doing decent work nicely puts in perspective the things I would otherwise be doing. Do it long enough, and the crazy shit pulled off in stage building begins to seem normal. The problem with that is then, that what was “normal” before now becomes “mundane”.
So that’s where I’m at now, and where I will be for a long time to come. Yes, a month is a long time.
I need to get out, but I only have a couple hours a day. I need to clean this place, but I just got home from work. Blah.
I don’t really know where this ends. Will I get used to it? Will I die of sleep deprivation?
Luckily my employer threw a small festival this weekend, which I have done voluntary work for since the very first edition, four years ago. It set my mind on the pleasure of work again (I really do love to work) and gave me some much needed motivation. Funny how I take some time off from the job just to work more.
I’m everywhere at once, and still stuck here. I work alone most of the time, with only my headphones as company. I’m not too much of a people person but in some odd way I’m beginning to miss my colleagues making fun of me. I think I’ll start MUDing again and just kiss my social life goodbye, altogether. At least it gave me some way to vent; this is just driving me up the walls. Now that I have a decent income, I can’t take it to Russia because oh, I have to work! Is it too early to ask for leave? I think I’ll be sick tomorrow. Moscow, here I come.