*cough*

Drywall dust is an accursed thing, even if it comes from putting in a new door to my office that I've wanted to have done since '06.

I began remodeling my office today and consolidated two and a half years of accumulated clutter into a series of neatly stacked boxes. The place is all cleaned out and ready for the fun to begin... Gone are the shelves of Superman paraphernalia, the framed images of the Last Son of Krypton, the red futon with the 'S' emblem pillows. Soon gone, too, will be the red and blue walls, replaced with what I hope will be some sort of faux Venetian plaster treatment.

I'm undecided on that one, though as it's pretty time consumptive and in the next phase I enter I may not want the texture on the walls. I'm not quite fickle, but I am honest enough to know that I get bored with my surroundings pretty quickly and I'm surprised that Kal lasted as long as he did. I don't want to spend a precious day installing a second skin on the walls that I can take off later if the mood strikes... I'll be spending enough time next week as it is on what I've already planned out.

How ridiculous is it that I spend a month or more complaining about spending all of my waking hours at work, only to now be excited that I'll more than likely be spending the first week of my 'vacation' at the very same place? It makes a significant difference that this is a self-motivated project. Designed by me, built by me, for me. That, and it won't be torn down in a couple of weeks once the show is over. I feel like I'm actually 'creating' something for once. And it's FUN. I actually find this relaxing!

This new decor, should I finish it, will be in place for at least a couple of years until I get tired of it, rip it all out, and do something different. I love having the freedom, opportunity and, most of all, the ability to do that sort of thing. I got out of doing computer graphics years ago due to, in no small part, the insanity that I was driven to by being cooped up in a gray cubicle. And that was only three months of torture.

It occurs to me that I've not really described what I'll be doing, what's driving my excitement, and there's a reason for that: I've let it be no secret to friends around here what I'm planning (figuring that the more I talk about it the less likely I'll be postpone the project again) but I can hardly do so without doodling on an available napkin or index card. Unfortunately I've none available here in cyberspace.

Drawings will, though, follow tomorrow or the next day, if you, the reader, are interested...

Blam.

Splat. Pa-ching.

Anyone got a whetstone?

Here I sit on firewatch.

It's a little something I have to do when, for the needs of a show, the smoke sensors are bypassed by the campus so that we may use a fog machine in our theatre. It's a legal thing wherein I walk the building every half hour during the performance.

Those of you who know me and speak to me regularly (yes, you, Yovanka and Jennifer) have heard me talk about this a great deal. That's primarily because, outside of this, I have nothing else going on. Seriously. I go home, feed the cat, watch half an hour of the History Channel, and fall asleep, only to wake the next morning to do it all over again...

Enough of that, though. I wrote about this a week or so ago (see "Work Zombie").

Firewatch, though, is a herald, of sorts, of the coming release of December. This 'firewatch' occurs just prior to the opening of a show when we begin adding all of the technical elements. That means the show is about to open. That means it's ever so close to being finished. That means I have nothing to do during firewatch except for walking the building, as in the Environmental Health and Safety representative here on campus has dictated that I can have "no other responsibilities, job or otherwise, while on firewatch". It's like a mini vacation. I sit, watch episodes of "Heroes" on a computer, read a book, update my blog, etc. Nothing, apart from taking a two minute walk every half hour.

Now, I get this text message from the aforementioned Jennifer tonight, saying that it was good to see me in a better mood yesterday when she'd come to watch a rehearsal of the current production. I was, indeed, in better than normal spirits. I was excited to see a couple of friends, excited that they were coming to see the show, excited for the cast that they'd have someone to interact with, and excited that, at least for a couple of hours, I had nothing to do, no matter to solve, and no problem to repair. I just had no idea that it had changed my mood so much.

I don't have a hard job. I really don't. In fact, my job is quite... fun. But too much of a good thing, as I've written before, is not so good.

As the seven day weeks go on for months, my nerves get shot. I'm without sleep, I'm without relaxation, I'm without... release... of any sort. It bugs me that I'm told by a student that I 'lose it' too easily... but she's not been around for the last two and a half, nearly three, months leading up to the frayed nerves and the loss of patience waiting for it all to be over. I'm apologized to when someone approaches me and I turn to them with expectant "What do you want?" eyes because I expect yet another change or addition, leading to more weekend or late night hours after the cast has gone home.

Ah, but firewatch... the sweet release from all that. For a time, anyway, until the rehearsals are over and I get another list. But there's a light down at the end of that tunnel...

"All work and no play makes Kenyon a dull boy."

I need some sharpening.

Masks

Once upon a time I relished costume parties. Not for the 'party' per se, i.e., the carousing, the drunkenness, the vomiting, the careless acts which lead to regret the next day, etc, but it was an opportunity to play... an opportunity to be silly on the outside and for once to grab attention for myself, to break outside of the usual quiet shell I wear in spite of myself.

I normally skipped parties in college, the debauchery not my thing (even less then), but Halloween was special. There, for years at least, I was actually competitive, in my own passive way. I'd not just pull something out of thin air, but would dwell on what would be the 'perfect' outfit for me that year... what would be sort of a hidden 'it' costume for that year... what could exhibit what skill I had with makeup, with throwing together costume pieces, etc. I always wanted to be something different than the usual that others would see. I wanted to get the attention.

I remember, during the long hair years, being Rum Tum Tugger from 'Cats', a Klingon, Edward Scissorhands (it took days for me to untangle my hair from that one), and Captain Marvel (with a ponytail). With that last one, photos of which are in an earlier post in September, I'd wanted to do 'Beast' from the Disney film that had opened that year. While good, unfortunately I lost social 'oomph' by going with a somewhat obscure comic book hero. I should have gone with the Disney. It would have rocked. Oh, and only ONE picture was taken of my Edward, unfortunately lost years ago. With that one I stayed in character most of the evening, I think. Folks brought that one up to me for months afterward.

After college, no one I knew seemed to care about costume parties. A sad time. Eventually I threw my own, dressing as the pulp hero 'The Shadow' (putty nose, oversized fedora, red scarf and all), but honestly, I'm not a party thrower. I'm more of a 'have a few people over for a quiet gettogether' sort of guy. Not good makings for costume parties, that sort. It was a lackluster time, truly, but at least I got to wear a costume again.

More years went by and after returning to KSU in '04 I'd been invited to a student's party at the last minute. I went to Wal-Mart, spent half an hour with a hot glue gun and craft foam, and went as 'Commando Chicken'... a creation of my own. It freaked a lot of people out initially, 'cause no one knew who I was. That, and the chicken mannerisms and noises that I picked up from my intense study of the fowl creatures during my lonely youth on the farm.

In '05 I went to school as Erik Teague, one of our department's students with a penchant for tattoos, anything black, chains, and mohawks (then, though, his full head of hair was merely colored green in places). Unbeknownst to him, of course. I showed up just as his class was letting out for lunch and rounded the corner, hoping to surprise him with the honor of my imitation of his particular traits, only to find him... wearing a 'Kenyon' costume: Dark, deep, solid colored shirt, khakis, hair "just right" with a lock or two hanging down over the forehead... and a Superman shirt underneath. Completely coincidental, our choices were, but completely wonderful.

This year, Erik, a two time national award winning costume designer himself, threw a 'Halloween Hootenanny' at his place. I wasn't going to go, now age differences compounding the discomfort and awkwardness I usually feel at large parties, but knew that it'd mean a lot to him since he'd asked so often if I'd be able to make it. And I'd be able to wear a costume again.

I'd decided to be a zombie since I've been reading so much about them recently in 'The Walking Dead' (a killer comic book... pun intended, tee, hee), The Zombie Survival Guide, World War Z, etc. Oh, but not just any zombie. Mine was a technical director (me, o'course) who'd been working in a sceneshop only to have an ill secured sawblade sling out and impale his chest... just at the moment that the dreaded Zombie Apocalypse took place.

I walked in and got a few great scares right off the bat... not the "BOO" type, but the slow, shambling, 'Ohmygodhesnotstopping' type. It helped that Erik is said to have a phobia of zombies, but it's one that a number of friends of his are bound and determined to help him overcome (primarily by assaulting him with good, entertaining zombie literature). Staying in character for a few minutes, I stumbled around, grasping, groping, not quite biting (the sawblade in my sternum was a constant frustration in keeping me from getting in close to do any sort of munching), and generally doing what any good zombie would do at a costume party. James, Erik's roommate and landlord, was prepared: He chained me up in the corner next to the door in order, I believe, that I could 'greet' anyone that came in. Fun times for a while, lots of squeals once the guests realized this thing crawling towards them would not stop...

I eventually after an hour or so once the youngsters began to sort of ramp up their shenanigans and I couldn't walk around without the fear of ripping other's costumes on my REAL sawblade chestpiece. Long enough, though, for Erik to have awarded me the unofficial Best Single Costume award.

'I still got it, babe!

Workzombie.

I am so ruttin' tired I can't stand it. I've worked straight through since early September (including many if not most evenings) with only a couple of days off, which, while temporarily relaxing, have only proven to put me more behind.

This is similar to what it was like years ago when I was so burned out that I quit. Of course, I hung on for about three years during that time, but at least then I had something waiting at home to keep me at least a little more balanced. Okay, only a fraction more balanced. But it was, for a long time, enough.

In the end I actually enjoy what I do, but it's sort of like being force fed pizza... which, as you may remember, is my favorite food... the kryptonite to my waistline. Sure, it's fun for a while, but eventually you just want to vomit if you look at another piece. Right now I'm beyond retching... I'm in to the dry heaves.

Sure, I'll have the entire month of December and the first week of January off due to all of the comp hours I've built up (an estimated 170 by Thanksgiving), but really... is it worth it? To what end am I killing myself, truly? I'm doing a job, I am appreciated at what I do (perhaps even respected, if I may be so bold), but at what cost? My thoughts are clouded, I can rarely put together a coherent sentence as I speak to others. I feel as though my 'self', what little 'life' I had before, is slipping away, slowly, as sand through an hourglass lost to the wind as I stumble ahead with only the faintest idea of what I'm supposed to be doing next.

Right now, all I am is work. Nothing else. Even if I HAD time off, I'm not entirely certain what I'd do with it...