Working closer to sixty than seventy hours a week now. I've arrived at a state where the macro of maintaining horizontal and vertical control over a city block's worth of parking structure is routine. Not that familiarity has bred anything close to contempt, of course. Far, far from it.
I still cannot prevent myself from listening to radio instead of cycling through my CD's on the commute. With radio comes network news and commercials.
The news talks about our communist president and imperial congress as if they were just the same old stripe of politicians. The commercials are going... well, going green. And going collectivist as well. Lots of PSA's talking about "doing our part" "helping the recovery". The aim is to appeal to community, but the execution is just damned sad and wrong.
My tax dollars paid for them. If I close my eyes I can here the script of 1984.
Or maybe THX1138.
I cannot talk politics with my family. But I can post links like this on the off chance somebody who knows me may wander through and perhaps follow it. There really is nothing to talk about. Nothing I could change. We could change.
I think it's time I bought a grain mill and several vac pacs of hard red wheat.
Depression is a bitch. I will grab a random stack of CD's off the shelf and put them in the truck tonight.
The fifth different surveying outfit to pass through my job has confirmed my control network and adopted my coordinate system. Funny how it all comes down to thousandths of a foot each time. "Close enough" is the goal. Nice that "close" in this case is damn near nuts on.
Back in the hole tomorrow.
(Link via American Digest)