This week is full of little field trips. Ones with no worksheet to complete and no discussion to follow. The library, Denny's, the county landfill. Tasks like a checklist. Time to managed and then spent. I think Oprah would have something to say about now.
It's times like this when I'm missing school. Where there is too much theory and not enough practice. I can feel my way with words becoming distant and intangible, lost in objective summaries. Everything I write is neccessarily redundant.
One of the residents said that he thinks that having hobbies makes people more trustworthy. And it starts to makes sense that he eyes me suspiciously sometimes. It's interesting to think about how people develop their self-concept. For me, I have always viewed myself through the lens of whatever I am spending the most time on. Of course I would never call myself whatever I was doing. When I was taking a photography class I would NEVER say I'm a photographer. When I play my bass, I'm still not a musician. I have never been a waitress or a line therapist or a resident counselor. What I'm wondering now is if I would find more meaning if I made myself what I was doing. Or should I abandon this altogether and separate myself entirely from what I do? As it is what I do is think, well, based on how things are going with such-and-such, I am this-and-that. So when things get ugly or boring, I bear the brunt of that. So last week I was ugly, and this week I was boring. I think I need a new definition.
Or at least a hobby.