hagfish slowly crowd the carcass. after they feed, i take the tongs and wring them, one by one. they exhude so much mucus, my industrial gloves are drenched, and the precious goop schlopps into the basin. I continuously rub against the oozing skin, and more comes out, until tge hagfish can’t make any more mucus . I dump him in the ‘empties’ tank, let him recoup until the midnight milking. I take the tongs and pull out another ‘full’ fish, which immidiately starts to ooze.
after the basin is filled, and all the fish were milked, I have a coffee, while the freeze drier does it’s thing. the machine struggles to push the glue through, but it never fails.
I package the flakes and vacuum. i clean around. I dump another carcass for the hagfish to chew on. once a month a guy with a black suit and sunglassrs comes by, hands me money in untracables and i hand him the produce. every time I entice him to talk. I'll say 'how's the rocket coming along?' or 'any virgins still on the expedition roster?' but he never answers. I'm starting to think his kind have no concept of humor. or perhaps, hagfish mucus is the remedy for a homesick poet. who knows, right?
The poet’s answer
What is my dream career? What do I want to do with my life?
Everyone familiar with Pierre Bottero’s work knows that every questions has two answers: the scholar’s and the poet’s.
I’ll pass on the scholar’s this time. I find it a bit too grown up and boring.
But I’ll give you the poet’s answer. It goes like this:
I will be an astronaut,
A chef, a fireman, a doctor,
A dancer, a teacher, a scientist,
But also a magician, an alchemist and a knight.
I’ll travel on land, in the air and on water.
I’ll swim in the clouds, and fly with the fishes.
And when I’ve seen the entire world,
I’ll visit the others.
Most of all, I’ll make new friends.
Women, men, young and old.
Elves, fairies, giants, gnomes and dragons.
Let’s not forget vampires, werewolves and witches.
And when I’ve done and seen everything imaginable,
I’ll tackle the rest :)
In my dream career, I write novels and articles during the night. During the day, I work in humanitarian aid.
It's hot in the desert and the sun burns our arms. We're hungry, but not as hungry as the children and their parents, displaced by war or persecution, half starved, whose idea of prosperity is a bowl of rice a day.
I don't believe these crises are going to go away, but multiply. I'd like to one day be in a refugee camp that makes a difference to people's lives. I'd like to ease the pain of as many people as I can, whether that's from a computer or within a tent.
Youth Care Work/Personal Care Work
As the title says. I worked with at-risk youth for 3 years and for the last year I've been working with adult clients with special needs. It's a very challenging, but also a rewarding career.
If you are thinking about a career in the Social Service field. Don't do it to feel good about yourself or because it seems like the right thing to do. It is an extremely emotionally/physically/mentally taxing career. I've dealt with some of the most dangerous and unstable and most vulnerable people in Canada. It's not for everyone, but if you do it. It will open doors for you in other jobs and give you tons of experience.
You will be pushed to your limits, but you'll also have lots of good memories. The clients can be difficult, but also hilarious. One thing I've learned is that some of the most broken people are some of the funniest I've ever met.
So there are pros and cons, but one thing I really like about this field that is solely unique to the Social Services. Is that they hire you, because of who you are. Technical skills can always be learned along the way.
I hate my job.
I'm typing this up right now while idiots email me in screaming, wailing terms after ignoring what I told them to do in the first place.
It's not so much that humanity is stupid as it is also impatient, greedy, and completely incapable of following direction.
You'd think maybe customer service gigs might differ by industry, but universally if you're dealing with "customers" they're human. At least right now. Maybe one day I'll get to serve some logical, process-obeying AI.
Gods, is it sad I dream about that?
Instead I've got Joe here who didn't listen to my instructions the first time, demanded I fix his mistake, didn't follow my instructions the second time either (why break pattern?) and now on his third attempt has decided everything is my fault from the beginning.
When I was younger and the world was my oyster (mpfh...sorry, stifling the laughter) I really wanted to write cartoons for a living. I loved Saturday morning cartoons. I grew up in the 90's, back when they were excellent, hand-drawn, and written by sitcom-style humorists who baked in adult jokes that went over your head then delighted you years later in re-runs. Now they're CGI or skittles or some shit.
Except Voltron. Voltron is kick-ass.
Didn't matter though, because I can't draw to save my soul and all animation requires the art of storyboarding - which I seem incapable of doing.
When I "grew up" (i.e. my family could no longer afford to pay for me to live on daydreams) I realized I needed medical benefits and rent money. Goodbye, writer aspirations. Instead I took the jobs I could get which, given I graduated during the first great recession (note we're still counting!) meant I ended up working in shipping for eight miserable years, followed afterwards by five years in the equally miserable industry of construction.
Why? Because no matter what happens these industries tend to keep working. As companies outsource their workers more goods have to be shipped back to the states; as people cram themselves into cities/corporate-run-hellish-suburbs-where-they-compete-for-the-handful-of-jobs-that=are-left-in-this-country, construction has to build places for them to live and work. Hence, job security abounds.
Not that I wouldn't honestly mind being fired right now. I've about had it with Joe. And all the other Joe's like him.
When I was younger and believed what adults told me, I assumed there were rewards for my hard work; I was told my hard work ethic would pay off.
Do you know what the real reward for hard work is?
More hard work.
When you're a hard worker, everyone recognizes that - so they dump as much work on you as possible. If you're a really hard worker, they'll hire fewer people because you can take up the slack for it and save them money. You'll never get promoted either, because they can't afford to hire 1.5 people to replace you. If you are, you'll still be stuck doing half your old job duties because whoever took your old job can't keep up.
If you're lucky maybe you'll be paid accordingly for your efforts, but most likely the company will shaft you because 1) they can 2) if it's a recession they'll assume you have no where else to go (and about half of my adult life has been lived in a recession now).
Gratefully, there is a small silver lining; if you DO work hard you can work hard anywhere. And once you realize that, and realize that you could pick up and restart because you're damn smart/fast and there's nothing stopping you - then you learn that the real reward for hard work is not having to put in as much effort/hours to get just as much done as your colleagues. Then you'll learn to relax, take a few more minutes to check emails, and just let things slide because nobody else cares, why should you?
Oh, and you'll have shorter re-hire times when you do hit a recession. Because businesses love hard workers they can take advantage of during hard times. Even in a recession, they're usually burning through them at a fast clip so they'll almost always be hiring new ones.
There are things I do enjoy; coffee, occasional interactions with nice coworkers (bit harder to do that right now), and the paycheck that allows me to continue to watch cartoons from the comfort of my own home. That's what I try to focus on. Not the work hours, even though they're the best hours of my life and I'm just burning through them like so many stress pills. But the non-working hours in between.
And the hopeful mirage of retirement, so that when my body has finally broken down enough and I've maybe paid off this house and can afford to live off whatever's left of social security (pfft, sorry, another stifled laugh there) I can finally relax and not worry about it.
She is a coal-miner and a gold-digger.
Digging treasures, just beneath the human-layers of consciousness,
through the very depth of her own past shadows;
plunging through days and nights, diligently,
until hitting some “jack-pot”,
until the loud sweet crispy “Bing”, hitting the back of her head;
breaking down the underground pitch-black stuffy soggy air,
suddenly this once a life time triumph would be
echoing and lightning up, years of seemingly endless labor-work,
by the lonesome self, with only a small meager voice within the heart.
She is a word-farmer,
Gathering and collecting full-length of life’s colors and tastes, into
a delicate handmade parchment pouch,
Weathering through many cold winters;
just for the opportune season, of
some green south-east wind, some lucky rain-drops,
and some benevolent sunbeam; to
spread out collections of full-blown inkling seeds upon the vast blank field of unknown.
She farms just for the joy of farming;
the fresh air beneath the surface soil,
the metal tool stirring up the very fine fiber of her own existence.
The work is not work; but
Cycles of life, through word-farming,
cycles of death and rebirth,
plowing within her own soul reincarnation.
She is an incubator,
taking in whatever life threw at her,
and value every drop of gifts dearly;
Like a hen gently and patiently,
brooding and pondering upon a nest of
lively and sparkling potentials…and then
wait, waiting for the
time of eternity to ferment it out,
the pristine batch of babies.
Some time, there could be some weird-looking ones to others’ judging eyes,
but to her, every single one of them is perfect,
more beautiful and precious,
than the most expensive diamond in the whole world.
She is a kite-flyer,
Flying out a high dream in the invisible thin air; to
catch the fine nerve of some spring wind.
Some time, some kites might end up being stolen away by the stormy weather;
maybe it could land at another heart’s sunny bay,
bringing some comforts to that gentle tender soul.
Or maybe another time, she could be the lucky one, to
catch some lonely beautiful drifted long lost kite.
But really she just calls herself a thief,
who spots and steal the most visceral moment of textured feelings,
that running through her memory pouch.
She’s a conduit, a channel, an empath, a translator, a telepathic communicator…
While all those glittering sensational lives passing through her
pulsating harboring womb,
she marks them with soft kisses,
thousand folded paper-cranes, of
My Brilliant Career
I was blessed with a passion for fun
I was lucky to get my dream job
Made a new family
Meet guests from around the world
The fringe benefits were amazing
Entry to Disneyland
What could be better
I look forward to returning to my work home again
Hopefully soon as a guest