So, the week went from suck to whatever here is in an awful hurry.

Things in the social arena went south, to be euphumistic and strangely accurate. Howward Jones lyrics are dashing through my head — which is better than Motley Crue’s “Home Sweet Home”, thank you, Eric McGinty. The universe unfolds as it will, but sometimes I can’t help but question why it does so in the manner it does…

And so this weird numbness sets in, like being under emotional anasthetia. I sat in my bedroom last night, window open to a cool breeze, and smelled autumn. So I took advantage of the moment as best as possible: turned out the lights, burned a little Ocean Breeze��� incense, and cranked up Harold Budd’s ROOM disc (I can not remember the actual name of the disc, ever, but I’ve taken to referring to it as such ever since Daniel introduced me to it years back). I sat and listened to Southside at night, cars passing, neighbors talking over their beers, damnable dogs barking at everything that came within 50 yards. It was really nice, a little November in April.

And then I returned today to the corporate world, ending my first week back Working For The Man after eight months. It’s not as bad as I had expected — things might even be much better than I would have hoped. The people that I report to directly are really good folk, intelligent and hard working and — most important to me — two of the few guys at UAB that I ever had any respect for. There’s a lot of work to be done, so I don’t have to dick around waiting for something to do, and it’s actual productive work, not some busy task handed to me for political appearances.

See, that’s one thing that I hate about the corporate world. Maybe I should amend that: that’s one thing I hate about the world in general. Too often, people get so caught up playing to the vanity of those around and “above” them (which is to say, those who have something or control over something they want) that they start looking for the same in those around them. And so the PC/playing the game virus spreads, until it’s less important what kind of work quality you produce than how much you agree with them and torture yourself to make their life easy.

I just can’t bring myself to do that. And I’m sure that, career-wise, I’ll suffer long and greatly for it. But at least I’ll have my dignity and my sad, sad, idealism…

At any rate, fortunately, the people around me now are, for the most part, not the type that I just described. I thought that before, when I worked in a parallel department, and even in this first week, they’ve given me more applicable evidence of the same.

And it appears that I’ll have plenty of chances to impress in the coming months, as the other person in my department announced a resignation mere days after I started. I was warned — suspicions were confirmed, I should say — that there are people in parallel departments that are waiting for me to misstep, to pounce and scream for my head. But that’s fine, because I’m in a different headset than I was a year ago, a better fitting job, and in the mood to disappoint my detractors.

Three’s a lot of change, all at once, and I can only hope that maybe this is my life jumping back onto the track that it’s supposed to be on. It’s worth the stress and the work and the adjustments to think that I’m headed in the right direction, wherever that may be leading me.

And then, of course, there’s the fucking tooth in my head that has decided, after months of semi-soreness and aggravation, to really cut loose and have an all-night kegger in my head. OHMYGODTHISREALLYFUCKINGHURTS. A few of my friends were kind enough to give me some industrial strength ibuprofin, but even that isn’t helping. Heat doesn’t work. Orajel is useless (except on my tongue, thanks). I don’t think I’m dealing with an abscess, as there’s no swelling, no bitter taste, no oozing pus (just to make sure you’re still awake and paying attention)… My best guess is that something in the air has triggered my sinusitis on a minor level — minor enough that I don’t feel the extra pressure in my head, but enough that the swelling is compounding the dental nightmare I’m having.

Ladies, if you’re looking for a man to pass strong teeth to your spawn through the miracle of genetics, then look elsewhere. For any number of reasons.

But if you want a man with more artifice than nature attached to the peridontal ligament (as well as someone who refuses to play nice with the English language): I’m your guy.