Mechanic Scholastic

So, I started classes this Thursday with Introduction to Web Design. We're covering the absolutely riveting topic of HTML and CSS. HTML I already know a bit. I learned it way back in High School, and have used bits and pieces of it on and off. I'm actually surprised at how much I still remember. CSS, I've fooled around with a bit here and there, but never really knew what I was doing. So this first unit is a mix of deadly boring, and semi-intriguing. We're actually not spending that long on actual hand-coding (ah, the tedious glories of Notepad...), before moving on to normal application-based weberizing with the likes of Dreamweaver. I want to give Muse a try at some point, but apparently it's too new to be in the curriculum. Oh well, I'm sure the course will be a decent experience, I'm sure I'll learn some good stuff.

On Friday I had typography, for all of 30mins. Apparently my prof was out of the country, so the two similar classes were brought together, the other prof introduced the assignment, and then he disappeared too. Exciting.

The thing that struck me is that when I walked in and took a seat... It felt familiar. Too familiar. Like I never left. And that kinda scared the crap out of me. I didn't really have that suppressed energy and excitement that usually lurks under the new semester anxiety. Instead it was just a universal feeling of dread. The wonderful notion of "yup, here we go again." Well, I won't lie. There was a familiar sense of relief at being able to hunker down and focus and spend let nights in the studio alone. But the fact of the matter is, I was expecting, even hoping, to feel recharged and ready to go.

It kind of scares me, to be honest. I mean, I've burned out every semester, and this probably won't be any different. I'm just worried that it'll happen a lot sooner than later. Almost as if I already have. I was kinda banking on that beginning sense of excitement to distract me from the work, for a time. Well, the work doesn't bother me too much. I'm afraid to death of Typography, but I'll live. The thing I really don't like is the hours. A 40hr week seems so foreign to me right now. I've been doing 60-80hrs over the last two years, and it's starting to wear thin. It worries me that I'm only at the half-way point and it's really starting to feel like a joyless grind.

There's a guy near where I live who owns a new Porsche 911 GT3. It gorgeous. It makes a wonderful sound, and he's had it out all summer, working on it and tweaking it and keeping it gorgeous. I've been eying it all season, and yesterday I finally worked up the nerve to go and ask the man for a quick tour. He mentioned that he and some friends competed in the Chump Car challenge in May (a 24hrs race for cars that cost a total of $500, like the 24hrs of LeMons in the US), where they ran an old 911. Talked to him some more and he said he'd been saving for his GT3, which was bought brand-new, since he was 11. The discussion and experience was wonderful, and I had a massive grin on my face for the rest of the morning.

This is going to sound borderline creepy, considering that I'd talked to him for a total of ten minutes, but that's the kinda guy I want to be. It gives me something to shoot for, something to hope for. Some light at the end of the tunnel. I want to be there some day. I'll keep my fingers crossed that I won't be a worked-out wreck by the time it comes my way. Bide my time until it arrives. Stomach out slow days and have dreams of a flat six to help me get through the long nights.

It just feels like where I am and where I want to be are two places completely at odds with each other. And weeks like this, I just don't know how to reconcile the two. The day-to-day grind just feels too all-encompassing. Here's hoping I'll come out the other side in one piece.
-Cril

The xx - Intro