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What it all comes down to:
Nov. 23rd, 2008 03:35 amI don't function well without pressure.
But I don't function well under pressure, either.
Bottom line: I. Don't. Function. Well.
In fact, I pretty much don't function at all, most of the time.
(Insert philosophico-political discussion of the idea of 'functioning.')
I *think*... I actually probably don't need to worry much about my final grade at all, because - unlikely as they are even in the case of me getting a spectacularly good grade - all the 'interesting', desirable jobs come with pressures I probably wouldn't be able to deal with, anyway. So, I think, the only jobs I could possibly hold down are probably low-expectations, low-perspectives ones. (I know from experience that I can deal with repetitive, mechanical work on a regular schedule, because I've done that and on the whole felt pretty okay with it as long as it left me the headspace to think about other stuff while I was doing it.)
'course, that dramatically increases my already dramatic risk of ending my life in utter poverty. But if it gets me through the decades of my working life in good health and reasonable happiness, and perhaps with some time and energy left for writing and art, instead of in a constant state of near-collapse, that may very well be worth it.
Won't make my parents very happy, though.
(All of this is based on the optimistic assumption that society and the ecosystem are not going to collapse in the next sixty years, and that, therefore, things like jobs and money and so on will continue to be somewhat relevant, and that I'm actually going to reach my old age, even if perhaps in poverty, instead of being hit at 48 by a flying roof tile in a freak storm while on my way to the supermarket. Because, yeah, I still harbour some hope that somehow, we'll manage to Turn Things Around before everything goes south. They'll pry *that* bit of hope from my cold, dead fingers, hah.)
But I don't function well under pressure, either.
Bottom line: I. Don't. Function. Well.
In fact, I pretty much don't function at all, most of the time.
(Insert philosophico-political discussion of the idea of 'functioning.')
I *think*... I actually probably don't need to worry much about my final grade at all, because - unlikely as they are even in the case of me getting a spectacularly good grade - all the 'interesting', desirable jobs come with pressures I probably wouldn't be able to deal with, anyway. So, I think, the only jobs I could possibly hold down are probably low-expectations, low-perspectives ones. (I know from experience that I can deal with repetitive, mechanical work on a regular schedule, because I've done that and on the whole felt pretty okay with it as long as it left me the headspace to think about other stuff while I was doing it.)
'course, that dramatically increases my already dramatic risk of ending my life in utter poverty. But if it gets me through the decades of my working life in good health and reasonable happiness, and perhaps with some time and energy left for writing and art, instead of in a constant state of near-collapse, that may very well be worth it.
Won't make my parents very happy, though.
(All of this is based on the optimistic assumption that society and the ecosystem are not going to collapse in the next sixty years, and that, therefore, things like jobs and money and so on will continue to be somewhat relevant, and that I'm actually going to reach my old age, even if perhaps in poverty, instead of being hit at 48 by a flying roof tile in a freak storm while on my way to the supermarket. Because, yeah, I still harbour some hope that somehow, we'll manage to Turn Things Around before everything goes south. They'll pry *that* bit of hope from my cold, dead fingers, hah.)
