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22 December 2023
Last month, when I resorted to rambling on about nothing in particular, I was sure it wouldn\'t come down to that again-- at least not for a few years or so. I\'m not certain, but I think, as a writer, you\'re only allowed to officially ramble under severe circumstances. It\'s by no means recommended,.. but once in a while you can make use of it.
Well, if last month qualified as a severe circumstance, then this month is legally a crisis. My thoughts are nowhere to be found. Walked right out of my head this morning-- went camping somewhere. Off on some mediocre holiday, roasting sausages over a fire and telling bad jokes, while I\'m sitting here with nothing moving upstairs, pen in hand, ready to let the ink create miracles. Okay,.. no pen. I have a laptop. But still,...
Why is it that when you need to be reflective, brilliant, and philosophical the protruding theme of the day is: \"Am I losing weight? Hell, I think I\'m weighing like 0.3 pounds less-- better go check.\" Next thing you know, your literary essay has turned into you standing in front of the mirror studying the shape of your ass from the side.
Why is it that when you need to be quick and agile in the mental department, any random truck driver can outdo you in wit and wisdom? Why is that? Is there a universal rule that when it comes down to it, you have to be tackled and wrestled to the ground by a stampede of primitive thoughts?
Well, anyway. When I found out that I had no time to write this as it is, I began work by rolling up my sleeves and complaining vigorously. I mean, if you\'ve only got so much time to get something done, you might as well spend most of the time wallowing in self-pity, right? So I made an effort-- something to the order of: \"Guys, too little time to write something this month,.. I can\'t think of anything,.. I\'m going through a rough time in my life,...\"
I thought I put that quite nicely. But, apparently, no one cares that I\'m a troubled soul, lost in the cruel modern machinery that is life: \"I don\'t wanna hear any of that crap from you! You know what to write! Now sit down and write it!\"
And: \"GET ON IT, YOU TWIT!\"
Obviously, they were not getting the core of the point here. Now, I didn\'t want to kill the point, but I did feel that some clarity was needed: \"I was looking for some sympathy here. You guys are not helping me through this difficult time!\"
\"That\'s not my problem. You\'ve never helped me out,.. if you know what I\'m saying.\"
Ahem. As I said, the support is always overwhelmingly touching.
There\'s an old saying: \"Some people are just the wrong cows to milk for sympathy.\" And although that\'s not really an old saying (at least none that I came across), it\'s true all the same.
Anyway, seeing that I was fighting for a lost cause, I embraced my fate as a martyr, and called up my little brother to get me some tea from the coffee shop. He did (he was in one of his Gandhi moods), and then I opened up a blank page and began yet another mystical and great literary journey: \"Fuck these assholes,...\"
Shortly afterwards, I decided to delicately rephrase it: \"Last month,...”
Well, if last month qualified as a severe circumstance, then this month is legally a crisis. My thoughts are nowhere to be found. Walked right out of my head this morning-- went camping somewhere. Off on some mediocre holiday, roasting sausages over a fire and telling bad jokes, while I\'m sitting here with nothing moving upstairs, pen in hand, ready to let the ink create miracles. Okay,.. no pen. I have a laptop. But still,...
Why is it that when you need to be reflective, brilliant, and philosophical the protruding theme of the day is: \"Am I losing weight? Hell, I think I\'m weighing like 0.3 pounds less-- better go check.\" Next thing you know, your literary essay has turned into you standing in front of the mirror studying the shape of your ass from the side.
Why is it that when you need to be quick and agile in the mental department, any random truck driver can outdo you in wit and wisdom? Why is that? Is there a universal rule that when it comes down to it, you have to be tackled and wrestled to the ground by a stampede of primitive thoughts?
Well, anyway. When I found out that I had no time to write this as it is, I began work by rolling up my sleeves and complaining vigorously. I mean, if you\'ve only got so much time to get something done, you might as well spend most of the time wallowing in self-pity, right? So I made an effort-- something to the order of: \"Guys, too little time to write something this month,.. I can\'t think of anything,.. I\'m going through a rough time in my life,...\"
I thought I put that quite nicely. But, apparently, no one cares that I\'m a troubled soul, lost in the cruel modern machinery that is life: \"I don\'t wanna hear any of that crap from you! You know what to write! Now sit down and write it!\"
And: \"GET ON IT, YOU TWIT!\"
Obviously, they were not getting the core of the point here. Now, I didn\'t want to kill the point, but I did feel that some clarity was needed: \"I was looking for some sympathy here. You guys are not helping me through this difficult time!\"
\"That\'s not my problem. You\'ve never helped me out,.. if you know what I\'m saying.\"
Ahem. As I said, the support is always overwhelmingly touching.
There\'s an old saying: \"Some people are just the wrong cows to milk for sympathy.\" And although that\'s not really an old saying (at least none that I came across), it\'s true all the same.
Anyway, seeing that I was fighting for a lost cause, I embraced my fate as a martyr, and called up my little brother to get me some tea from the coffee shop. He did (he was in one of his Gandhi moods), and then I opened up a blank page and began yet another mystical and great literary journey: \"Fuck these assholes,...\"
Shortly afterwards, I decided to delicately rephrase it: \"Last month,...”
artid
1396
Old Image
5_10_mercedes.jpg
issue
vol 5 - issue 10 (jun 2003)
section
pen_think