I wrote this blogpost, just now, that was so boring! It seriously made me sad that I was trying to make clever remarks about "cubicle behavior" and how it was like comparing lunch condiments to...
It doesn't matter. The truth is, I've got to get out of here! Oh my god, let me out! Please! I am going to scream!
I really thought that at age ____ I would have been well on the way to saving the world, or at least be involved in some sort of theatrical production that traveled to wartorn countries and helped the suffering masses express their pain through the miracle of performance.
I also thought I might have revolutionized "time and space" as measurements in performance, and also that I might have created a new acting training called "pathos:hilarity" and NONE OF THESE THINGS HAVE HAPPENED YET!
I am really not in a good mood today, and I'm trying so hard to cheer the fuck up. Probably too hard. Probably I need to just relax and have a good time, right? Would somebody please point me in the direction of this place of happiness?
Oh my god I want to kick my shoes off and run outside screaming and jump into ground zero like its a freaking swimming pool. I want to get in one of those adorable small cars with a guitar and a jawharp and strike out to the West, and meet Bobby McGee already! I also want to get the fuck out of this office! Did I mention that yet? It's not even so bad an office. I don't want to sit here anymore, though, and its not because I don't get any exercise. I have a hard time buying that the answer to crazy-stir-disease is "going to the gym." I think crazy-stir-disease is a symptom of global rot! Global rot, I tell you!
Nobody heard from that girl ever again. She lives in a cabin on a lake somewhere, all alone. A hermitess. And she holds on to the branch of the tree as she swings. Then one day, many years later, a woodcutter comes along. She is wearing a red cloak, like a riding hood, and she is planting gardens. He watches her for three days and three nights before knocking on her door to ask for supper. And they live forever. I mean like Duncan McLeod, The Highlander.
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I think you should read Cold Mountain if you haven't already. Skip the movie. Unless you really get off on pretty people making historical drama. I also think you should come over tonight so we can get silly on vodka and make up songs. I'll have the guitar and jam harp waiting for you.
www.amazon.com/gp/reader/0375700757/ref=sib_dp_pt/002-1674375-6033610#reader-page
Whenever I need some existential insight or support, I turn to Peanuts.
This week's strips are all about the meaning of a noble life.
mmm...Highlander...oh, yeah....nobody rocks the kilt like Duncan, especially when there's an upward draft.
mmm...Highlander...oh, yeah....nobody rocks the kilt like Duncan, especially when there's an upward draft.
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