Thursday, May 12, 2005 General Blogspital
Yesterday morning, I was five key minutes later than usual leaving the house, so I started walking quickly, but when I stepped off the curb, it seemed natural to keep the momentum going, so I ran for a few blocks. I can't run fast. I've been living fun the past few weeks, and I highly reccomend it to those who have the option available, but it doesn't make me feel like an athlete. I didn't want to miss the bus, though, and once I was running, why not keep running? I passed a bunch of school kids going somewhere with a teacher, and they started noticing me.
"Why is she running?" I heard one of them ask. "Does she have to go to the bathroom?"
All hell broke loose, and the teacher was powerless to stop it.
"The bathroom! The bathroom!"
"Calm down, now."
"She has to go to the bathroom."
"Oh, my God."
I was getting winded, but I kept going, because I didn't want to face them and explain that I didn't have to go to the bathroom after all.
I had to stop a little bit later, but I made it to my bus stop on time, and as a reward for my valor and athleticism, there were two buses stacked up behind each other, so I got to take the second, less crowded one.
Then that night, I had one drink too many, and I threw up right in the bar! It wasn't as bad as it could have been, because the path between me and the ladies' room was pretty open. It's hard to tally my shames and triumphs when they span such a broad base of experience. Yesterday I answered the phone 94 times, I know, because I was ticking off each call on a little piece of paper by the register. I may have answered the phone recreationally when I got home, too, but it didn't seem reasonable to keep track of that kind of thing on my own time.
I think I write on here like I'm an island, sometimes. I look back over old stuff, and it's hard to see what town I was living in or who I knew. Partially, I know from experience that I'm shitty at tying up loose ends. My archives are littered with the beginnings of what I know I'd planned as long stories, and then they trail off into nothing, and there is no part two. The more I keep each day like a separate little egg, the less I feel like I have to answer for later.
I worry, too, about writing about other people who may read the internet. It seems like I can either write like that's never going to happen, and no one will ever see this, or I can write in the point-by-point hanging out review format that I often dislike. You know: you have to link all the names, and if it follows the genre standards perfectly, then each linked name will post a similar review. I don't know. I think it's cute a lot of the time, and I get a kick out of it, but for some reason, whenever I do it, I kind of feel like an asshole.
Right now, I'm pretty low on angst and agony. I may have used it all up in a previous gig. It would make sense. My dad once had to go through a background check to get a job, and he nearly didn't pass, because over the course of many years of working with chemicals, he'd worn his fingerprints away. He'd never even noticed they were gone. The background checkers were suspicious: a man with no fingerprints was clearly perfect for the perfect crime.
Here I am: do have fingerprints. Don't have the doubts I maybe should. It is time for the big heist. I can get away with anything. posted by Frenz | 5/12/2005 11:50:00 PM
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