Friday, July 15, 2005 Cooler heads prevail
Since it's past midnight, I don't feel bad doubling up on posts to satisfy tomorrow's Content Challenge requirement. I have to say, I'm in a better mood than last time. My personal terror alert level is back down to cerulean. I'm pretty pleased.
I have blessings, you know, that I haven't counted publicly. For example: I kept this from you, the internet, but the other day when I was coming back from my sleep study, I threw myself on the mercy of the MTA, and the bus I caught turned out to go to a different subway stop than I'd originally thought. It went further than I'd dreamed it would, and dropped me off practically at my door. It's like my own giant, unreliable limousine.
The bruise on my knee that I got at tonight's roller derby practice doesn't hurt, but it's like all the colors of the terror rainbow at once. V. beautiful. If I wear the skirt that a sense of shame for conspicuously re-wearing the same pants over and over dictates that I do, then I imagine it will be a major hit at the beauty parlor tomorrow.
Item: I need new pants.
There are so many things I keep meaning to write about in this space. I could keep writing about my family or my dumb decisions of recent years forever and ever, and I know it's probably more interesting than constant bus updates. The sad part is how much I think about things like the bus and my hair. My mental terrorist chatter is pretty much all about logistics and how I appear to others. It also reflects whether or not I am hungry. I can get so many hours of thoughts over where I should go for lunch in a given day, based on deliciousness of food vs. cost of food vs. amount of time available vs. number of customers expected in the beauty parlor vs. whether the employees of any of the reasonable places to eat near my workplace will think I've been coming in too much and that I'm weird. Just because I recognize that certain concerns are stupid doesn't mean I don't have them. They are the concerns that outshine all others.
I worry about writing some stories down. Leah and I have an ongoing discussion of the secret of comedy. For years, she's stuck by the idea that nouns surmount any other component of a funny story. Credenza. Topsy tail. Scrapple. Kumquat. You can't lose.
Some of the things I think about a lot, when I'm not preoccupied with the dumber aspects of my life as outlined above, are so heavy on the nouns and the key phrases that I could knock y'all dead without even bothering with fairness or craft. No offense. It's the same feeling as the one that comes over me when I'm trying to make small talk, and the terror alert is at desert plum, so I'm saying whatever comes into my head and trusting the autopilot to make sure that I'm not going to begin speaking entirely in ethnic slurs and bathroom language, and I hear myself make the stupidest joke that a human could possibly make, and then the person I'm talking to laughs. Then I hate both of us for a second. Until I get distracted and my boundlesss capacity for kindness and love kick back in.
I don't want to get upset over a hypothetical less than perfect blog post, but over the past few months I've begun to ackowledge how much the internet occupies my life. If I'm going to tell any more of my wacky jail stories, for example, I have to get my mind right to tell it. Otherwise, there'll be nothing but nouns, nouns, nouns. It's like prop comedy. What's in this bag that's hilarious??? My dumb life!
I guess that's the deal with a blog anyway, though. It's late, and I need to leave this internet for the night. Someday soon, you're in for a cute story about pets that will open your heart to the tenderness and beauty of the world. posted by Frenz | 7/15/2005 01:37:00 AM
0 comments
|
