My Blog

A blabberfest of run-on emotions and exaggerations whispers of doubt and shouts of twentysomethings angst of thanks of unrequited regrets dreams and more, more dharma more spazz more jazz more of the stark ugly thoughts of the half truths and starry wide wants, of feeling and touch, of nothing at all. Of me.

Tuesday, October 28, 2003

A winding weirded place

There is a place where the sun forgets to come sometimes and lets the stars play a little while longer. There is a place where the road goes not beyond but with the horizon, like friends on a summer afternoon, going along chattily; a place where days are spent dreaming, fishing rod in hand and feet stretched out beside the babbling brook. My dog, that big ol’ lug himself, plops next to me, pink tongue lolling out and head in paws; no doubt he is dreaming of something too. It’s a place of earthy grass perfect for wiggling toes and of penetrating skies with milky clouds, so low that you can touch if you stand tip-toe with outstretched fingers. There are humble little daisies shooting out of the ground without cares cause they don’t know any better; gnarled trees droop cause they are curious forlorn creatures, while roses blush not for vanity - they laugh instead at their silly pretty dresses ------------------ I am here though. I’m here in my cubicle at 5:20 am and not anywhere near that place where the sun laughs and pieces of my childhood I carry in my pocket so I can smile when I want to. I’m here in my cubicle because at 1:20 am the file crashed and so I’m here staring at a Snapple bottle again, dragging itty-bitty numbers around pie charts. And yet I am not miserable or depressed or angry or anything like 2001. I’ve exhaled. And besides, it’s no mystery to me what my life is – and the expectation of pain (the back is killing me) is not all that exciting when I know what the consequences are… And so there is the emptiness of feeling, of movement or anything that resembles passion. I have segregated my life outside of this place from my work inside this place. I suppose the two don’t like each other very much, but I have to keep both of them all the same, like little brats throwing wussy punches at each other. I make myself believe that I’m doing something that is worthwhile; no, not worthwhile, but at the very least, productive and supportive of my great desire to be at liberty in the future. I think I’ll go home and sleep for an hour; but sleep is overrated isn’t it, cause once I’ve awaken I have already forgotten all about the delicious desire to sleep more and more; but this, this I will remember forever. When I’m old and beyond repair and advice, I will remember only a few things, and this great misery of sorts, (but also of satisfaction because I know this is easy and not all that very cumbersome) will be an icy prick on my feeble mind. There’s something about leaving the office at 5:30 am and coming back at 8:30 am that is wickedly funny.