Friday, June 23, 2006

Procrastination on tap 7 days a week

Well well well... I've neglected posting for so long that I'm almost afraid to start doing so again, but a strong sense of duty compels me to splatter my mind's useless meanderings accross the vast and vacant void of cyberspace, if only to keep them out of my everyday conversation. Since my last post I've gone into debt, purchased a car, moved out of the family homestead, and sold every dream I ever had for the price of a bargain rack shirt that no one except you likes, and which doesn't even fit you all that well. Ok, it sort of half fits you, since one sleeve is just the right length and the other is four inches too long, and since both of your arms are same length (roughly, or so I assume), it's a pretty safe bet that it's been on the bargain rack for quite some time, and not without good reason. But what the hell, buy it and learn to sew. I myself barely know where to pick up the pieces and start over, it's been so long. I suppose I could begin again by telling you that (strictly between you and I, you understand) I'm rather unsure if anyone is particularly pleased with what I'm doing with myself these days. I just tell them I'm back to work in the ol' croquet mallet factory for 22 and a half cents an hour, and they roll my eyes and tell me that I'd better get back to school if I don't want to end up like Fat Elvis, still trying to sqeeze my ever-enlarging posterior into the same ol' sequins, fresh from the dry-cleaners and getting a little threadbare, just to come out for one more encore of "Heartbreak Hotel," which is beginning to sound more and more like the story of the train wreck I used to call my life. I usually shrug it off and tell them that I don't plan on being the guy working in the croquet mallet factory forever, no sir. One day I'll be the guy playing croquet and enjoying a few brewskis in the back yard, while my trophy wife tries to settle down our 2.5 kids long enough to take their picture with the camera that costs too much and she doesn't know how to use it anyways and I tried to explain that to her but she insisted and sometimes you have to make those little compromises just to keep the wifey-poo happy. Anyways, that's what I tell them but I sort of embelish the details, just to give the impression that I've got it all thought out, only between you and I, I haven't. It'll all work out somehow though, you'll see. Heaven knows how, but life doesn't often disappoint me, and it's not just because I have low expectations, although I sort of do. Well, that's only half true. I won't get into it right now, because the details would bore you, and we both know how little you enjoy being bored after a long day of doing whatever it is that you do all day. Either way, I'll put in a good word for you with the man upstairs if I see him, and we'll let the world solve it's own problems for the most part, except that someone ought to give Frida Kahlo a pair of tweezers and I think it should be you, only because I don't know her all that well and it might be awkward if I did.

2 comments:

E. W. Lynch said...

Have you been reading "Catcher in the Rye" recently? Cause that always pisses me off, you know, when someone makes some sort of vommity post and there all trying to sound like someone else, but they really don't, and you try to go along with it but really you don't care. It depresses the hell out of me. I swear to God.

jonathan said...

Frida didn't need tweezers. She needed a weed whacker to the forehead.

You'd think that after all of those self portraits that she'd have noticed!