Why One Should Keep Bins Properly-Labelled
Lesson Learned #756: Use your labeller more efficiently. Keep all your things in their proper bins, labels and all, so you don't accidentally encounter stuff that are better off in the Lobotomy Section.
Was looking for an unfinished story I started writing years ago that I now want to re-work and re-write, but found letters from someone I almost pinned my entire life to once. The Grand Hitad. Made me laugh my head off to see remnants of that pseudo-whatever. So I just had to re-read those stupid letters.
Huge mistake. Major.
I'm still laughing but there's a tiny ball of something stuck in the corner of the base of neck and my throat, keeping me from taking deep breaths and swallowing. I can't even smoke a cigarette properly -- all shallow puffs, no deep drags. There's a hitch in my breathing that's not funny. But I still can't stop laughing.
Maybe if I laugh hard enough, whatever's stuck would become dislodged and show itself to be nothing more than a small ball of phlegm. Or nicotine tar. Or a piece of the pancake I had for dinner. Or the vitamin C pill I took hours ago to keep from getting sick from the rain we've been having recently.
Besides, there's nothing left and else to do but laugh about it. The matter has been confronted enough. Obsessed about enough. Problematised enough. Cried over enough. Reconciled with myself enough. Over-and-done-with-ed enough. Resolved. Ended. Enough.
*****
I blame Shawn Mullins. He's got a voice that encourages melancholy, and his songs are so sadly hopeful and beautifully sad.
I blame all the cliches about the rain because they give me license to do this.
I blame that stupid melatonin pill that didn't work because it didn't save me from being antsy and eager to look for something to do at 3am. I blame everyone who didn't send me an email tonight that would have given me some work to do. I blame work because it got finished today. I blame Victor Erofeyev because "Life with an Idiot" was so freakingly disturbing that I had to put the book down and distract myself from the horrible images his words left in my head. I blame HBO, Cinemax and Star Movies because all they have on right now are B-movies with ex-wrestlers pretending to be cops / spies / actors.
I blame this obsessive compulsion to hold on to things that are better off trashed. I blame the fear of regret which keeps me from permanently getting rid of things from past lives.
I blame that stupid labeller that ran out of sticker tape so I couldn't finish labelling my boxes and drawers. I blame my anal retentive tendency that demands that all the boxes and drawers be labelled with properly-printed stickers when a masking tape and a permanent marker would suffice.
This is all their fault.
Was looking for an unfinished story I started writing years ago that I now want to re-work and re-write, but found letters from someone I almost pinned my entire life to once. The Grand Hitad. Made me laugh my head off to see remnants of that pseudo-whatever. So I just had to re-read those stupid letters.
Huge mistake. Major.
I'm still laughing but there's a tiny ball of something stuck in the corner of the base of neck and my throat, keeping me from taking deep breaths and swallowing. I can't even smoke a cigarette properly -- all shallow puffs, no deep drags. There's a hitch in my breathing that's not funny. But I still can't stop laughing.
Maybe if I laugh hard enough, whatever's stuck would become dislodged and show itself to be nothing more than a small ball of phlegm. Or nicotine tar. Or a piece of the pancake I had for dinner. Or the vitamin C pill I took hours ago to keep from getting sick from the rain we've been having recently.
Besides, there's nothing left and else to do but laugh about it. The matter has been confronted enough. Obsessed about enough. Problematised enough. Cried over enough. Reconciled with myself enough. Over-and-done-with-ed enough. Resolved. Ended. Enough.
*****
I blame Shawn Mullins. He's got a voice that encourages melancholy, and his songs are so sadly hopeful and beautifully sad.
I blame all the cliches about the rain because they give me license to do this.
I blame that stupid melatonin pill that didn't work because it didn't save me from being antsy and eager to look for something to do at 3am. I blame everyone who didn't send me an email tonight that would have given me some work to do. I blame work because it got finished today. I blame Victor Erofeyev because "Life with an Idiot" was so freakingly disturbing that I had to put the book down and distract myself from the horrible images his words left in my head. I blame HBO, Cinemax and Star Movies because all they have on right now are B-movies with ex-wrestlers pretending to be cops / spies / actors.
I blame this obsessive compulsion to hold on to things that are better off trashed. I blame the fear of regret which keeps me from permanently getting rid of things from past lives.
I blame that stupid labeller that ran out of sticker tape so I couldn't finish labelling my boxes and drawers. I blame my anal retentive tendency that demands that all the boxes and drawers be labelled with properly-printed stickers when a masking tape and a permanent marker would suffice.
This is all their fault.