You Can Pause and Wonder, They Pause and Wonder, Yeah I Pause and Wonder Too
Last night, due largely to my efforts at work over the last year, we received the company of the year award. I was decked out in a suit, with my boss and one of our top reps, and we got to hang on to one pretty impressive trophy (with a well endowed Buffalo crowning the top), and be given a nice speech. The speech was so damn nice, I almost had a tear in my eye with gratitude, which I realized was really just from a combination of whiskey, white wine, rich chocolate mousse and the blistering humidity and thunderstorms. The sky was a flashbulb as I drove myself home, opened all the windows and collapsed onto my bed in a pile of over-warm and cooking human.
What a setback. The apartment is still a mess and there is a list as long as my arm of things I need to do before embarking on the final trip to the cabin in the woods. This weekend is Father's Day, and we're nearing the first year mark of not only the 48 Hour Film Festival (which I am procrastinating heavily right now on putting together an article on), but with that the anniversary of my Grandfather's passing. Holidays have been rough lately, with Grandma; with all of us. I wanted to visit the mausoleum this morning, but I've not made enough time. I'd like to think that the disappearance of my evening last night was a large factor in crushing my time as it is now, and the only excuse is my own procrastination. George Saunders, in an interview in The Believer, spoke about the appearance of ghosts and spirits in his books, in contrast to his otherwise realistic portrayal of life, where he said (I'm paraphrasing here): people who have passed effect the living continuously, so there wasn't anything un-realistic about ghosts.
I wanted to get to the library too.
What a setback. The apartment is still a mess and there is a list as long as my arm of things I need to do before embarking on the final trip to the cabin in the woods. This weekend is Father's Day, and we're nearing the first year mark of not only the 48 Hour Film Festival (which I am procrastinating heavily right now on putting together an article on), but with that the anniversary of my Grandfather's passing. Holidays have been rough lately, with Grandma; with all of us. I wanted to visit the mausoleum this morning, but I've not made enough time. I'd like to think that the disappearance of my evening last night was a large factor in crushing my time as it is now, and the only excuse is my own procrastination. George Saunders, in an interview in The Believer, spoke about the appearance of ghosts and spirits in his books, in contrast to his otherwise realistic portrayal of life, where he said (I'm paraphrasing here): people who have passed effect the living continuously, so there wasn't anything un-realistic about ghosts.
I wanted to get to the library too.