I borrowed your car keys, but not your car.
There are a number of people I 'place' myself in front up when I write these things. As much as they're meant to act as a sort of dialogue. I read them as such when I go back a dig through them to see what was going on every few months ago or so.
And I sort of try to explain myself to them as monocles of hyper-intelligence. Not in the sense that they are high-IQ, way smart people, even though they are, even though some of them are dumb as rocks. Hyper in the sense of extra-dimensionality, that they are alert to sensibilities which I value, but am not adept at satisfying.
So what am I up to here? I dunno. I rearranged the living room again. I finally found a cabinet to fill the upstairs nook. It is one of those spaces made achingly private by way of it's singular propriety. No one else really knows which nook I'm talking about. Even if they did, it really wouldn't bother to bother them. As such, filling the space and correcting the problem is kind of the ultimate act of italicized self-expression. Well, no. I guess ultimacy would take the form of painting it in some wickedly bohemian manner. Maybe I did. Maybe then unpainted it. I guess that would be self-indulgent.
Over the last few months, many such activities have taken place. Fixing the little things wrong with stuff that I call mine. It's been so unsatisfying that I contemplate discontinuing the process.
So, I'm on vacation this upcoming week.
And I sort of try to explain myself to them as monocles of hyper-intelligence. Not in the sense that they are high-IQ, way smart people, even though they are, even though some of them are dumb as rocks. Hyper in the sense of extra-dimensionality, that they are alert to sensibilities which I value, but am not adept at satisfying.
So what am I up to here? I dunno. I rearranged the living room again. I finally found a cabinet to fill the upstairs nook. It is one of those spaces made achingly private by way of it's singular propriety. No one else really knows which nook I'm talking about. Even if they did, it really wouldn't bother to bother them. As such, filling the space and correcting the problem is kind of the ultimate act of italicized self-expression. Well, no. I guess ultimacy would take the form of painting it in some wickedly bohemian manner. Maybe I did. Maybe then unpainted it. I guess that would be self-indulgent.
Over the last few months, many such activities have taken place. Fixing the little things wrong with stuff that I call mine. It's been so unsatisfying that I contemplate discontinuing the process.
So, I'm on vacation this upcoming week.