notes by an office assistant: parts 1-4
on the things i hate about my job:
i don't really want to touch his file. it's hard enough to look at it, to have the highlighted words on the front under "felony convictions" go into my eyes, back through my sinuses, and down the back of my throat to where the bile sits patiently, waiting to be expelled in the same shade of yellow that accents the words "aggravated robbery, attempted rape".
in moments like these, i know that i'm not really back up to par -- but what sets par for one's own life? does par change with circumstance? do we readjust par for marriage, job change, child rearing and inevitable aging? OR are we set on the idea of what we were, and based on what we were, what we could be? do we think that our lives don't live up to these past standards because we're incapable of finding relative joy? are there relative truths in life, or is our original idea of happiness the absolute big-T Truth? and if we believe the latter of the two statements, can we ever really be happy with this unattainable standard of happiness? and think about it: was happiness ever the point?
on that strange feeling you're being lied to:
what would be so hard about accepting it -- embracing it -- knowing you're in the last few frames of the movie of your life, and looking your audience in the eye and saying, "yeah, it's a movie, and yeah, it's almost over; but to hell with me if it wasn't the best film i could've made, whether you like it or not."
my papou has seen enough people go before him, lived through enough betrayal, sweat too hard, and hurt too much to think that this is good. he's fighting us right now, but little does he realize he's actually just swinging at silly putty. every time he says he's "fine", it makes an imprint on our hearts. we're more damaged by the lie than we would be by the truth -- we're in the final frames of a film we thought would have ended 25 minutes and 3 product placements ago. we absorb the hit. we are dented. we are different. this denial causes us more pain than we planned for.
everything's fine, honey.
clean bill of health.
everything's fine.
on dehumanization:
rarely is the statement heard, "i wonder what ever happened to the Cardigans..." on a personal level, this has never arisen as a concern. after "lovefool"'s three millionth play on my local KISS station back in 199-, i realized i would never have to concern myself with this band's welfare ever.again. and this is the inherent evil of corporate radio: the more they play a single, the fewer people i have to worry about. that, in and of itself, makes me less of a greek, less of a human, less of a citizen of the world. who am i as a greek if i can't worry? it's the equivalent of being a bad cook, devoid of rhythm, or hairless. think about it.
on dreaming the impossible dream:
los angeles was the one place where no one knew about my traumas, my inexperiences, my whole-hearted desire to die the year before, or my reasons for being a vegetarian. i was in relative anonymity and sunshine, the best combination of legal drugs you will ever find under california's ubiquitously blue skies. i was only "doug's friend", always "doug's friend". i was happy with my losing streak at frogger. [i have never been happy with a losing streak before.]
a cold room, an unfamiliar environment, but doug's room was the same shade of stage blood red as my former living room -- and oh, i knew that i was home. in la, i was rarely angry -- the only thing even remotely frustrating was the fact that i didn't make it to the getty's iconography exhibit; and even then, i was too hungover from the city's intoxicating scent that i couldn't spent too much energy on caring. [update: the exhibit's monk-turned-curator is a texan convert to orthodoxy, who i will have the opportunity to meet next summer in egypt.]
they all told me i'd hate the west coast, but i fell in love with the life i had in the five days i was there. the anonymity, the long nights and longer days, the beers with lunch and dinner, the endless game of scrabble (my bad): these were all pieces of the life that i will never be able to live.
oh, i felt great.
one year, three months.
back to counting. back to life.
i don't really want to touch his file. it's hard enough to look at it, to have the highlighted words on the front under "felony convictions" go into my eyes, back through my sinuses, and down the back of my throat to where the bile sits patiently, waiting to be expelled in the same shade of yellow that accents the words "aggravated robbery, attempted rape".
in moments like these, i know that i'm not really back up to par -- but what sets par for one's own life? does par change with circumstance? do we readjust par for marriage, job change, child rearing and inevitable aging? OR are we set on the idea of what we were, and based on what we were, what we could be? do we think that our lives don't live up to these past standards because we're incapable of finding relative joy? are there relative truths in life, or is our original idea of happiness the absolute big-T Truth? and if we believe the latter of the two statements, can we ever really be happy with this unattainable standard of happiness? and think about it: was happiness ever the point?
on that strange feeling you're being lied to:
what would be so hard about accepting it -- embracing it -- knowing you're in the last few frames of the movie of your life, and looking your audience in the eye and saying, "yeah, it's a movie, and yeah, it's almost over; but to hell with me if it wasn't the best film i could've made, whether you like it or not."
my papou has seen enough people go before him, lived through enough betrayal, sweat too hard, and hurt too much to think that this is good. he's fighting us right now, but little does he realize he's actually just swinging at silly putty. every time he says he's "fine", it makes an imprint on our hearts. we're more damaged by the lie than we would be by the truth -- we're in the final frames of a film we thought would have ended 25 minutes and 3 product placements ago. we absorb the hit. we are dented. we are different. this denial causes us more pain than we planned for.
everything's fine, honey.
clean bill of health.
everything's fine.
on dehumanization:
rarely is the statement heard, "i wonder what ever happened to the Cardigans..." on a personal level, this has never arisen as a concern. after "lovefool"'s three millionth play on my local KISS station back in 199-, i realized i would never have to concern myself with this band's welfare ever.again. and this is the inherent evil of corporate radio: the more they play a single, the fewer people i have to worry about. that, in and of itself, makes me less of a greek, less of a human, less of a citizen of the world. who am i as a greek if i can't worry? it's the equivalent of being a bad cook, devoid of rhythm, or hairless. think about it.
on dreaming the impossible dream:
los angeles was the one place where no one knew about my traumas, my inexperiences, my whole-hearted desire to die the year before, or my reasons for being a vegetarian. i was in relative anonymity and sunshine, the best combination of legal drugs you will ever find under california's ubiquitously blue skies. i was only "doug's friend", always "doug's friend". i was happy with my losing streak at frogger. [i have never been happy with a losing streak before.]
a cold room, an unfamiliar environment, but doug's room was the same shade of stage blood red as my former living room -- and oh, i knew that i was home. in la, i was rarely angry -- the only thing even remotely frustrating was the fact that i didn't make it to the getty's iconography exhibit; and even then, i was too hungover from the city's intoxicating scent that i couldn't spent too much energy on caring. [update: the exhibit's monk-turned-curator is a texan convert to orthodoxy, who i will have the opportunity to meet next summer in egypt.]
they all told me i'd hate the west coast, but i fell in love with the life i had in the five days i was there. the anonymity, the long nights and longer days, the beers with lunch and dinner, the endless game of scrabble (my bad): these were all pieces of the life that i will never be able to live.
oh, i felt great.
one year, three months.
back to counting. back to life.