And you call this living?
I thought that after awhile I might get used to being a productive member of society, that this sense of adulthood would wear away its newness like the gloss of a carapace. It hasn't yet. I still feel like I'm pretending to be a grownup, just like I pretend to be concerned every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, like I pretend to be edgy and real on livejournal. Truth be told though, its difficult to be concerned about a minor fender bender when its the eighth one you've heard that day, and really I just want the responsible party to issue a brief mea culpa, offer up all their relevant information and drive their car to the next available repair appointment. I'm not so much concerned with the schedules of the imaginary people on the phone as the percentage of times that I can convince them to use the Auto Repair Express program and to get them off the phone so that I can keep my Average Handling Time down.
Damn that is easy, or edgy, but definitely not real, how much harder would it have been to dish about something important instead of just rehash old arguments about work, by the way I work for a car insurance company if that last bit didn't really make sense. Sometimes when I'm writing I think about Fight Club and Brad Pitt saying on the plane, "I get it you're clever ... how's that working out for you?" I wonder if my theme gets a little off-kilter by throwing in all this stylistic nonsense, but then when I go back and read this, whether its good or bad I'd at least like to think that its clever, or maybe just edgy. Anyway, neurotic self-analysis aside what was I going to say, what was the message, the plot, the sequence of sentences that was going to embody a simple but elegant and poignant realization about human nature? Or is this entire post just the back cover of a post-modern reinvention of James Joyce. Good god, I should be shot or a snooty newspaper journalist with all these unnecessary literary references.
New paragraph, that was the answer I was looking for, one enter+tab and we might actually find what we are looking for, a sense of self, realization, something meaningful. They're thinking in the back of the audience that this guy may actually have dragged us all down here just because he likes to indulge himself, just because he had a wad of stream-of-consciousness bullshit that he wanted to blow unceremoniously into the huge paper hanky of the audience. And the worst part is that the further off-point he gets the more he forgets whether he even had a point, or whether this was just a journey to the center of the psyche and at the end we won't walk towards the exit, no, we'll slowly approach the stage until he's whispering five feet away and we stare up at him with the tired desperation of an audience that knows what they expect and are simply not impressed with this sub-par performance, then after a moment of tense observation we'll ask if its too late to return our tickets and if there are any good movies out soon.
That's the problem I guess with posting on livejournal, if you're not willing to be terribly circumspect and make sure that you only use pronouns you end up without a piece of yourself on the chopping block to dice into pieces. I can't just come out with whatever I'm going to say, and by the time I'm done writing, whether I've said anything or not, it will be here for you to peruse and I don't care overly much what it is that's written there, in the sense that one word is often as good as another, though perhaps not as beautiful. Its just that as an economist I can't help but love the idea of me being done writing and feeling better while you're entertained, and since I don't know how many people, if any read this, its really just for me, and I can imagine a vast studio audience, sitting enraptured like those dancers behind silk screens that never really know whether anyone is watching their shadows or if they're just dancing up on a stage because there was nothing better to do at the time. I know some writer or other has said that writing is like masturbation and while it really isn't all that similar you do, do it alone, and when you're done you feel a whole lot better, which isn't really that different from going to the bathroom... and cut.
Damn that is easy, or edgy, but definitely not real, how much harder would it have been to dish about something important instead of just rehash old arguments about work, by the way I work for a car insurance company if that last bit didn't really make sense. Sometimes when I'm writing I think about Fight Club and Brad Pitt saying on the plane, "I get it you're clever ... how's that working out for you?" I wonder if my theme gets a little off-kilter by throwing in all this stylistic nonsense, but then when I go back and read this, whether its good or bad I'd at least like to think that its clever, or maybe just edgy. Anyway, neurotic self-analysis aside what was I going to say, what was the message, the plot, the sequence of sentences that was going to embody a simple but elegant and poignant realization about human nature? Or is this entire post just the back cover of a post-modern reinvention of James Joyce. Good god, I should be shot or a snooty newspaper journalist with all these unnecessary literary references.
New paragraph, that was the answer I was looking for, one enter+tab and we might actually find what we are looking for, a sense of self, realization, something meaningful. They're thinking in the back of the audience that this guy may actually have dragged us all down here just because he likes to indulge himself, just because he had a wad of stream-of-consciousness bullshit that he wanted to blow unceremoniously into the huge paper hanky of the audience. And the worst part is that the further off-point he gets the more he forgets whether he even had a point, or whether this was just a journey to the center of the psyche and at the end we won't walk towards the exit, no, we'll slowly approach the stage until he's whispering five feet away and we stare up at him with the tired desperation of an audience that knows what they expect and are simply not impressed with this sub-par performance, then after a moment of tense observation we'll ask if its too late to return our tickets and if there are any good movies out soon.
That's the problem I guess with posting on livejournal, if you're not willing to be terribly circumspect and make sure that you only use pronouns you end up without a piece of yourself on the chopping block to dice into pieces. I can't just come out with whatever I'm going to say, and by the time I'm done writing, whether I've said anything or not, it will be here for you to peruse and I don't care overly much what it is that's written there, in the sense that one word is often as good as another, though perhaps not as beautiful. Its just that as an economist I can't help but love the idea of me being done writing and feeling better while you're entertained, and since I don't know how many people, if any read this, its really just for me, and I can imagine a vast studio audience, sitting enraptured like those dancers behind silk screens that never really know whether anyone is watching their shadows or if they're just dancing up on a stage because there was nothing better to do at the time. I know some writer or other has said that writing is like masturbation and while it really isn't all that similar you do, do it alone, and when you're done you feel a whole lot better, which isn't really that different from going to the bathroom... and cut.