Today seemed to be a cursed one on any and all fronts. Try as I might I just couldn't get the mail to come. 'Round these parts mailmen come and go like little whimsies. We get a new mailman once a week and I can never figure out what time is the best time to stagger out of bed and out to the mailbox in my underwear. When something reliable as the mail goes unreliable you know it's not one for the ages. I'll admit it took 2 White Russians to get out of bed, pick up my finest ivory handled comb, and go do whatever it is I do.
One of the things I do is work on my fame in the Philippines. Thank you for the kindness of your comment Raouual, we look forward to future comments from you.
Another thing I do is people watch.
Seeing strangers cavort about in their everyday activities I cannot help but judge, turning average into idiocy, but by the same token I cannot help but give them the benefit of the doubt. In the glimpse of rudimentary opinion one can seem both fruitless, fruitful, and fruity. People who I barely know assume more importance than great friends if only because they still have their luster. I am free to make up whatever history I want.
In my imagination: Clarence, 36, goes home and methodically does puzzles. Has sex 4.5 times a week. Restores exotic cars.
In our reality and let'[s not debate the nature of this term for too long): Clarence, 36, loves Desperate Housewives.
There is something beautiful to this pattern of living assumptions. There are however downfalls. Cool kids you are supposed to be cool kids. You are supposed to, nay obligated, to live a life of Cocaine, body painting, and general in flux activities. Move closer to these cool kids and they are just like you and me except they have no grasp on baseball and spend too much time thinking about sneakers. Cool kids, at the very least be interesting to imagine.
This is why I'd like to marry a stranger. I won't already know where the scars are.
No comments:
Post a Comment