Well, it's Tuesday. Yup. Like every other Tuesday, I have foggy memories of the evening before, of Matsuo puking into a cup and Tiki peeing on my hallway floor. Hm.
It'll be a while before any drinking buddies step into my house, that's for sure. Well, not necessarily. It may be a few days. Or a month. We'll see.
Anyways, I finally got the Cabrio-- it's sweet. Aaron said we're slowly forming a club of people with cool motorcycles and feminine cars. I can see it, but the Cabrio's too much fun to be pigeonholed into the category of "chick car."
Speaking of Pigeon (being the name of a prominent character in A Long, Long Time Ago and Essentially True-- excellent book), Brigid Pasulka was at my mom's new house (which she is house-sitting, not owning) for a book club meeting. It went well and it was great seeing her and now I'm struck by the idea of moving to Germany for no apparent reason and with no plan and few belongings. It'd be nice to learn a new language and not have to... I don't know. What can I complain about? I've been lazy and not the best brother/friend/boyfriend/co-worker. It just gets so boring doing things the right way. I mean, I know how to be healthy and how to be on-time and how to tell people what they want to hear, but is it worth it? Sure, I suppose it is. It'd be nice to fall in love with my life again when I'm 60 and not be living in a dilapidated shell of a human being. Man, I feel like every time I look up, I'm a some kind of crucial crossroads. Will I tire of this and arbitrarily settle into whatever habits I happen to be entertaining at that point in time? That could be a very good or very bad thing. I'll tell you what, though: I won't let myself get used to this smoker's cough-- it sucks and it's inconvenient and awkward and only good when it results in my hacking up a huge ball of... I went over this in the previous entry, I believe.
I wasn't really led to this next point, but here goes:
The Matrix was the first to bring the idea to my mind, the one comparing humanity to a virus: grazing until the land is dead before moving on and repeating the process. Is that a realistic way to live on an individual basis? I think it will kind of happen whether or not I try, but should I make a conscious effort to enjoy things to their fullest until I bore of them? That was a prior mentality of mine but I can't quite recall how it felt. Should I listen to Against Me! until I can't stand them anymore? Should I drink constantly until the idea of waking up with poor recollection and an abundance of regret becomes overwhelming and I need to live a sober, orderly life? With a car or motorcycle or bicycle, it's possible to drive recklessly and fully enjoy the car while, simultaneously, putting the work in on the side to make sure the oil is fresh. And the work on the side can be fun, too. Did I just answer my question? Should I stop being a lazy asshole and start working out and eating right again to preserve my body throughout the alcoholic assaults I've been putting it through? Hm. But it's so much more fulfilling to eat twinkies than a banana, especially when I'm drinking or hungover. So yes, I think I did answer my own question: even if the wrong oil is cheaper-- or, for that matter, no new oil-- I still have to use the right kind if I want my car to last. Good? Good. This should begin immediately. I've already burnt myself out on school, I don't need to burn myself out on having fun, too.
Last thought for this entry:
Since working for Ms. Lerone and Stella and Starbucks and Panera and Dunkin' Donuts, I've learned a few things. First of all, Starbucks or Panera or Dunkin' Donuts would never give me a car. That thought will never come as a shock to anybody, but there's more. At Stella, generally, I'm treated as a human being, as opposed to a hat or an apron or a piece of shit. Don't get me wrong, the people who go to Starbucks and Panera and Dunkin' Donuts are also people and, thus, are not entirely incapable of making judgments in the present as individuals... but!(this is a big but)! There's a hat and an apron and a dress code and the customer doesn't really need to make any judgments outside of what flavor they want their coffee because in front of every baristas face is the Starbucks logo-- both parties can hide behind it and everything's anonymous and that's kind of how I know America. It's kind of sickening. So my point is, aside from being half-baked, that if there weren't uniforms and hats and logos to hide behind, people might make connections in different places. You know, the way that some people know their mail- man or lady but those people, generally, seem to be shunned. And that makes me wonder whether mail people seemed a little strange to me before or after I noticed their being shunned. It's the same scenario as the guy who towed my car: is he an asshole because he was expecting me to be an asshole? Was it self-defense? I don't know. I'm still not used to this coffee shop. I mean, people talk to me like we're building friendships, and, in a way, we are: I'm their coffee-guy. Rarely more and never less (until they find a different shop or I skip town or something). So there's a sense of community here, like how cops make a community out of 7-11 (but that's different because that's just cops, employees of 7-11, and the occasional drunk dude).
So there's that. It's an observation that would probably be shot down if I shared it with a human being instead of the internet or the ether or wherever these posts end up, so I guess I'm going taking the anonymous route-- the one that makes me so uncomfortable when I observe other people doing it. Kind of like cocaine-- that always had a scary aura until it was me in the circle. Now it's just dumb.
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