Oct 17 2004
freewrite
I haven’t written whatever pops into my head in a long time, and I figure that the randomness of my brain is more interesting than my tumors, so here goes:
It’s weird, what causes me to think of some people. Why domestic tasks make me think of this guy I don’t even talk to anymore is completely beyond me, but somehow, every time, or maybe not every time, but enough. Anyway, not-really-every-time I fold laundry, my memory conjures him and I inevitably start laughing. There’s absolutely no reason for him to be associated with laundry at all, I don’t think, but whatever. Reason is for chumps.
Speaking of laundry, I did quite a bit of it today while I was entrenched in a mission to clean and reorganize every aspect of my living space. I’ve always known that I was a bit of a clotheshorse, but seriously:
This really doesn’t show how completely overstuffed my closet is.
Why do I own as many pairs of jeans as they have in a local GAP?
But I have a reason for owning three times that many t-shirts. I just don’t know what it is.
Anyway, I have everything cleaned and organized. I get a weird kind of joy out of bringing order to chaos, which is funny because I tend to live for chaos. I don’t actually enjoy chaos, in fact, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to appreciate having at least a general sense of where things are and what’s going on, but for some reason, no matter how I appreciate it, I can’t seem to make myself be orderly. Until things get so crazy that I have to stop and sort everything out, that is. Then my newfound sense of organization lasts for a week or two and I become a mess again. I don’t know what my deal is, but maybe I’ll straighten myself out someday. Or not. Whatever. We can’t all be neat freaks.
I’m getting my hair cut in a week and a half. I don’t know why I do this, but I’ll get a haircut that I like, but I always grow it out. Which is stupid, because I hate having long hair. It’s too much work. And it gets in my way. Anyway, I don’t know how much hair I’m actually going to cut off, but probably a lot. Yeah. Sweet.
I think my problem is that I don’t want to do anything when I grow up.
Exactly.
Now that Michigan is bringing the pain (also known as autumn, which, for all of its impressive beauty, just heralds winter) I am reminded of what I do want, which is to be someplace warm enough that I don’t have to wear shoes, someplace with dry heat and sun, where I can take a nap in the middle of the day if I want to, though I won’t want to because I’m not really that big on napping anyway, but I could, which is the important point. I could. And I could sit at night with a beer and see stars forever and not have to worry about going to work in the morning and writing reports and shaking hands with the right people and trends and showing numbers and all of the stuff that I have to do now that doesn’t really matter because it doesn’t matter. I’m burned out and even though February is closer than it used to be, it’s still not close enough. It’s not that I don’t like what I’m doing or that I don’t care, because I do, it’s just that I wish I had some time to breathe, some time when it all wasn’t starting up again so soon. Of course, tomorrow’s Monday, and fucking a sometimes I just want to run away.
There is no happy medium between boredom and burnout, it seems. Of course, maybe there is and I can’t exist there. I don’t seem to care for mediums that much.
Mediums?
Despite all this, I do love fall because I love apples. I’m eating some cooked apples right now, which is a food I learned to love when I was a kid with braces, and the whole house smells warm and tasty, which is the perfect way for a house to smell on Sunday night, I think, and I guess I’m going to be done with this now, so I can finish my apples and put a load of clothes in the dryer.
