Thursday, February 24, 2005
Loose Ends
It’s amazing how much things can fall apart when you leave town for even a few days. When I got back to Chicago on Monday, I found my mailbox stuffed so full of highly personal letters addressed to my neighbors and ads for male enhancement products that it was held shut with a rubber band (apparently my mail carrier is MacGyver), my one and only plant lying on the verge of death in the living room, and the machine full of messages from people who knew I was going out of town but for whom alcohol made it appropriate to call six or seven times to invite me to come to their cousin’s keg party. The sad part being that I totally would have been there.
But now I’m basically as caught up as I ever get in life (emotionally I remain on a fourth grade level, caring mainly for Jolt Cola and Nintendo Power Magazine), and I’m seized by a sudden urge to flee all over again. I don’t want to sit at a desk and read about other people’s problems all day long! Especially if those people are in prison or have unpleasant-sounding disabilities! I don’t want to spend half an hour on the train each day among people who read Jackie Collins books and think tight-rolled jeans are coming back! And I don’t want it to snow any more, ever again! People who say snow is pretty are fucking communists and should be forcibly deported to Siberia. Lots of snow there, jerks!
All right, I think I need to dial the crazy down a notch. I’ll put on some soothing Yanni or something. Oh wait, that would make me kill.
It’s amazing how much things can fall apart when you leave town for even a few days. When I got back to Chicago on Monday, I found my mailbox stuffed so full of highly personal letters addressed to my neighbors and ads for male enhancement products that it was held shut with a rubber band (apparently my mail carrier is MacGyver), my one and only plant lying on the verge of death in the living room, and the machine full of messages from people who knew I was going out of town but for whom alcohol made it appropriate to call six or seven times to invite me to come to their cousin’s keg party. The sad part being that I totally would have been there.
But now I’m basically as caught up as I ever get in life (emotionally I remain on a fourth grade level, caring mainly for Jolt Cola and Nintendo Power Magazine), and I’m seized by a sudden urge to flee all over again. I don’t want to sit at a desk and read about other people’s problems all day long! Especially if those people are in prison or have unpleasant-sounding disabilities! I don’t want to spend half an hour on the train each day among people who read Jackie Collins books and think tight-rolled jeans are coming back! And I don’t want it to snow any more, ever again! People who say snow is pretty are fucking communists and should be forcibly deported to Siberia. Lots of snow there, jerks!
All right, I think I need to dial the crazy down a notch. I’ll put on some soothing Yanni or something. Oh wait, that would make me kill.
