Deblitiating deliberations!
I find that even though I take great pride in my inordinate lack of purpose, being mind-numbingly idle is definitely no fun. Or perhaps it isn't because I am bound by the condition of having to sit upright in a chair without the luxury of taking off my shoes and flying off to meet fairies. I opened my day with Jack Johnson's 'Broken', a shower, a change and trailed my twisted trajectory to work. On the way there was Diamond's 'Forever in Blue Jeans' and some captivating Chet Baker.
I suppose my need to make the books and movies and music paramount priority in my world emerges from the fact that without them, life is just musty. It is, but I would much rather it wasn't.
This oh-so random musing is precipitated by the fact that its 4:18 pm, I have already written a brilliant series concept (Yes I say so myself as will others...for I am Spartacus, Bah!), have finished my bag book for the day... Machiavell's 'The Prince', good but no cartwheels for him. My pencil has scarred the pages with its usual But-I-beg-to-differ / I must digress, Sir! salutations and I am fucking B-O-R-E-D. I spent a good two hours on my novel, wrote neary 30 pages of which I have yet to make head or tail. I also wrote up two chapters on my thesis literature Review section and posted my Fulbright application. I have been tuned in to Duke Ellington for the past hour so I think I've exceeded more than my usual level of existential.
I've scrolled down Daily Times through and through, finally bothering to read the pages I spent a year working on and never deemed worthy of my actual attention. I've caught up on my correspondence and have just spent 15 precious seconds methodically applying lipgloss.
What scares me now is that even though my narration has elapsed it is only 4:26...and I'm stuck here till seven.
Nothing even remotely worthwile fantasizing about, especially considering my last but most recent crush's face has already begun to fade.
Short-term memory symposium sucks!
I find that even though I take great pride in my inordinate lack of purpose, being mind-numbingly idle is definitely no fun. Or perhaps it isn't because I am bound by the condition of having to sit upright in a chair without the luxury of taking off my shoes and flying off to meet fairies. I opened my day with Jack Johnson's 'Broken', a shower, a change and trailed my twisted trajectory to work. On the way there was Diamond's 'Forever in Blue Jeans' and some captivating Chet Baker.
I suppose my need to make the books and movies and music paramount priority in my world emerges from the fact that without them, life is just musty. It is, but I would much rather it wasn't.
This oh-so random musing is precipitated by the fact that its 4:18 pm, I have already written a brilliant series concept (Yes I say so myself as will others...for I am Spartacus, Bah!), have finished my bag book for the day... Machiavell's 'The Prince', good but no cartwheels for him. My pencil has scarred the pages with its usual But-I-beg-to-differ / I must digress, Sir! salutations and I am fucking B-O-R-E-D. I spent a good two hours on my novel, wrote neary 30 pages of which I have yet to make head or tail. I also wrote up two chapters on my thesis literature Review section and posted my Fulbright application. I have been tuned in to Duke Ellington for the past hour so I think I've exceeded more than my usual level of existential.
I've scrolled down Daily Times through and through, finally bothering to read the pages I spent a year working on and never deemed worthy of my actual attention. I've caught up on my correspondence and have just spent 15 precious seconds methodically applying lipgloss.
What scares me now is that even though my narration has elapsed it is only 4:26...and I'm stuck here till seven.
Nothing even remotely worthwile fantasizing about, especially considering my last but most recent crush's face has already begun to fade.
Short-term memory symposium sucks!
i'll add a couple
ReplyDeletestar-crossed & spangled - foolish flags between alleged foes
bordicide - obviously the dissolution of unnecessary borders
and in honour of the recent happenings in baroda
on the mania of the moral police
rheterotic - the fake victorian dogma that sickens us
sensitivements - them religious sentiments ever so eager to be offended
ignorati - a word so necessary in this the age of the moron