I consider being "bored" to be almost vulgar. "If you're bored then you're boring," so the Harvey Danger song goes, but they didn't invent the phrase. Regardless, there it is. I'm bored. So I spent all day cleaning my roommate's room, just because she's been super-sweet, waking up after long nights of [redacted] and driving my punk ass to work.
That girl wears a HELL of a lot of pink I tell you. I think she owns two blue objects. The rest are pink or black.
I think I have another blood clot (DVT). Actually, I know I have another blood clot because a section behind my right calf is clearly calcified. Glad I'm not dead yet. Time to sign up to my employers crappy insurance and get it looked at.
Been thinking -- yes, again -- about what I should do with my life. I know it probably seems like I brood on it but it's more like a "twiddling." It doesn't bother me that I don't know yet, even at the age of 32. Ok, not much, anyway.
I remember, many years ago, reading this comic book called The Maxx. In it, a girl by the name of Julie sets up shop as a freelance social worker. I remember that it struck me as an incredibly noble and selfless thing to do but I can't say I gave it much more thought than that.
And I guess it got me thinking about the void between what I was taught as a Catholic and my reality growing up.
The story of the Good Samaratin was repeated every blue moon in a sermon but I sure as hell didn't know anyone who would do more than kick some change to a homeless guy. In a similar, non-direct, etherial way I saw the void between the ideal and the reality.
Ever get a popcorn hull stuck way the Christ back on your tongue so far that you can't get it off with your teeth? Same thing, only mental. And it's kind of coming back to haunt me.
That's all. No conclusions. Just observations. And I'm ok with that. For now.