Another pointless but fiber free day

January 11, 2010

This is a pointless effort at writing, and wanders on and off the point this is a warning. This piece is an attempt for me to write 365,000 words in 2010 as of this day I have written 1820 so far but have a piece with 2000 that needs serious editing because it was written I pieces but reflects prior days, and is really choppy, and it is not choppy in a good way. For those who dare to move forward, any and all comments are welcome

Another day of futility, a reminder of pointless existence, whose path I paved with my own depressed feeble brain, soaked in the sweat of my worried brow. It started slowly, I awoke from another dream where I spent time with a dead loved one, which is normal, except for they were the way I remembered them in the 60’s and I was my current age so I was actually older, and we were not doing anything interesting, or memory worthy, just chatting about mundane things, which makes me think if it wasn’t religious from the standpoint that I’ve always wondered when you go to heaven, do you go as you died, when you thought you were your coolest, or when you were your most pious. Do you get a choice?, the first of the pointless points is what if the afterlife is a series of revisiting points in your life at various ages from the stand point of when you were the most able to make a good decision, like when choosing a college I would revisit that decision at lets say 48, and what decision would I make while some sentinel would jab me with a spear if I make a bad decision or a ticket for a buffet if I make a good decision, and eternity is about getting a really good meal before they send you back and in your current incarnation really bad headaches are your prior self revisiting a prior life bad decision (like skydiving with Tarot card reader with one blue eye and one red eye), or is a boring dream a way for your brain to tell you that something has to change, from the standpoint I didn’t wake up tired, just annoyed to the point I stayed in bed long enough to take care of the cat clan up and grab a burger from Carl’s ( I know its bad for the diet, diabetes, and general health, in my defense I didn’t give a hoot at 7:30 am but I did buy a Fanta strawberry drink and did a samba when the drink came down the shoot, and it made me feel happy for the 15 minutes until 8:00 and the bell was going ring a ding ding because someone wanted some post it notes and didn’t want to wait so they asked the gal who has temporary ownership of the detail, to get to it at the opening bell so to speak. I retrieved the desired post it notes, tossed the empty bottle that formerly held a strawberry drink that brought me a few moments of escapism into the trash, and briefly wondered why no recycling of plastics in a government building, before a smiling face appeared, wished me a good morning, and wanted to know if I was in a good mood and why, for reasons some of you know, I can come up with a highly implausible but amusing story that involves my place in the universe and why I should be allowed to retire, and this one involved the McGuire brothers where one loses the Spiderman gig ( a good move in my opinion, the actors seemed bored but wanted a paycheck to do an art movie that would involve nudity, homosexuality, and cannibalism, and give an uninspired performance that would make me really unhappy with a torn $12 ticket, ½ empty $7.00 buttered popcorn, empty $6.00 soda and a full bladder screaming at me that nothing special would happen during the credits), and that Bozo admits he used steroids but it didn’t help him hit a baseball except that if not for the steroids he never would have been in good enough shape to stand up after a morning dump with out the help of a walker during his most productive years, he made about 100 million and says he is sorry, I understand that he made money for the team, baseball, and the community dependent on baseball, but get serious, there are kids and young men in freezing weather chasing a illusionary enemy for college tuition, or life training for something that has meaning, and old mark is upset because people thinks he cheated, Bite me McGuire, both of you, of course the smiling face left and I went about my duties, trying to clear up the end of the year stuff, new stuff while trying to determine which new appointee will draw the short stick and actually do work instead of attending pointless meetings where we all 1) “must work smarter, not harder” 2) “be willing to get our hands dirty”, 3) “ make do with the assets we have” 4) “ be thankful for out jobs” now I see merit in all of it. But I hate when a cousin of someone who gave money to a campaign and gets a cushy six figure job tells me that times are tough and to be grateful, pious bastards, I want to wish them harm by going to Little Haiti and finding a voodoo practice and paying the intern 10 bucks to put a minor spell that would cause a little minor indigestion, a bad hair day, and a misplaced glove while placing $5.00 of fuel in the tank, I used to wish really bad harm like a small meteor crashing through the windshield and leaving a bruise that looked like someone wrote “Eat me” on his forehead, but if it actually happened, not only would I get the blame, but it would probably look pretty cool, and that would just ruin my burger and strawberry Fanta