Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Writers' Block! O, Writers' Block!

I'm feeling particularly at a loss for what to write about today, as evidenced by the fact that it is now 8:31 in the evening and I'm just breaking into this here opening sentence. But what a sentence it was, eh? Let's pause for a minute to admire those verbs and commas while I stall and try to conjure the next witty boxcar to couple to that engine.

I mean, insert the crickets, folks, I'm fresh out of ideas. Put the needle on the Muzak and invent some topical humor about Lil' Kim's sojourn to the slammer, because that right there is about all I've got. She's short! And in prison! But seriously, folks!

These past two days have felt like a strange new interpretation of September of last year, when Brad and I gave a half-hearted stab at getting out on our own. I was temping in the Human Resources department of Pace University (Scanning papers, then shredding papers, and occasionally printing the scans and then shredding them again. I have no idea what my actual job was.) and Brad was alphabetizing Dave Matthews singles and ringing up Ann Coulter's political Black Masses at Borders. It half worked for about a month, until Brad went back home to Cleveland and my furious resume sending landed me my current plum sitch. A year of saving money (and gathering more information via surgery manuals than I have ever desired about my eliminatory functions) started the whole process over, and though we were supposed to be moving into an apartment we're once again bidding each other goodnight at the foot of my parents' staircase and going to sleep, each in one of my childhood bedrooms.

I think this is why I'm out of things to stay. Aside from living my own repeat (I'm hoping this is because the new season is about to start), there's now a witness to the whole looping filmstrip of my day. Look Brad, there's the really old dog that hobbles down the street. Look Brad, there's the newspaper guy who causes me to fear the northern side of the street. Look Brad, there's the Hot Dad, and Obvious Toupee, and Braces. With someone to eat lunch with, there's less time to dedicate a thousand words to the disgusting chewing emanating from an adjacent cubicle.

Let's drink to the revival of mind-numbing boredom, and the return of Comatosia, my muse of tedium-induced blogging.


Anonymous Rebecca said...

If it makes you feel better, at least you didn't leave Oberlin for two years and then return, this time with even less purpose than the first time, and end up wondering if the last two years were a dream...

1:27 PM  

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