There are now two of us writing this post.
The first guy keeps wondering about just what part of his 6 day week, Sundays-are-for-church existence would be worth blog space. He’s quasi resigned himself to a lame ass dialup connection, to keeping the music low at home, to a TV that hiccups every 5 minutes and to the fucking rains. Way too much sober time, too many roll-your-eyes-&-sigh quietly moments, just frigging too much of what yours’ and my parents happily subject themselves to.
The second guy is the absolute bastard. The absolute, absolute bastard.
He’s barely 2 years old now. Was born during some merry confluence between Bacchus and Knopfler in the ethereally slothful and filthy confines of Room 452, one of several identically fashioned and inhabited rooms on campus. Rocked his house for two glorious years, and took an inordinate amount of glee in clucking sympathy for seniors and friends who moaned about how sucky life is outside college.
And he’s been watching his own descent into an ordinary life with this sideways, knowing, infuriating smile…and he hums some sardonic Dylan or Cobain to this new schmuck in the mirror. Bugger watches me agonize over lost gym hours and tax planning and how sober I look before I ring the doorbell, and he’s always humming something in the background.
To be true, there are times when he gets to get back to form. Those “Roll up your sleeves boys, we’re getting haaappy” times. Difference being…those times are now suddenly affordable…but they need to be scheduled. Both for day of week and time of day.And you can never really have them twice in the same week.
Currently listening : Things have changed – Bob Dylan.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
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