What's Wrong Is Everywhere

When listening to Dio makes you tear up, there's definitely something fucked up about your life. Mine ain't as bad as some, but of course, I have a hard time admitting that.

Being almost 30 and suddenly single is shitty, especially when faced with the prospect of dating other almost 30 year olds somewhere down the line. They often come with kids, car payments, more luggage than LAX. I see them at work, clucking about the breakroom, tracing the lines of smoother faces in trashy celebrity magazines, pinning the ghost of whatever nameless asshole to the ground with indifference and ill-fitting jeans. They're not all that bad, and maybe not most of them. Either way, I do not look forward to finding out.

Then there's stuff. It's everywhere here--books, nail clippers, multi-colored scraps of paper with words we don't mean anymore balled up and tossed into empty corners. Dividing it all is surprisingly easy, and that's what makes it worse. It's all just stuff, and you feel like it should have more meaning than you're able to give it, but it doesn't. The impulse in harder moments is to burn it in a bitter outcry against the injustice of the universe; in easier moments, to burn it in effigy.

Thinking that eventually someone else's copy of "Moby Dick" will be replacing yours on the hardwood shelf is bad enough, but thinking that he may not own a copy of "Moby Dick" is even worse. The adult thing to do is to wish him luck, let him pass, send him mental bouquets of carnations and marigolds. Sadly, I'm not quite that adult yet, so it's maggot pie and pestilence--unyielding plagues of locusts and plane crashes. But I'm sure he's a great guy. Really. For a totem, a tool, a fantasy.

Failure is a bitch.


sheryl crow and me, sitting in a tree, s-w-e-e-p-i-n-g

I find myself standing next to an empty booth at work, broom in one hand, dust pan in the other. I am staring down at a pile of salt more than likely dispensed by a child or a father being a bastard. Sheryl Crow comes over the speaker and tells me she has been swimming in a sea of anarchy. I smile, knowing that if it were true, I would never have to hear about it on a restaurant sound system. I sweep up the salt and hope that the luck of the person who poured it our will be taking a sharp turn south. I bet sheryl can't even swim.


Drunken Bicycle Goes to a Wedding

Members of Drunken Bicycle went to a wedding this weekend. They made asses of themselves. All is right with the world.