The New Boredom

Mah and Newer. Manure.

One Of Those Days.

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Somehow I get my ass in to work early today and spend over two hours doing this menial task that I shouldn’t even have to do if college students operated by the same “clean up after yourself” rules that most people figure out in kindergarten. And I sit down to take a moment of in-my-head vacation before I have to open up shop at 10 am. I reach over to the left side of the computer screen where my water bottle lives and I unscrew the cap and take a big swig of what should have been refreshing, tasty water. But instead it’s the isopropyl rubbing alcohol that I was just using to clean off clap-board slates (you know like they use in the fancy movies). My head-vacation went too far and I didn’t even notice the different size or shape of the containers. I just starting drinking. Well it didn’t last long and I immediately felt sick. I puked a little in the hallway trashcan and then opened up shop for business 30 seconds later. It was going to be one of those days.

Lunch shows up around 11:30 and I go to start eating it. It’s delicious. I get one bite in before some panic stricken person needs me to change their poopy diapers. I go take care of that and then half an hour later am on my way back down the stairs to my cooling lunch. I guess the prospect of the food was what had me running down the stairs. I think to myself “I wonder what my speed limit is going down these stairs?” and immediately after finishing that thought, my body passes the threshold where my feet can no longer keep up, and I eat shit down about 6-8 stairs. I yank my bad shoulder (is there a good one left these days?) around flailing for the handrail and smash my ribs on some step edges. I laugh and ask why no one is around to see me do things like this and get back to my sandwich. It’s 3:15 before I take the last bite of my then cold lunch.

And yet, this day wasn’t that bad. I’m really not going to eat broken glass any time soon because of my job. Everything is fine. It’s what it always has been.


I just need to keep telling myself that if I work hard, then some day I can afford a pre-war depression era National resonator guitar, and then I can quit working any jobs, and just be a hobo, and have all the time in the world to learn how to shred that thing like Son House.


Written by photokevo

September 4, 2010 at 2:22 am

Posted in I Hate You

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