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hellooooo, nurse

March 25, 2010

I just feel confused by my own existence again. This is irritating as hell to me, because I have been through this more times than a centipede could count on his feet, and it’s always the same old funk and the same old solution, same old vicious cycle that answers its own questions with nothing, forever.
The wispy veil of everyday dropped on me and now I’m incapable of doing anything other than look at myself. My routines can’t save me at a time like this, especially at a time exactly like this when my routines have been going for all of two weeks and are inconsequential in the extreme anyhow.
Dude.
I am inconsequential in the extreme anyhow, myself. That is how it goes. That is what I find my peace in. No matter what I do, no matter what I don’t do, all in all I’m just another flash and burn, a brief little star in the vast sky of history. It’s only when I start to cave in on my own self importance, when I start to fuddle around in closed circles of self doubt and thwarted entitlement, that I start to lose my grip like this. I don’t need to anything. Straight up. Life goes: get born, die. Nothing in between could ever be as significant, and everything in between is nebulous as wishie fluff. That’s why my life only works when I’m wishie fluff myself. I get grounded and flattened in no time if I start freaking out about the way things should be or the way I thought they would be. For better or worse, and really what’s that measured by anyway, here I am and this is how it is. Laugh, Pagliacci.
I can’t believe I can putter tentatively over to my nintendo chair, tentatively open my laptop, tentatively put my index fingers on f and j, and then suddenly several paragraphs later I’m large and courageous and a firm believer in sunsets thicker than sorbet again. I honestly can’t believe that the only thing that really brings me peace in my life is the conviction that I don’t matter. But seriously, nothing sets me freer. The person I am meant to be, the sweetish fairy flibbityjibbet, the frequent cuddler of unwilling cats, the one girl marching parade…that person knows she’s here and knows that she’ll be gone. Could be gone at anytime. And therefore has no moment for anything other than exuberant life.
WHO CARES IF THE MAN HAS STEPPED ON MY HEAD FOR A WHILE, OR THAT I CAN’T GO TO COLLEGE FOR THREE MONTHS, OR THAT I DON’T HAVE A JOB THAT FILLS MY LIFE WITH THE SUNSHINE SKITTLES OF MAGICAL PRODUCTIVITY?
I don’t need no stinking badgers. I think I will go powerslide down the hallway in my socks, explode into my bedroom a’la Cosmo Kramer, put on a tube skirt I made out of a t-shirt, bake some everything oatmeal cookies, and yell at my neighbors to come help me paint the sidewalk.
Because those are the things that matter.
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