regretfully, i cannot regale you with tales of intrigue or adventure, as i've been experiencing neither. similarly, the minute details of the time passed since the last blog entry are so pathetically bland as to approach invisibility; or at least translucency.
such is the sad summary of the unremarkable life of an unremarkable man doing unremarkable things unremarkably.
assuming my readers (both of you), are (with sullen determination, vague resentment notwithstanding) still flagellating themselves with the unfulfilling and ultimately dissatisfying consumption of this unimportant diatribe, this excercise in futility that is my niggardly monument to mediocrity, i shall likewise endeavor to persevere, wringing though the cloth be dry.
i know there must be a horse in here somewhere. where's that shovel...
today i drove to Yakima, by way of the Sodo district and back again. looking at a map for the (plausibly) accurate mileage is a task requiring more motivation than i can presently muster. and running the route through one of the online map programs is an unimpressive task, easily completed, and therefore a trivial pursuit. suffice it to say it's a long damn drive.
i spent part of the afternoon coiling up cable in Yakima's SunDome. i'm not sure if one is actually obliged to capitalize the 'D' in 'dome' or not, another inquiry that could be easily answered which presently seems meaningless. the sUndOme is like a mini Kingdome, only not blown up and hauled off in pieces.
i like driving through the mountains and the desert, though. i think it's good for your soul to see wide open stretches where the land takes dramatic shapes.
[editor's note: the previous section was actually written yesterday, Monday, October 9, 2007; the portion below was written today.]
i use the word 'soul' as a generic term for one's 'being' or 'self'; i don't intend to imply any connotation of spirituality, insofar as such connotation would pertain to any religious dogma. actually, having tried a few unsuccessful sentences on for size, it appears that delineating which things don't fit my definition of the term 'soul' is much simpler than supplying an accurate definition....
but since i started this post yesterday and never posted it, and the news i began talking about yesterday is old news, and nothing i have to say today is any more interesting than the things i failed to finish writing about yesterday, and since there's more than a fair chance i'm not going to finish this anytime soon, i'm just gonna shut up and go back to what i was talking about before. please forgive the interruption.
[editor's note: the following portion was written yesterday.]
many of us stare hour upon hour at an endless sea of constantly changing but absolutely identical brake lights, and street lights, and traffic signals, sleepdriving the same stretch of road to the very lane, at the same time of day, mile after mile, day after day, week after week, month after month after month.
[editors note: i'm sure that was a reasonable segue at some point, but it's certainly less than stellar now.]
"Hey, dude in the Rob's Electric van. I see you're 2 minutes late this morning as well." "Good morning, hoodie-up-over-your-baseball-cap/bad-muffler-Toyota-driver-smoking-a-cigarette." "Excuse me, piggyback trailer log/gravel truck." "Hey, slow down there, '92-Prelude-with-huge-whale-tail-and-bad-custom-body-work-overkill-still-all-just-primered/lawnmower-soundin'-P.O.S."
it's not just driving- all the mundane events, running on into blurred years, continuously surrounded by the same walls, dealing with the same people, talking about the same things, eating the same food, thinking the same thoughts, feeling the same, dreaming the same....
what's the point, if nothing very interesting ever happens? the sum total of experiences over the course of years could be accomplished in a busy week or two.
some people think information overload causes stress, but i think it's only a symptom, a side-effect of subconsciously self-prescribed distraction therapy. monotony weighs a lot more than stimulus. it's like getting a blowjob while you're trapped in a burning building: why not?
and we search for meaning in all the smallest things; we try to convince ourselves that the unremarkableness itself is noble, our obscurity heroic; we are the romantic Everyman of oft-sung praise. or we're all superstars, unique, each of us special!
[editor's note: the remaining final portion was written today.]
i want the Hallmark version of my life: an endless string of perfectly lit poignant moments and easy laughter, basking in a warm glow of goodwill that permeates all; when every day is Christmas, and every night you fall in love for the very first time.
there is this facet of our existence, for most of us. it's just the good parts are so rare, and the trudgery is endless, grinding us down into ever-more-shrunken, lesser copies of ourselves.
i don't think i've actually been happy all day since i was in my early 20s, and that was a long time ago. nowadays, a good day is when nothing disastrous happens. but that's wrong! life used to be all about making today amazing. but then you get married, and you have kids, and you buy a house, and you get a dog, and slowly all the likewise-fun-minded people you used to hang around all go their own ways doing the same things, and you have to get up and go to work every damn day, and come home and scrub toilets.
it all just seems really pointless sometimes. like this post. which is so long i should just post it. so i will.
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