Sending in a resignation letter is like ending a marriage. (If you’re married to your job.) Or quitting workahol. (If your job is like an addiction.)
I honestly can’t remember, I haven’t done this in a while.
***
Resigning-as-divorce, last pay-as-alimony, and other, better metaphors that I can’t seem to come up with at the moment.
projection vs source
Are we who we read/say we read?
Supposing I link an article to you, would it automatically imply the kind of material I read? Would you question if I read the linked material at all?
Am I who I say I am based on what I say I read?
Realization: Spider-Man came out a decade ago.
I saw it on the first day of showing. I was wearing a black shirt, a pair of elephant pants and sneakers.
I also saw it with “the woman” (then-known as “the girl”).
That movie date ultimately made me decide not to go for the faraway college (I aced the entrance exam) and wait it out a year. My family wasn’t so happy. (But I was close to “the girl.”)
My grandmother got her hands on all my school documents and enrolled me in a school. I had classes the next day.
The thing with “the girl”? It didn’t work out. On a rainy September night, I was being dumped while wearing another pair of elephant pants. (Maybe it was all the elephant pants?!)
Of course, this series of events all set me out stumbling to the magnificence called now. In two weeks, “the girl” will be giving birth to her first-born.
I spare a few seconds to think what might have happened if we didn’t watch Spider-Man that day.
I sneezed again. In the last week, (as of this moment) I have sneezed a total of 6 times. Each a little less painful than the last.
Although yesterday, I noticed something: I tore another stitch. (probably from my 5th sneeze of the week)
Which sorta means I’m tearing at the seams.
LITERALLY.
…I ever tell you about the time I sneezed so hard, my guts came out?
Well, not guts, more like blood. Gobs of blood.
I am held together by tape and well-meaning intentions. (Up until last week, there were staples involved. Upon tomorrow’s visit, we’ll see.)
I never truly realized how much involvement an abdomen has when you sneeze. Trying to prevent sneezing is a futile effort. Like a Greek tragedy. A Sisyphusian effort.
Which is probably where they get the word, “sissy.”
My grandmother thinks I’m a sissy for fussing over bleeding. (They used to build ‘em tougher.)
(I was gonna post a picture but decided against it: recovery is disgusting.)
In other news: my belly button has been found!!!!!!
I bought a fan that I could stick my head into. Now what.
Above: ten years ago, this used to be a spot where inter-school meets were held.
It’s been less than a month: my city has its first Starbucks. It’s the only thing in between a McDonald’s … and another McDonald’s. We also get: Slice ‘n Dice, Jay J’s, GoodAhhhh, Yellow Cab and a PureGold down the basement.
Welcome to the mainstream.
Sometimes, you just hate progress. Other times, you’re just glad that there are options now. Progress versus nostalgia.
It wouldn’t be so bad if this all didn’t open near my highschool. I’d like to believe in hope. I just truly hate the youth sometimes and how they’re wasting all these precious years of theirs, hanging out at the Starbucks —- to be seen. To drink coffee that may give them the runs. (I truly hope they realize there’s plenty of time for that later on.)
(I look out the window and shout, “Teenagers!” as I shake my cane menacingly.)
do it
Strange encounters when we were younger, less-focused (like the photo) and less-awesome than we are now.
Doctor Hru! New favorite shirt?
