brads_requiem (brads_requiem) wrote,
brads_requiem
brads_requiem

boom, boom, boom

I woke up on the couch this morning. an unexpected return to my old bed. ha. i was watching gaffigan last night and must have passed out. i am hoping it was a one time thing. like a condom. i only get channels 1 through 60 on the little thirteen inch in my room. last night there was just nothing on worth my time. gaffigan felt right for the fourth.

it was just after nine thirty when my eyes opened this morning. usually i am getting up around eleven thirty or some strange post-eleven, pre-noon time. i had never slept this late before i went back to work. i was always up around eight. weird.

i decided to seize that extra time and go to the laundromat. i gathered up my clothes, breath terrible, eyes still glazed with last night's dreams. no coffee, which made things even worse. I've no higher cognitive function without coffee. I've noticed that mornings where I go forty five minutes without coffee I resort to grunts when speaking. OOFS and BAHS. I'm nothing more than a shaved gorilla.

since i've moved to this smoke free environment, i decided to run all my clothes this morning to give them a fresh "non-smoker" feel. it took up the entire backseat of my car and cost me around twenty dollars to run everything. the machines are slightly more expensive here. a few other people were in the laundromat capitalizing on the early fourth vacany of the mat. most of them were older.

my clothes now dry, i started slapping them into the boxes from whence they came, when an old lady told me "you should fold them. all those nice clothes." i told her i was just going home to put them on hangers, and folding them would be a pointless exercise. "but still..." she said. but still what? why use valuable time folding that which will not end up folded.

putting the clothes away was kind of like neatly making a mess. i have no dresser or place to put socks and underwear. i've used a moving box to construct a make shift dresser thing in my closet. it will do for now. i've not much space to work with in my room, and i want to utilize it wisely. a dresser is planned, but for the time being, my moving box will have to suffice.

how many entries pertain to laundry? every time i go it's the same situation. i hate it. i write about it. never ending story right there. if time travel were invented it's only useful purpose would to mix it with a washer/dryer. put your clothes in, and poof. they go to the future. and come back clean. or rather, show up in the future clean. that doesn't make any sense. maybe that's what we could do with all our garbage and radioactive waste. instead of building landfills and other ways to store it underground, just send it to the future. let them deal with it.

it's noon and work is a few hours away. i like the idea of working on the fourth. only because it gives me another reason to hate working. people are like "why don't you like your job?" ummm, cause i have to go.

scott and i go to giant eagle, where he purchases fifty eight dollars worth of coke, sprite, dr. pepper, chips, burgers, kielbasa, hot dogs, and the buns associated with each of those meats. somewhere in the middle of the mile drive from here to the store scott pulls over because his eyes are tearing up. he thinks he has allergies.

it's one by the time we get back. work now drifting closer and closer. we grill up a couple of burgers and i have another cup of coffee. corey comes over, and i leave to read before work.

i pull into the parking lot, promising myself that next year will be different. but as i glance around at the landscape and row after row of cars, i realize it's just pipe dreams. half the people i work with have degrees. at least two have come from the university of pittsburgh. unless something major happens in the next twelve months, like bill gates and i become best friends or i pull off a ponzi scheme, i'm still gonna be working my little proletarian heart out..

it's the level of absurdity, stupidity, and slave like tactics i find hard to swallow. listening to my managers give orders is like scraping layers of skin off. whatever pain is associated with stepping on rusty nails, is the same pain i feel when i hear them talk. trying to swallow their orders and my pride, the only thing i can do is make a smart ass comment from my unkempt face, and keep on trucking. i remind myself i'll be back in school in under two months. football is back in a month. these things keep me going. but for how much longer?

one of the servers is on the edge of a nervous breakdown because she is stuck there on the fourth. at times it looks like she is crying and her mascara is running. i don't know. maybe it was just the way the light hit her? but i doubt it. i could cry. but just like folding my clothes destined for hangers, it's a pointless exercise.

there's a small rush of people around six thirty, but nothing worth freaking out about. the line has been cut to two cooks, and one dishwasher. we are all actively engaged in closing.

at eight, the doors lock, and we can go home. another hour of clean up and by eighty fifty six, i'm strolling out to my car. admiring the way the sun is setting on the clouds.

i come home and sit on the porch for a bit. the crackle of small fireworks is prevalent, but by nine thirty, the big mother fuckers are going off in the distance. i see flashes of light, followed by the inevitably slower sound of boom. there was something interesting about experiencing fireworks in this manner. i thought about what it would have been like to live during the war with britain, as a citizen anyway. war just over the next hill. the sounds of muskets and cannonballs and gentleman's war. calvary and bayonets. long before nukes, napalm, or terrorist's hijacking planes. i imagine that's what it sounded like. those early battles when democracy was right around the corner.

i had plenty of time sitting out on the porch to think about how much this country has failed me. even more time to think about why i never have anything nice to say about us. americans with our clogged arteries, anti-trust lawsuits, scandalous south carolina governors, republicans, democrats, neither of those two. our "economic stimulus" packages. social security. medicaid. welfare. our right to bear arms. our wonderful 9.5% unemployment rate, or our new car company GM.

too much time to let that all sink in. too much time to ride that angry wave back to the shore. And once you get your feet back on the ground, you notice your own body staring back at you. A life of high fat foods, immunizations, trash collection and government backed stafford loans. You have nothing to be pissed off about, but you are, because something is terribly wrong. the whole idea of america now seems geared towards preserving some vague post world war 2 definition of success. Are we using this recession wisely?

But never mind that. Let's explode pyrotechnics into the air for a couple of hours. Let's salute the stars and stripes, and recite the star spangled banner in unison. Let's burn some more fossil fuels, and bailout a few more industries. Christ, where are the founding fathers when you need them? Boom, boom, boom.

SPIDER WATCH 2009:
The entry prior detailed my planned assault on a spider that has taken residence on my porch. Using a broom I was able to clear away the remaining web. My thought process behind this is that I'm the one paying for this place. I hate freeloaders. I realized as I was destroying it's web that I was doing the equivalent of burning a neighbor's house down. I forgot the insect killer, so I had to improvise.

I plugged up the hole using a nail and piece of carpet. It was downright dick. I've no shame though. It's a fucking spider. The thing was huge. Best case scenario it dies. Worth case scenario, it kills me. It's him or me, but this apartment isn't big enough for both of us.
 

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