dog in a monkey suit

I write this as I sit at work, wondering what the evening will bring me,waiting for the phone to ring with some silly problem I have to deal with.I shudder to think of the level of ignorance I deal with daily. Homerstares at me from my desk, people chatter about this and that and the otherthing, the weather, etc. It slowly becomes evident that the day isclosing. . . stupid interruptions. . . ok where was I? well nowhere inparticular, just ranting, raving, wasting time, existing, etc. Round foureveryday is about when I feel the most desire to go do something. Whetherit be something rewarding for myself, or a necessary chore, now seems aboutthe time to go get it done. Cause by the time that six shows up, I justwant to go home, sit on my butt, watch tv, etc, you know, not think aboutthe mindless droning of office/cublicle daily life. It becomes harder andharder to ignore the background static, the chatter through the wires picksup occasional words, phrases, feelings intoned orally. I hide in moments,feelings - pretty blonde girl walks across the parking lot as I finish mycigarette on the walk back to work. No eye contact, fumbling around in herbag, the wind picks up her coattails and caresses her hair toweightlessness. Seconds later, alone again. March is half over, April approaches, then May, June, etc. Months grow warmer and colder with such frequency. I wonder what's on tv tonite? Maybe something worth my time,unknown, idiot box, work chatter continues, new office carpet coming. ..etc.

I really think that I need another vacation. I need to escape to a faraway place, and though I, in practice, do not really have much of a hecticsocial/professional agenda to stall out awhile, simple anonymous behavior without even familiar, albeit unknown faces sounds appealing. No familiarvoices, sounds, static, just myself amongst a sea of invisible obstaclesand accomodating smiles. . . oh yeah, and someplace warm, balmy, tropical,steel drum-esque. But where to go? What to do? How about a Corona commercial? that sounds nice.

I wonder what all the invisible people who work here surmise about me. Itend to think I carry myself with an air of purpose, even though nothing could be further from the truth most of the time. I try consciously toreflect calm confidence, to appear as I "don't need this shit, but willquietly tolerate as I construct my own agenda". That is sort of a halftruth in itself. My agenda is rather simple, straightforward. It defends me against roving eyes, amidst sideways glances and hushed conversation.Though I am quite confident that my presence calls forth no alerts, I, asan extremely self-conscious individual, as are most people intelligent enough to be aware of themselves, of their conscious existence, their space they fill at any given time. It sounds simple, but I'll be damned if youdon't run into at least a few people daily who don't seem to have any clue how ridiculous they are acting/sounding. It astounds me. At first I wouldsay it comes with age, but there are just as many idiots in every age bracket you can think of. Maybe some are just better at not caring than others. Whether or not that's a good thing, that I can't tell you.

You know you're in trouble when you just feel like buying yourselfsomething. Some bauble, item, keepsake, something to arouse the societal imprinting of the need for materialization, to own, to collect, horde,have. I doubt I will. If i do anything I need to go to the grocery storeand get myself food. Ah, there's an idea, spend my money on food! Something I can use and enjoy, in a fleeting, yet necessary way. I canthink of all sorts of things I'd like to buy myself. I would love a new acoustic guitar, nothing fancy, just something bout' one fifty or so that sounds and feels different, something that comes alive with new sound, never listened to before, a crisp treble bellows out from behind the mahogany and vibrating steel. As keen as I am on this idea I doubt I'd useit as much as I should/would. Normally I would blow leisure dollars on avideogame, but that interest escapes me greatly lately. Perhaps I am growing up. . . somewhat.

So many people do nothing all day. They stand around, looking stupid.That's their job you know. To be there with their hands in their pocketsbeing in the way, shoulders slighty drooping, no spark of life whatever.Poster child for, "what else could I be doing right now not related to this?" I am one of those people as well as you. It's exponentially more complicated than that. But much like a speeding ticket, it really doesn'tmatter how long you've been speeding, just don't pass the cop while yer doing it. Officer Bob doesn't care if you just accelerated past the semifor visibility twelve seconds ago, or you've been tearing ass down I-70 forninety five minutes. He saw you right now, and you were breaking the law. Bob has done his job, so what else could I be doing?

It's funny how loneliness comes and goes. Somedays you need someone arounddesperately, others you relish the quiet. Sometimes you find that endorphin rush that accompanies a moment of mental clarity and everythingseems to be manageable and attainable and fairly laid out. And just asquickly as it comes, it's gone. Too much work now. I'm done.