June Eleven

I drove in a square today, and it was a 45-minute square with about eight little towns along the way. My favorite part was when I passed through Sandoval and saw the little league baseball, with kids in red versus kids in blue, at sunset and parents cheering. It was a midwwesternheartwarmer.

Otherwise, I was productive and workerly until approximately 4:00. And then my ambition for life quickly took a nosedive, as my boredom levels breached current capacities, and I was alone with myself with no outlets for my attentions, and I was overfrustrated with my lacks, such as my lack of a decent selection of musics, since I only brought a few CD's with me, thinking that this would be a 'blink of the eye' sort of assignment, but instead it's going on three weeks, and I have been forced to do laundry twice, forced to buy new and questionable selections of records at WalMart, forced to cook microwave meals thrice, finding myself indulging in PBS and reruns of the Cosby Show.

It is a "Totally 80's" couple of weeks, with the Cosby Show, and President Reagan back in our thoughts. These days, everyone is pretty liberal, so everyone hates President Reagan quite a bit, but as far as conservative republicans go, I didn't mind Ronald Reagan too much. I mean, I was only eight or so, after all. I could say that I was sensitive to the needs of the meek when I was eight, but it wouldn't really be true. So when I was eight, I guess Ronald Reagan would've been just my sort of President. Just someone to circumvent the tendency for falling nuclear warheads, please. Plus, everyone had a grandfather or a great uncle who was just like him.

Work was slow, so we turned on the television during lunch, and there was the funeral. It was sort of sad. Especially with the orchestral musics playing while the stoics hoisted the coffin and slowly walked it outside. Pallbearers.

I was a pallbearer, once. I can't remember whether we used one hand or both, to carry. The ones on TV used both hands, and even that seemed to be a strain on them, and it made me wonder if the military does push-ups anymore, because I remember being under a strain as a pallbearer, but it wasn't all that bad, I guess. Especially if I was only using one hand, which I can't remember.

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I keep forgetting that I have this prospect in my near future, symbolized by the reception of a phone number from a real, actual girl. We've emailed each other, back and forth for like five months (even though it's all pretty benign), and we almost met in person but did not, and then recently she wrote "call me when you get back" and I said "ok, i will" and I keep forgetting about it. It should probably be some huge, monumental thing, because how often does that happen to a guy like me? But I guess I'm wired all wrong, these days. My fulfill has been self-prophesied. I am an absent romantic. I am a sensitive guy in somewhat slightly dazed ambitions.

I foresee being bored, being boring, fizzling out real real quick, and snapping my fingers to demonstrate. My first saved blessing in disguise, not so well disguised.

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In my rooms, only half-light.

This wasn't all I wanted to write.