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4:55 p.m. - 2005-11-10
Seventeen Syllables Is All I Got.
I have been busy
Procrastination? Who, me?
I never do that.

I went to a show
With a gay friend. Much glitter.
Sounds like: Smally Carton.

No pictures to take?
Silly security guards,
Not looking in pants.

Never have I seen
So many poufy hairstyles
In one tiny place.

I drank too much beer
And spent too much time walking
Up and down the stairs.

The trial is not done
And yet the stacks on my desk
Continue to grow.


Okay. I was going to try to do the WHOLE entry in haiku, but seriously, Iím not that disciplined.

Clarity has a series of guest entries, and the theme is the number of days youíve been alive and what you think when you see the number. I did a guest entry for Clarity already, so I was not tagged. Which makes me feel left out, and sad, and depressed, and I think Iíll have to go cry, or just write a sad haiku:

Clarity is mean
No topic given for me
In my guest entry.

Why the fuck am I writing haikus today? Or is it just haiku, singular? I think it is the latter, but that sounds so pretentious. An analogy about why I think thatís pretentious flitted briefly through my mind, but itís gone now. Iíll probably think of it when Iím laying awake tonight thinking about all the crap I have not gotten done.

Anyway, the number of days Iíve been alive, including today, is 11,506.

Thatís a lot. Like, I wish I had a dollar for every day I have been alive. Then I could pay off my carÖor my student loans.

Somehow, though, itís not as many as I thought it would be. I wasnít all freaked out by the number. It freaks me out more to think that the first real album I bought was Michael Jacksonís Thriller, and that was 21 years ago. Or to think that I can actually remember stuff that happened 25 years ago pretty wellÖlike the first grade teacher with a bad perm who was an evil whore, or my little brother being born, and the presents my mom bought for my dad to give me while she was in the hospital, and how they were wrapped in this blue, pink, and purple tie-dye stripe looking tissue paper. What the paper really made me think of, for some weird reason, is those Brachs candies. Those kind of sticky, gross ones with the brown/white/pink color. I have no idea why. But every time I think about that wrapping paper, I think of those candies, and remember how it was this huge treat to get to play in the Pick-A-Mix at the grocery store. I saw one of those the other dayÖbut they didnít have any of the good stuff I remembered. You know, the cylinder-shaped caramels with different colored foil wrappers that had a different flavor in the center, and how the chocolate ones were actually a chocolate caramel with a white center? And those nougat squares. The white ones, with the different-colored jelly dots in them. Sometimes, they had different colored nougat-like pink, or orange-those were like special prizes.

Hmmm. Nougat. That deserves another haiku.

Nougat: chewy goo.
Gross, yet strangely alluring.
Sticky in my teeth.

I probably ate 11,506 pieces of that candy.

Because thatís what I was talking about before I got off on the sugar thing. What 11,506 means to me.

The year numbers freak me out more. Days just seem so small. But when I start thinking that Iíve been on this earth for 31 years, 5 months, and 30 daysÖwellÖthatís a little disconcerting. Itís especially disconcerting when I see that people younger than I am have cooler jobs, and are more successful, or are famous, or have done all these things.

I try not to succumb to that kind of jealousy too often. I suppose itís not really jealousy, itís more like this feeling that whatever I have accomplished means nothing, or is nothing, in comparison to others.

Dwelling on this shit is a bad idea for me. This is the kind of thing that will lead me into a full-blown depressive episode if I allow myself to wallow in it.

I will not wallow
Instead I think I will try
To do something cool.

 

 

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