How strange is this?
As this massive ball of earth and water spins in the seemingly infinite space of the universe, and as random people talk about new worries and problems in their lives, like random amateur photographers talking about how to score the newest, costliest DSLR camera, I am here in front of the computer screen, staring at it for about an hour now, trying to squeeze out some words to write?
I’m taking a break from my work and writing something personal. The problem is there’s nothing personal to write.
In a way, I’m actually spending large amounts of time, figuring out how best to describe my life.
That’s pretty strange to me.
It’s strange that I should try to describe my life in front of a computer screen in the middle of my work and here on the 27th floor of a building I commuted to, looking positively frustrated, and failing to find the words to type in.
Life, or the office at least, must be really boring to induce a man to behave this way. Boredom is really a problem. It’s a nagging pain and a chronic illness that has tortured mankind even before cancer and AIDS. Boredom gives birth to strangeness.
And yet, I kind of understand why boredom exists. Just look at us. We’re totally intelligent creatures with these really cool appendages: arms, legs, fingers, ears, penises, noses, eyelashes, etc. Yet all we do is sit and type and produce important stuff sometimes called “deliverables.” These eyes can see a source of light miles away but their only use now is to follow a blinking line where the next letter successfully appears on the screen. And our butts are stuck in square slabs of plastic. Lucky butts get cushions.
And with everything your mind can imagine you doing, like riding an elephant to office, or rolling your own body down the highway, or painting your friends’ faces gold, out here in the city, you really have no choice but to earn money sitting stiffly.
Strange. Now I’m hungry so I’ll eat. I’ll eat McDonald’s and pretend I’m eating dinosaur meat for today’s adventure.