So, I've been a tad sickie lately. I painfully gimp to the local clinic to see the quackmaster to see from what malady I suffer. Turns out it's the dreaded H1N1. I'm not surprised and neither is the doctor. Seems everyone has it. I thought I had that one beat, being that my significant other had it weeks before and I didn't catch it. But alas, my time hath come. I am diseased! Oh! The humanity! Woe to me, I shall take to my bed and convalesce in sick-dom.
My date to resume duty has today come. I still feel a bit like shit, but I can't afford any more time off. I wake up and try to make myself resemble something human. I scrape a week's worth of scruff off my face, brush my teeth and make my toilet. I don my favorite work duds. I think I look pretty good. I hop into the car a jet off to work. I promptly swipe in and hike up to the office to hand in my obligatory sick note. I think all is well. The manager recoils in horror when she gazes upon my visage. "God, you look horrible! Are you still ill?", she says in a shrill voice, pensively eyeing me up and down. Just then the most unwanted thing occurred...I sneezed! She gasps, rolls her chair 3ft. further away from me, covers her face and asks me if I'd touched anything on the way up. I felt as if I had leprosy and my freshly sneezed nose had detached from my face and landed in her lap. Needless to say, I got sent home and cannot return to work without seeing the doctor again with a note stating that I'm no longer capable of wiping out the entire staff with one exhaled breath. I feel offended. I've had the damn flu, and even though death's pallor has yet to leave my face apparently, I'm still very much alive and somewhat kicking! So what if I still utter the odd cough or have a runny nose. That's why God gave us Kleenex and hand sanitizer!!! I am not a health threat, dammit! I jes' happen to have had the honour of having this beloved virus and am pretty damn sure I'm done with it.
So, home again am I, earning no pay and bored to shit. What to do? Lay around and watch TV? I think not. That's all I've done for the past week and I'm tired of it. To top it off, it's Sunday, which means that the choice of quality programming is even worse! Instead of 90% of fuck all to watch, there is now 100% of fuck all to watch. ARGH!!!
Oh well, no reason to cry over spilled milk. I guess I'll pop in one of the many movies I have in my collection that I've watched a thousand times and suck it up. The commercials suggest I take a "Benolyn Day", but I've no benolyn....does coke count?
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Lack of Bitchery
Helllllooooooo kiddies, I'm back again! Miss me??? Prolly not, lol! The reason for my long absence? A lack of something that pisses me off enough to bitch about it openly in cyberspace. There's lotsa stupid shit that mildly pisses me off on daily basis, but nothing that makes me wanna gouge out my own eyes and disembowel myself with a grapefruit spoon. I guess I should be grateful for such blessings, but they really do a number to my writing abilities. Why is that?
I think the reason is because I need to be passionate about what I write, and both agony and ecstacy result in a passionate response. Mediocrity breeds apathy, hence the inability to write anything worth the effort of endlessly tapping on my keyboard. I guess I'm a passionate person who needs a good jolt of something in order to be inspired to write.
I used to write a lot when I was younger, mostly free verse poetry. It was almost a nescessity to express myself in the literal sense. It was like therapy. When I was absolutely miserable, I was a freakin' literary artist, but without the angst, I was a dry vessel, void of any writing ability.
As I've aged, I got further and further away from writing. I was told as a young person, and even into my early twenties, that I should further my journey with writing and pursue it as a career. Needless to say, I'm no great author with not a single word submitted to anyone in any literary capacity. I've not been published and have a habit of keeping what I write to myself.
My earlier works were very dark, filled with mythic themes and gothic imagery. Poe was always a great influence on me, and his use of darkness in his writings and the haunting name of "the lost Lenore" used many times in his poems captivated me. Like the visage of the Mona Lisa, no one ever really knew who the inspiration of "Lenore" was. Was it a lost love or just a character playing a recurring role in a number of poems? Who knows? But the knowledge of who these people were is of little importance. It was the whole body of the work that was important, not a single entity. But I'm getting away from the topic.
I think all of the great writers of the world write out of passion, rather than profit. If they write for profit and not for art, they are complete sell outs. The literary worth of a piece is greater to me than a monetary one. I write out of passion only. My poverty and pedestrian job are proof of this.
With this blog, I feel like I've begun the resurrection of the writer I used to be, and maybe other people will see my work and see something in it. Good or bad, it littles not. It's not the response that is important, but the recognition. Passions ho! Lets kick this into high gear. Talk to u soon!!!
I think the reason is because I need to be passionate about what I write, and both agony and ecstacy result in a passionate response. Mediocrity breeds apathy, hence the inability to write anything worth the effort of endlessly tapping on my keyboard. I guess I'm a passionate person who needs a good jolt of something in order to be inspired to write.
I used to write a lot when I was younger, mostly free verse poetry. It was almost a nescessity to express myself in the literal sense. It was like therapy. When I was absolutely miserable, I was a freakin' literary artist, but without the angst, I was a dry vessel, void of any writing ability.
As I've aged, I got further and further away from writing. I was told as a young person, and even into my early twenties, that I should further my journey with writing and pursue it as a career. Needless to say, I'm no great author with not a single word submitted to anyone in any literary capacity. I've not been published and have a habit of keeping what I write to myself.
My earlier works were very dark, filled with mythic themes and gothic imagery. Poe was always a great influence on me, and his use of darkness in his writings and the haunting name of "the lost Lenore" used many times in his poems captivated me. Like the visage of the Mona Lisa, no one ever really knew who the inspiration of "Lenore" was. Was it a lost love or just a character playing a recurring role in a number of poems? Who knows? But the knowledge of who these people were is of little importance. It was the whole body of the work that was important, not a single entity. But I'm getting away from the topic.
I think all of the great writers of the world write out of passion, rather than profit. If they write for profit and not for art, they are complete sell outs. The literary worth of a piece is greater to me than a monetary one. I write out of passion only. My poverty and pedestrian job are proof of this.
With this blog, I feel like I've begun the resurrection of the writer I used to be, and maybe other people will see my work and see something in it. Good or bad, it littles not. It's not the response that is important, but the recognition. Passions ho! Lets kick this into high gear. Talk to u soon!!!
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