Not Patrick Bateman’s blog
I’ve decided to can all the underlying darkness to this blog, to ditch away this nagging ominous feeling that seems to be imparted to each new entry even before I start putting them down to paper. It’s time to draw the line and draw it very clear: Death to Mr. Grouchy!
After four months of a bad, bad ingrown toenail then this annoying flu last week, come on, am I ready to see the light of day or what!
…Which consequently and right off the bat means, bidding adieu to the mass-consumption of sugar and downright re-upping the diet (even though I cannot, for the life of me, fathom all those pesky little facts with proteins and carbs and… Jesus Christ, I’m utterly clueless! Is pasta bad or good?). It also means, thank god, that I’m back- and way overdue- with the crazy, half-assed series of exercises: running, fooling around with the barbells (presently back to the initial rates of 8 Kg for the biceps and a mere 4 Kg for the triceps. Well, sorry about that. And I don’t do pounds), also push-ups and abs-crunches, etc. Of course that after a four-month hiatus I’m back to pushing it as hard as a twelve year-old girl. It’ll take a little while to get back in shape- here’s the beer-belly all over- but hopefully by the end of July things will be better. Meaning, less sore muscles, a leaner general complexion, etc.
Whatever it is that brings change cannot be restricted to a purely physical medium. You got to get those endorphins running, alright, but that’s phase one. Phase two is, simply put, letting go of all this sorrow- because like it or not all these recent posts below have been reading like the weather forecast for disaster, like a goddamn tsunami alert, it reads like the shadow of a storm. What are you afraid of?, I’m asking myself. What is it that’s really bothering you?
I think I have been living in the shadow of my earlier self, I have been living in this seemingly-eternal, albeit very silly, fear of the day the wedding invitations pop in the mail and it’s coming from my ex-girlfriend. I used to think that this feeling of impeding doom was stemming from the fear of being rounded up with all the outsiders and freaks once push came to shove, but no, I think I’m fairly ordinary and therefore can easily fit in if I try hard enough. But here’s talking like Patrick Bateman again. Jesus Christ. Anyway. No. I’m actually a little afraid and haunted by the specter of life having moved on. So there, I’ve said it.
Does it change anything?
(Which kind of sums up what we’re able to accomplish here, at least in this particular post; I have to sound more like the bad, but sunny lyrics to a Footloose song and less like an American Psycho monologue.)
“It” changes nothing and means a rat’s ass because it reads like a crazy man’s soliloquy and I’m through with all this sturm und drang banter. It’s gotta be writing because of the sheer fun of it. Period.
Look at this tail-end of June all spread out before us, terrific things have been happening (my father’s job seems to be picking up speed, I got this very cool notebook with a wireless network connection at the office, there’s the new Superman movie just around the corner, many many many pretty girls all around) and simply put, it feels like that I’ve been through a lifetime of sowing- all those books must’ve amounted to something- now it’s time to reap.
I mean, I used to have a sense of humor, right?
I should go back to pulling more pranks.
The world seems to have lost its loving feeling when the Chupacabra sightings ended about ten years ago- we’ve been riding this dawn of the 21st century just waiting in the wings in apprehension: It’s a terrorist attack, it’s microbes from outer space hitching a ride to Earth on a shooting star, it’s job outsourcing to India, it’s the figment that brings together the invitations for an ex-girlfriend’s wedding.
…
It was last Friday night, 9pm and the Trade Management called me up, she said we were 98 TEUs over and had to have it trimmed down from this weekend’s vessel by the next day, she said she knew I was no longer directly involved in this, etc, but still could I give her a hand?
Luckily we had it down to 48 TEUs on Saturday morning.
After four months of a bad, bad ingrown toenail then this annoying flu last week, come on, am I ready to see the light of day or what!
…Which consequently and right off the bat means, bidding adieu to the mass-consumption of sugar and downright re-upping the diet (even though I cannot, for the life of me, fathom all those pesky little facts with proteins and carbs and… Jesus Christ, I’m utterly clueless! Is pasta bad or good?). It also means, thank god, that I’m back- and way overdue- with the crazy, half-assed series of exercises: running, fooling around with the barbells (presently back to the initial rates of 8 Kg for the biceps and a mere 4 Kg for the triceps. Well, sorry about that. And I don’t do pounds), also push-ups and abs-crunches, etc. Of course that after a four-month hiatus I’m back to pushing it as hard as a twelve year-old girl. It’ll take a little while to get back in shape- here’s the beer-belly all over- but hopefully by the end of July things will be better. Meaning, less sore muscles, a leaner general complexion, etc.
Whatever it is that brings change cannot be restricted to a purely physical medium. You got to get those endorphins running, alright, but that’s phase one. Phase two is, simply put, letting go of all this sorrow- because like it or not all these recent posts below have been reading like the weather forecast for disaster, like a goddamn tsunami alert, it reads like the shadow of a storm. What are you afraid of?, I’m asking myself. What is it that’s really bothering you?
I think I have been living in the shadow of my earlier self, I have been living in this seemingly-eternal, albeit very silly, fear of the day the wedding invitations pop in the mail and it’s coming from my ex-girlfriend. I used to think that this feeling of impeding doom was stemming from the fear of being rounded up with all the outsiders and freaks once push came to shove, but no, I think I’m fairly ordinary and therefore can easily fit in if I try hard enough. But here’s talking like Patrick Bateman again. Jesus Christ. Anyway. No. I’m actually a little afraid and haunted by the specter of life having moved on. So there, I’ve said it.
Does it change anything?
(Which kind of sums up what we’re able to accomplish here, at least in this particular post; I have to sound more like the bad, but sunny lyrics to a Footloose song and less like an American Psycho monologue.)
“It” changes nothing and means a rat’s ass because it reads like a crazy man’s soliloquy and I’m through with all this sturm und drang banter. It’s gotta be writing because of the sheer fun of it. Period.
Look at this tail-end of June all spread out before us, terrific things have been happening (my father’s job seems to be picking up speed, I got this very cool notebook with a wireless network connection at the office, there’s the new Superman movie just around the corner, many many many pretty girls all around) and simply put, it feels like that I’ve been through a lifetime of sowing- all those books must’ve amounted to something- now it’s time to reap.
I mean, I used to have a sense of humor, right?
I should go back to pulling more pranks.
The world seems to have lost its loving feeling when the Chupacabra sightings ended about ten years ago- we’ve been riding this dawn of the 21st century just waiting in the wings in apprehension: It’s a terrorist attack, it’s microbes from outer space hitching a ride to Earth on a shooting star, it’s job outsourcing to India, it’s the figment that brings together the invitations for an ex-girlfriend’s wedding.
…
It was last Friday night, 9pm and the Trade Management called me up, she said we were 98 TEUs over and had to have it trimmed down from this weekend’s vessel by the next day, she said she knew I was no longer directly involved in this, etc, but still could I give her a hand?
Luckily we had it down to 48 TEUs on Saturday morning.
posted by 186282mps at 9:07 AM
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