haha. way to go, tuesday. i didn’t know you had another mini-crisis up your sleeve, but you did, you tricky bastard. kudos just for your high level of sneakitude. what the flip is wrong with me. i’m in some new kind of bluesy funk mode. and it’s not even musically fluid let alone listenable. it’s just stupid. you hear me, mood? you are stupid and without basis for existence. go away. it’s sort of not even a complete mood though. it’s fragmented. it’s all bits and pieces.
at least it’s not a TP TRAGEDY!
some kind of vague unsettling dilemma about what is funny, is funny funny, how is one really funny? which is horse snot that i don’t care to think about too deeply right now.
they hate me, they really hate me.
and secondly, in the grand scheme of anything approaching life, the counterstrike from left field that none of my problems are actually legitimate problems. also banana feces i don’t need to deal with right now.
the opposite of banana feces
finally, my cubicle mate is crunching ice REALLY LOUDLY and i feel like all her tooth enamel is being worn down to a very fine sliver of nothing. and i’m concerned, ok? i’m annoyed but mostly i’m concerned. LIE! i’m concerned but mostly annoyed. i’m experiencing second hand wear of my own enamel, and i can’t work under these conditions. yes i can. get it together, aparna. your annual work review will not smile on such a poor attitude. that’s facetious. i’m a temp. THERE IS NO WORK REVIEW. GO HOME.
penguins may eat ice…but NOBODY ELSE.
in other cry me an onion news, i seem to throw myself millions of pity parties these days, and then i wonder why no one shows up. maybe evites aren’t the best way for pity parties. maybe i should invest in some actual pen and paper invites sealed with tears. the pity parties are of all kinds though. you’d be disgusted if you knew the full extent. here’s a sampling: why can’t i fit everyone into my schedule/life; why am i not a better daughter/cousin/friend/person; why am i tired all the time; why do i feel like there are ten layers of bubble wrap between me and every other person in the world (there is more popping than understanding, ever); i’m not helping the world, i suck; how come i take the good things that are thrown at me and instead of being happy about them, worry about them until they are gone; why did i just write out all my problems so other people who have enough problems have to read them. pfft. yoda says: beyond ridiculous you are!
wrap it up, i don’t want to catch anything like actual camaraderie or understanding. heavens forbid!
as my friend tyler commented yesterday, a very fitting nickname for me when i’m intolerable might be subparna.
my mind is spinning because of memorial day. i was looking through the pictures of fallen soldiers in the paper yesterday and then reading articles on the haditha massacre. and then switching to the indonesia earthquake. and then finally, blech, tips on how to save money as a young person. weird how it all blurs together. i can’t help thinking how everyone who died probably had their own problems to think about before they died. like their own daily/emotional/relationship problems. people are often simplified when they die. into just being good people who wanted a good life. which is, more or less, true. but there are also all the other aspects of people. maybe they broke a few hearts, told more than a few jokes, had a first job, dispensed a lie or two, perhaps stole something once or cheated. somehow all these other things make them even more beautiful to me. the fact that they were each someone with their own unique story to tell.
bringing an observer’s life full-circle, there are two fully untouched virgin CINNABONS sitting in my kitchen at home right now. and they are consuming a ridiculous amount of my brainspace.
don’t speak. let’s just hold each other.
ok i am actually feeling better. somehow between the top of writing this and the bottom, my mood bipolared into better places. actually, specifically one thing made me feel better. this pretty non-descript-looking man walking around the park yesterday with a floral wreath on his head loudly declaring “I AM SATAN’s BRIDE” over and over and over again. i know he wasn’t put there to make me take back everything i said about feeling apathetic. but he sure did the trick. mmmm CINNABON.