Yesterday I wrote Sean a check for my portion of the rent. We all pay Sean and he writes one big check out to Flo. On the “for” line at the bottom left corner of the check I wrote “toffee coated sheep hearts.” Heh, I’m sure they’re a delicacy SOMEwhere. Last night it was not terribly cold, but as I walked from the back door of Buck’s to the bus I saw my breath. A thin whisp in the air, but there it was. Autumn has been sort of late in arriving this year. Seeing my breath does not mean autumn has arrived. It is different every year. Sometimes it is a scent in the air, a force in the wind, a crispness of a particular night as street lights refract little twinkles like gemstones.
Stacks of paper are replaced by stacks of boxes which are replaced by stacks of paper that tell about what is in those stacks of boxes. Organization of office miscellany and a small morsel of chocolate melting slowly on my tongue. I am feeling a fleeting sleepy euphoria that often accompanies prescription narcotic cough medicines even though I am sans medicine. mAy cause drowsiness. Sound is a little muffled and I’m nested in the muffle. Such a delicate zone of quiet, dispelled instantly if Andrew comes in with a request for a brochure packet. Is this disrespectful, the fact that I kill time and write? If I wanted to I’m sure I could find something to do in this slow office on this lazy late afternoon. Do what you love. Do what you do well. Be here now. Be the ball. Send her my love. Do unto others. Set goals. Score goals. Score with chycks. Look before you leap. Just do it. “Tell me whom you love and I’ll tell you who you are.” I’m intrigued by that quote, by what it could mean, what it may mean. Open sesame. Open during remodeling. Closed formation. For my nation. Fornication. Fabrication. Altercation. Kiss and make up. Rock bands and face paint. Hangnails with pictures hanging from them. Song lyrics with footprints. There are several folk remedies for upset stomachs and whatnot that can be concocted behind a bar at any old bar. It is a beautiful thing, like being versed in the medicinal properties of herbs. Jenn is like that. We have our own little good witch doctor at home. She’s adorable. Clinically insane. Criminally insane. Highly intelligent. Totally horrifying.
I’m thinking about a movie I saw with the girl, called Fight Club. I want to read the book now and get more details. Male angst; men feeling emasculated by there roles in society. I don’t like the word emasculated because it carries with it the implications of its antonym. There are all sorts of questions about gender roles that come into play which convolute themes in fight club that are a little separate from masculinity/femininity. If I’m to go with the assertion that men in the movie feel emasculated by their roles in society then I can not continue without thinking of the insidious implication that there exists an unwritten list of what masculine roles in the society are. I’m not down with that.
I’m more willing to interpret the angst as people feeling powerless, helpless, overworked, under-appreciated, debt-ridden, angst-ridden, impotent because of voluntary participation in a culture of commerce that engineers notions of unattainable, ever-youthful beauty and power that, even when attained, do not secure happiness. Workin’ for The Man.
Happiness and wholeness and self-awareness and compassion are just as hard and just as easy to strive for as high-paying jobs, sexual conquests, pension plans, and the right color car. It is just a matter of configuring your consciousness to a particular endeavor. So up there I used the word impotent but refuted the word emasculated. I don’t consider this a contradiction, given that the word impotent does not intrinsically carry with it the preconceptions of gender roles, it is a synonym for powerless. But emasculated I will not accept as a synonym for powerless. Time to go to the night job. Hopefully I’ll pick up on this later.