Original article posted by ravenpaine:
Entry 58 – June 5, 2004
I’m broke. Which is nothing new for those of you who follow my antics. But I have a job. Which IS something new for those of you who do and don’t follow my antics. So apparantly something is wrong in some large cosmic/karmic way. I demand some sort of justice.
And I’m broke.
Which is why I have been drinking Tang for the last several days. Thanks to strangeness on the part of Rasputin and his household I was left with a jar of this sickly orange powder full of… well… full of the power to make water taste like sickly orange powder instead of water. Which is a nice break from water, but is not actually a substitute for Dr. Pepper or milk or raspberry lemonade or any variety of tasty beverage.
So I begin to see things from a philisophical bent. I have been having problems for roughly one week now. Normally I wait for more than three weeks to really say that I’m having a problem, but right now I’m impatient and irratible and on vacation, so I have elected to complain early.
I have lost my passion for everything. My objectivity and detachment are on the rise and I begin to think like a coldly calculating genius that solves crimes with the help of Ben Stiller. I have entered the zone and am embracing the Zero Effect.
And I would really prefer not to.
I would prefer to become excited about the things that are going on around me and to tear through a stack of books I have been neglecting for far too long. I would like to be at work on my novel and also on attaining level 30 for my red mage.
Many things should be occupying my attention and yet each day is merely a morass of inactivity punctuated by 10-12 hour stretches of unconciousness. I sleep so that I may have the power to sleep the next day.
Nothing seems to be important enough to simply do. Its all down hill from here and I can only relate to myself through brief binges inside of a slimly written confession of events.
Which, like so many writings of its kind will devolve over the course of its writing into choppier sentences and smaller paragraphs. Sense flees from me, as do my metaphors, and I suddenly find myself unable to really communicate.
And I so wanted to delight you all with a strange conversation about the power of intangibility and its effects on human kind.
Perhaps tomorrow you can be so delighted. And everyone say “hi” to Josh King if you see him. I’ve re-established contact with him of late. Ah, to be reunited with the past in person form.
Bliss, utter bliss, of the labotomy sort that Marge is always referencing.
Bonne nuit, bonne nuit to you all.