2003-05-09 - 2:08 p.m.

And the beat goes on. And on. And on.

About fifteen minutes into today I realized I was in for a serious case of the Blahs. Barely awake and there they were, sitting frumpily next to me on the bed, enticing me with their come-and-make-fun-of-the-world mantras of detachment. What choice did I have but to get up, put the water on for some serious tea drinking, and prepare for contemplative exercises as to the meaninglessness of it all? So drink and make fun I did. But only in my head...on the outside I was all Tao and balanced and filled with "there is no self only illusions of self" bullshit.

Okay it's not really bullshit, it's stuff I truly believe. But when the mood strikes, I care not for truth. I want to laugh self-righteously at the man across the street, wearing loafers and a polo shirt, all hunched over and panting and pushing a lawn mower about his puny lawn. A polo shirt and loafers to do yard work? It's like a sleek Abercrombie and Finch ad attempting to make an ordinary, mundane task look glamorous. I want to ask him if his mommy is aware he hasn't changed into his play clothes. I want to mock him until the blackness thins and I regain an illusionary sense of self.

*Sigh. And so it is today.

Do not be alarmed gentle, (non-existent at this point) readers, this will not be another "I am too deep for the world come and mourn with me under the weeping willow tree of humanity" sort of diary. I am prone to fits of cynicism, but deep down I'm all marshmallow-filled gooey goodness, and I think the world is breathtakingly beautiful in its contradictions and instabilities.

Yeah right, you're saying. But to prove it, I will make a brief list of things that make me happy. This will be a good exercise for me as well, and we can all sit and watch the blahs lift like a fog together. Ooooh, pretty.

1) Staplers. They make the Baby Jesus gurgle in delight, and I'll be damned but they hold stacks of paper together so nicely. From caves to staplers. Is there no end to our genius?

2) Insanely large Elton-John-style sunglasses. The bigger the better, baby.

3) Speaking of Elton John...Elton John's live performance hot-dogging. (Aside from the obvious gay sexual references, you may find yourself wondering what exactly I mean by said Elton John hot-dogging). Let me explain. Elton John recently came to Richmond and I thought my mom would really enjoy seeing him, so I got us tickets. I was pretty excited, actually, not because I'm a big fan but because I thought I'd get to see some SERIOUS costumes. Was I wrong! Nary a costume in sight, and after every gaudy flair-filled performance Elton would just stand there in front of the crowd, not waving, not talking, just...standing...like he was giving every person in the audience an opportunity just to appreciate his sheer ELTONness and in turn soaking in their adoration like some bizarre Rogue-like sponge...the crowd, a mirror for his genius. I felt like Holden Caufield. I mean he was good, but he knew it and was such a big hot dog about it all. COME ON people! One more flair-filled rendition of Benny & The Jetts and I'm climbing a tower of some sort...I mean it. Step away from the enthusiasm. Boo-yaaah.

Okay. Not only was I unable to abstain from mocking (Sorry Elton) but I just realized that I have to leave for work in fifteen minutes and I've devoted a large part of my very first entry to Elton...John. Ri-ght. Readers will be banging down my metaphorical door for more entries, of this I am sure, and I leave you all with an uncomfortable awareness as to what entertaining subjects occupy my not so subconscious.

-Fanged Faerie Girl, #1 fan of the stapler.

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