The Enemy of the Good (eideteker) wrote,
The Enemy of the Good

  • Mood:
  • Music:

One for all, all for a dollar.

We have shoes everywhere at work. Little ones, filled with the names of people who've donated to the March of Dimes. We're doing really well in my branch; we collected over $500 in the first two weeks. I myself have taken almost $300 in donations, which puts me ahead of second place (yes, we're having a contest) by almost a multiple of three.

So we're running out of space to put the shoes. I started putting them on the door to the employee area last week, and now the darn thing is almost full. The question is, do we put names all the way down to the floor? I say yes, because otherwise it will look ugly and non-uniform. No one's complained... yet. I hope they don't. Some people need to be at the bottom to complete the picture. Everyone plays a part, everything ties together.

Curious, then, that my thoughts should turn to isolation. It's not my fault; I watched "American Psycho" (I've got the Misfits song in my head now, too) last night, and I kinda liked it. I've always thought that one of my great failings was that I was too social to be a proper serial killer. I'm also fascinated by 1980's NYC, brokers and cokers (and h0okers, but that doesn't rhyme). That's not the point. The quiet isolation of the inner mind is.

Remind me to read the book. It was based on a book, right? I hope it's like Bonfire of the Vanities, only as if Sherman McCoy went nuts and started torture-killing people Pulp Fiction style.

Back to my point. And tying things in. Since my point is actually not quiet isolation, but rather tying things together and composite pictures, with isolation as an example. I never realized before last week that one of the reasons I'm so reserved and unconversational is that I hate repeating myself. In the long run. I realized the implications of short-term repetition long ago. In the long term, I don't like baring my soul to someone, because if things turn out wrong, then I have to go through the whole thing again with the next girl. The example here that inspired this line of thought is the I Mother Earth song, "One More Astronaut." I listened to the song one time with Michelle, and explained every niche of the song, and how it sang to me, and me specifically. Then that whole thing went into the shitter. Well, it was already there; it just finally flushed. So I don't get hurt because I am reserved, and I am reserved, ultimately, because I hate repeating myself. But then, I'm reserved so that I don't get hurt.

Which came first, the reservation, or the hurt?

"You Make Me" is the best love song ever.

I am going to be a writer some day. Moreso than I am now.

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.