19 January, 2005
i feel so... un-necessary

(disclaimer: once i see how pointless this looks, in writing, it may not last long. pressure is great, tonight... the catalog of years, frightening... the inertia, sepulchral. lemme vent.)

the past few rounds of the clock have been revealing a disturbing repetition. regardless were my feet have taken me, whatever scene presents itself around corners, tastes, sounds... all is a constant stream-of-d�j�-v�.

now, i know that i haven't done everything there is to experience, nor achieved one one-hundredth of what i would hope i was capable... but this particular road doubles back on itself. even the side roads lead to the same place.

damn, but i need a detour... and quick.
perhaps my focus is narrowed, but i feel like the only one with feet embedded in concrete, prospects nil.

this person, here, plans to go to Jamaica. this other one receives a surprise phonecall with ridiculously discounted flights to Hawaii. plans unfold. opportunities manifest. planets align. the clouds part.

shit... all i want right now is a cigarette to revive my sagging consciousness past the two AM hour.

heh... they ask me why i smoke. to stay awake for twelve hours with no-one to talk to, motherfuckers.

perhaps that's why i just took my twenty-year career in my own hands, and braved 10? temperatures to mainline some inspiration for another two hours. all for a three-minute thrill.

it's come to this.

one of the awful realizations at which i have arrived: promotions, in this country (as well as most, i suppose), have nothing to do with your proficiency at a task, or innovative skills.

no.

those who aspire to a higher station do so with only the promise of overseeing other people as the rungs in the ladder. gone are hands-on skills... replaced, instead, is the whip. with others that wield the whip, as "associates". the word, "friends" doesn't interchange. not really.

this is why i continue to trot in this circle. surely, this is nothing to aspire to.

cruelly, this circle intersects with the other circle, awaiting me when i return "home".
this person that i married remains... content with the television, and books, and the telephone. content to wait for me to return. as entertainment. checkbook. project coordinator. facilitator. occupying space on the couch until someone else inspires movement and resources. inert, contentedly. walking three steps behind. surrendering no emotion.

which mires my soul into pre-cut trenches.

how sex-ay.

ok, so venting is over... or it will be, when i can move my feet, again, and unburden my shoulders that have bunched into a tight, needle-pricked mass.

dreams, be kind.

.