Friday, 01/02/08

Written on the 2nd. It sees trite now, but it's been sitting on my work computer all weekend. It would seem a tragedy to not give let it see some light...

Fridays are always dead here in Stabile. Aside from a few footsteps around the cryostat and surgical rooms, the only sound I can distinguish from the whir of the thirteen abandoned computers around me is the shuffling of paper a few cubicles away and my constant click-clacking of keys A through Z.

Today, I bought a faux leather jacket I’ve had my eyes on at Macy’s, but I still want and want. I’m the ideal American in some respects, fueled by the need to constantly purchase and consume. You can bet that if there were more like me, the markets would never take a dip, I suppose no one would have a 401k, either. So, the markets give and take.

Meandering around the mall on the first day of two thousand and nine, and I’m suddenly suffocated by the meaningless scurrying and frustrated glance of its inhabitants, and I can’t find a way to stop myself from wanted things, and my tastes are ever-more expensive. I want a graphite damier louis vuitton planner with spiral binding and horrendously silver dog tags by david yurman.

I want a job at loring pasta bar like patrick had, even though I’ve never even met patrick, to walk away from a few hours of work with a few hundred dollars. I want to meander back and forth down aisles of people around tables, laughing at nothing, sipping on white wine. I want to sit across from kara and brittani in some nameless sushi bar again and pretend to watch my weight; something I constantly lose at home because I cant stand to sit around with my family and eat eat eat.

I want to know every language ever spoken, wander through the streets of prague and buy something overflowing with carbohydrates from a market vendor. I want to be irresponsible with no consequences, flitting across borders at my leisure to have coffee with someone in belgrade. Eat handmade pizza in florence again. Mostly, I just want to feel like I don’t always have to be oppressed by this constant hammering of responsibility, pounding on and on like a neverending techno thump. I would take voice lessons and learn to play the guitar if I could holler a single note on key.