Just now, an omen from the gods came to me, indicating I should select a certain long-forgotten bookmarked webpage, and write again in the Crummity.
As I speed-walked bullishly through the tourists back towards work, fretting about being punctual returning from lunch, I happened upon- lo and behold- a tour group. The man lecturing (at the top of his lungs it seemed) to his captive audience had chosen the obscenely large statue of King Lear in the stone yard facing my building as his subject. I caught a snippet, and turned my head slightly to hear Joe Tour Leader exclaim:
“Symbolism! What better sign of REPRESSION than the middle ages?? It all fits perfectly… REPRESSION, here…”
Here, in front of my work building. My building which is shaped like a cube, where ironically I sit at a cube within it all the live-long day, typing on a keyboard of cubed letters and forming my ass slowly into more and more of a flat square than the round bubble it used to be. I enter the revolving doors. They form 4 symmetrical cube shaped voids as I rotate in to…
“Twenty five is a big age,” a blonde girl with a rectangular face is saying to her immemorable friend by the escalator.
Seriously? It’s like god himself has a Sharpie Accent at the ready, sees me in my quarter life crisis floundering, flailing, intermittently crying and laughing maniacally, and sends random strangers to highlight the most acutely sensitive moments of it. It, which right now is supposed to be (according to 99% of my elders) “THE BEST TIME OF YOUR LIFE,” “the time to have fun,” the time not to waste your “unlimited potential” and to “experience everything.” And here I am next to King Lear’s big toe, afraid to be a minute late back to my desk and not willing to leave work early to cast my vote before 1 a.m. in probably the most historic election of our time because I might get fired from my $$,$$$ (I can’t bring myself to tell you) a year job and have to find another one just like it or go into debt attempting to make myself smarter through school again.
If the big Jeez be so spiteful though, then why did I spend the entire elevator ride up with a crooked smirk on my face at what I’d just heard with my own two elven ears? Why did I turn around when I got off the elevator and smile freakishly at the people remaining in the car? Is it because I have a sick sense of masochism and I secretly enjoy my predicament and the powers that be who apparently wish to squeegee my soul?
Neh, I think it’s more like I’m trying more and more to realize that all you can do if you want to remain sane is laugh. Laugh at your situation if you can find a way to make it funny, and if you can’t then I dunno… try to think ahead to the future, when you’ll likely look back from where you are and wonder what exactly was so terrible and confusing that I spent hours of silent torture worrying my mind to the core.
Or if you’d rather just wait for that 20/20 hindsight then you can improvise, and hold a single hair from someone’s head and wait for them to move and it yanks out. Then you immediately stare out the window until they look away or blame someone else. That always gets me to laugh. HA HA!
But anyway, The Quarter Life is just a phase… without the bad times we can’t appreciate the great ones right? I’ll just keep telling myself that.
Anyone have any good stories of God spiting them today? 
