Call me crazy, (“Crazy!”-You, to me) but I think that this song, “Skulls” by the Misfits, is SUPER romantic. “I want your skull, I NEED your skull.” Danzig, TEXT ME.
Possibly more romantic?
How many people can watch a whole season of The Wire in one sitting? Not many, I’ll wager. That shit is dense.
“
| — | Wilfred, Ep 105 - “Respect” |
Commitment
I have a lot of time on my hands right now because I’m between semesters and jobs. To try and ensure that I don’t fall into a self-destructive spiral of laziness, bad hygiene and alcohol I created a daily routine.
It started out somewhat unambitiously:
- Do the dishes from the previous day when I wake up
- Exercise, just a little bit even. Come on, at least walk down the road and buy an apple or something
- Apply for jobs
- Leave the house for a few hours (visit friend / trip to library etc)
- Afternoon - free (watch a movie? sandwich? cosplay?)
This was a routine to keep me busy, productive, and most importantly, engaged with the outside world. You see, my two housemates are away at the moment. Without them or university (my two main day-to-day talking with people face-to-face [wow, just a lot of x-to-x right here] situations) it was entirely possible that I would shrink into a cocoon of craziness; feeding on my own neuroses and delusions. Unfortunately, its pragmatic and unambitious nature was also the cause of its downfall.
I am a dynamic person.
No lies. I have a lot going on and to be brutally honest, a lot to offer the world. Where Mr. Joe P. Average would be content with these hum drum activities I need more.
Dishes? I could just use the same plate and bowl over and over. Saves time and energy that I can throw into my artistic pursuits. For I am no unemployed, busy-body with not much to do. I am intellectual. Deal with it. I can’t spend my time applying for jobs, that Franzen novel won’t read itself.
My new routine is more like:
- Wake up and remind myself not to be terrified of the overwhelming ennui that it is to be me (people are younger and more successful! bastards!)
- An aggressive session of holding down the cat and screaming at it
- Thoroughly check every room in the house to make sure the zombies haven’t come. Not yet
- Open curtains? Maybe… no
- Food? Empty fridge
- Wander around city, taking in culture (read: odd smells and dirty looks)
- Spend time talking to a talented busker in hopes of forming creative partnership - he is high on paint and cannot play that mandolin
- Sulk in cinema
- Afternoon - free (tv? tape self eating copy of Twilight and post it on youtube?)
I realised today that this new routine, while stimulating and satisfying, was quite chaotic. In order to reconcile my dynamism and need for routine I have decided to write a screenplay (!). From now until the start of university (or I get a job… hahahahahahahaha) I will spend six hours writing when I get up everyday. Then I will spend the evening contemplating new ideas for my story and sipping a fine whiskey. Possibly I will pass out at my writing desk from the whiskey, but that just shows how committed I definitely am to this.
In two years expect to see “I’m Stranded: The Untold Story Of The Saints” to screen, like most Australian films, for about two days in select theatres near you (the producers will later sue each other while the director takes a stable job with an ad agency).
My house has seating either inside (lounge room) or outside. It terrifies me when I go to places with many seating options. I am visiting a friend today and there are five different rooms for various sitting related activities at this house. Choosing is not my forte.
The merman approached the surface, caution in his every move. As he rose above the water his head darted from side to side seeking any sign of his ever vigilant enemy. Assured of his safety the merman playfully splashed around the water.
All too soon a shrieking noise spilt the air.
“Greg, I’m going to sell that fucking above ground pool to pay the rent if you don’t get a fucking job!”
The merman glared at the shrieking harpie. He reared far above the water and used his weapon to splash at her aggressively.
“And put on some pants. I mean, Jesus.”
Inspiration
I was walking home the other day and saw a guy mowing his front lawn.
Nothing weird about that right? SHUT UP I WASN’T DONE YET!
He was in a wheelchair whilst mowing. Uphill. In the rain. I have drawn a picture to illustrate (it is wonderful):
(Go paint!)
He would use one arm to hold the chair steady and thrust the mower forward with his other arm, then roll quickly forward. Rinse and repeat.
What made the whole thing so surreal to me is that he had a cast on his leg and was clearly not used to using a wheelchair. So this guy - stuck in a chair for what, a few weeks? months? - decides to just fucking mow the shit out of his steep front lawn while its raining just fucking cause.
Go, guy, go. You make me feel like I totally can wash my sheets today (I won’t).
