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12:24 a.m. - 2002-01-04
The beauty of it is it's like holding a fresh new kleenex, just ready for the blowing.
Sometimes I feel as though my life was disposable. Not my life as in living, my life in terms of what I spend and have spent my time and energy accumulating and experiencing.

About a year ago I got a bee in my bonnet to join the peace corps again. This was something that I had been keenly interested in when I was about twenty years old. The travel, the experience, the adventure.

The feeling that I was using my little biological devices that allow me to walk and breath and talk and think and stuff for better ends than providing services for rich people, or running on a societal tread mill that seemed harder to get off of the longer you stayed on. Make money, spend money. Become a slave to yourself. Until the day you slip a wiggley little sperm into the right place at the right time and give yourself a real reason for continuing, and much needed meaning to the whole exercise.

I couldn't join when I was younger because you have to have a bachelors degree in order to qualify. That or several years experience in a trade. At that point I never saw myself obtaining trade experience, but, as luck would have it, that is the very slot that my marble fell into on the next spin of the roulette wheel of "letting life happen to you".

So back to a year ago. I realized, suddenly, that I now qualified for the program that would allow me to take a break (run away from) the feeling that I needed to decide something. Decide what I was going to do with my life.

I couldn't do it though. I had a job and a little debt. I had an apartment and a girlfriend who I loved a great deal. I had a fucking life that I would be leaving behind.

Well, here it is, a year later and I have none of those things anymore.

I'm as free as I was when I graduated from high school. I could move to Vegas and become a black jack dealer. I could sign on to work on the oil rigs in Alaska. I could get myself a nice bandana and put all my belongings in it and dangle it from the end of a stick.

I could join the peace corps.

Time to spin that wheel again.

Anyway, what the fuck is it about standing in a line that makes people so nuts?

If you're not in a middle school cafeteria, but say, at the Safeway checkout, you don't have to protect your spot behind me by running your cart up my ass.

Nobody's trying to get cuts!

But then again, maybe they are. I can't stand it when I see grown adults standing at the back of a long line, run to be first when the adjacent register is opened.

Okay everybody, look. It is not where you are standing that matters, it's how long you have been waiting. First come, first served. Is that really that hard to get?


Also, restaurants, if you are going to charge $6.95 for a veggie burger it should taste better than I can make myself at home.

And lastly, to the guy who flipped Jane off in traffic yesterday because he cut her off and she honked, I hope you and your girlfriend that was sitting next to you switch personalities and she becomes the raging asshole so you get a turn being subjected to your own assholish ways, just for while.

I'm going to bed.


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