What am I, ____?
16 August 2004 at 3:26 pm

In my hometown of Redding (pronounced "Redin"), CA, there exists a newly constructed bridge. It is the first free-standing bridge ever. This is what my dad has to say about it:

"We just got back from a walk on the river trail. Crossed the Great White Elephantine bridge. I can't remember if I told you my take on it: It's like the icing on the cake. Except there's no cake. But the architect who designed the thing also was the architect who designed the main stadium venue for the Olympics in Athens. So we learn that Greeks are as stupid as people in Redding?"

Redding messes up everything.

I'm very important today at work. I'm researching conference rooms, and it's a secret. I don't know why it's a secret, nor do I know exactly why I'm researching conference rooms, so when I call to get information I come off like a complete idiot. Such is the life of a receptionist.

Have I mentioned that I'm really bad at this job? I really am. I get a few emails a month telling me what a great job I'm doing, but here's how I can do it better. Such suggestions include: don't read a book at the desk. Do things quicker. And better. And the like. This job is robbing me of my ability to think. Seriously, I can feel my brain shutting off slowly but surely, the little brain cell troops marching morosely to the hibernation chambers, the brain cell leaders discussing over cups of brain juice whether or not to push the "Self-destruct" button.

I'm 99% sure that I have a brain tumor. Wouldn't that make me special? I bet I could get away with anything if I had a brain tumor. They thought I had leukemia since my lymph nodes are strangely huge, but I didn't. They also thought I had a brain tumor since I had daily migraines. I didn't. I still don't. But I think I might be a little happier if I did. I'd appreciate the little things. I'd see a particularly vibrant purple flower and marvel at it's beauty instead of noticing it and thinking, "Wouldn't it be great if I could appreciate this sort of this?" and then stepping on it.

I think it's about that time to get back on the Prozac train. At least that way I can blame my severe fatigue, my lack of sexual appetite, and my suspicious weight gain on it. Everyone loves a scapegoat. No one likes the truth. It's true.

0 comments

mod l post-mod

|

New
Old
Profile
Notes
Extras
Contact
Image
Host
Trackback

About me
Hi. Morgan, 27, of Santa Barbara, CA. I am a hypocritical admirer of rhetoric (when it is my own) and an observer of literary trends. A secret: I don't take anything very seriously, and that includes myself.