It’s been 22 long years since I have spoken. The troops have been thinned. So much has happened. I cannot recall it.
On the importance of blogging: If I do not record it, has it happened? I do not think so.
Yesterday, I almost cried in a grown man’s office. Around 6:30 a.m. this morning, I threw my shoe at the wall. It left a mark. Actually, it left a hole. Which, as Garth pointed out, could be considered progress because that wall probably needed to come down at some point anyway. I guess I was just a little tired of being slightly and consistantly stressed out. It is a dull ache. Nothing overwhelming on its own, but when you pile it all together for several months, it makes you take off your sharpest shoe. It makes you eye your white wall. It makes you go for it.
The trials of the Ediporters continue.
It’s like having a loser, mildly abusive boyfriend you just don’t have the guts to break up with. It’s better to be comfortable than alone, I guess. But are we really comfortable? And I can’t keep making excuses. He is never going to clean up his act. He doesn’t appreciate me. Maybe if I say mean things about him online, he’ll end it for me. All things said, I hope I get out before it impregnates me. All the bennies of being an editor: you can edit 8-5! and all the bennies of being a reporter (meetings from 6:30 until 10!!) and then you can come in early the next morning! letters! This, plus we’re not permitted “overtime.” Well, we’re not permitted payment for it. And I can never freelance again. Crap. I’m starting to take my shoe off again.
The new Radiohead is simple. It makes me crave winter and all their previous and better ventures. Reviews are mixed, but I can’t help it. I love every crazy asshole thing they put out and whatever mental way they choose to distribute it. I don’t know. I was in high school when I first heard OK Computer/The Bends. Thom Yorke’s underwater space alien vibe is always cryptic and familiar and sweet. I want to float down a river with him. I think he’s crazy. Maybe.
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