03.11.09
GROWNUPS ARE BORING
earson:
eyeson:
thoughton:
cobwebs in corners and i REALIZE they're there, photographs i cannot admire and 10 pound heirloom bibles .. but i can't leave, and i can't make the space my own, NOR can i find the notion that the space belongs to me in the first place. so i live in the cobwebs with the old pictures and the marriage self-help books and wonder at myself.
i watched twilight the other morning because i tried to do it at christmas-time and failed .. it was just too boring. i finally made it through it this time and the end was OK, but i can't help getting the feeling i'm a voyeur in a land of Youth that i've left and as a result it's like being in the viewing room of a science experiment. so you rub your chin and say INTERESTING! in a freudian accent and then wander off ot something else.
i'm PROCRASTINATING in regard to fixing this license thing, and every day i put it off is another day i could get my car towed if i'm pulled over. i have to fix it, but i know the bottom line is going to be money. i'm so sick of money. i'd like to grow a money tree and be able to go outside and pluck all the 1k bills i need off of it every day and doodle inside, worry free ..
i was fussing last night in bed about my retirement. WTF, RETIREMENT? this bothers me for a couple of reasons. i feel too young to be thinking about it, but 2 people in the breakroom were having a conversation. one bullshit stupid woman was saying "I don't know how people who make minimum wage do it day to day! I just don't know how they do it, stuff comes up, and if I didn't make what I do, I'd be screwed!" then both people having the conversation said they'd started saving for retirement from the beginning of their twenties. .. . inside, i was kinda struck by that. i'm 10 years late! holy shit! i should start now, before it's too late! and then another part of me wants to say 'fuck it,' because an extra 30 grand at 62 is going to last what, less than a year if you factor in inflation?
boring i suppose.
written at 6:36 p.m.
