Thursday, October 30, 2008

Free Mumia with Purchase of Medium Drink

Personal rambling time, folks. Search for the hidden nuggets of wisdom!

I'm writing this at 3:19 in the afternoon, which is different for me. I don't know when I'll finish, but the bulk will be written during the daylight hours.

My blogs usually get written deep into the night, because I happen to be an insomniac and can't stop my brain from gurgling. The two overall feelings that I get in the late hours are:

a) comfort, well-being, and happiness resulting in comically imaginative thoughts.


b) doubt, sadness, and anger resulting in resentment of my peculiar ways.

It's one or the other, as middles don't exist in my cerebrospinal fluid encased brain stalk.

Even though I get isolated and depressed sometimes, nighttime is when I feel the most comfortable. Everything is still, a pleasant contrast to the chaos of daytime. There's always shit to be done during the day, and there seem to be thousands of positive possible outcomes in the air. Positive possibilities suck, because they never become realized. This is what's known as disappointment. The sister of failure.

During the day, people pack the streets as they run errands, hurry to their jobs, and get their fill of vitamin D. I hate the daytime. Correction, I hate daytime in the city, as I imagine that daytime in the countryside brings less commotion with it... I just plain don't like seeing people walking around, ignoring you as they go about their business. Cars are everywhere, same with the horrendously gigantic presence of buses spewing black exhaust and screeching that interrupts all thought processes. People walking their dogs, hurriedly scurrying past, scared that you might actually pet their beloved Mr. Sprinkles. It's all so disheartening and overwhelming.

I've always thought that if it were acceptable to work from 10pm till 6am, I'd be gainfully employed by now. But no respectable company has hours like that, and they're sure as hell not thinking about cutting a schlemiel some slack with regards to their business hours.

I'm at my best conversationally and creatively from 10pm until I fall asleep around 4am. The atmosphere of night plays a large part in the general unhurried and natural mood I ease into.

Nighttime is quiet. Old people are in bed or too scared to go outside. Less people are frolicking about obnoxiously. I can enjoy the city without the berserk bombardment of audio and visual warfare. I think this is why post-apocalyptic fiction and films appeal to me. I love the architecture, surroundings, and character of Chicago, but I wish all the people would vanish. Where's the rapture when you need it?

It is now 8pm. The skies have darkened. I've been writing sentences here and there in between a trip to the post office and staring out the window with some music playing. With the exception of Lee, I'm the youngest old man in Chicago. We're practically in a dead heat...

...Back into the night...

I get stressed by obligations, and there are always less obligations at night, unless you happen to be a werewolf. There's no one to call except friends. I feel uninhibited and without shame for my slacking because there is nothing that can be accomplished in the normal realm at 2 in the morning. Less pressure to be somebody, more time to contemplate and do what I want freely. It almost feels like no one is watching. As most adolescents know, all the best shit happens when there is a breach in supervision.

Maybe I need to get a grip and be more mature, but have you talked to your friends that are responsible, married, have kids, or have careers? They're unanimously miserable. I'd rather feel guilty for what I'm not than to be bitter about what I've become. I know that a livable balance can be achieved, but no one I know has this theoretical harmony implemented in any way. Maybe it takes time and patience to get the balance right. But by the time that happens, I'll have morphed into Billy Crystal.

It is now 10:20pm.

I would have been a great caveman. Minus having to hunt all the time and smelling like a Russian hockey locker room, being a caveman would be so up my alley. Fires, fighting, fucking, grunting, bone necklaces, infant mortality, and wolf riding would be so fucking cool. Besides finding shelter, there are no responsibilities and no choices to be made. Having too many choices really fucks me up. Hell, I get paralyzed looking at the cereal aisle in a grocery store.

Telling stories by the fire would be so jazz. I could tell stories about the King Coyote and Hell Hawks. Everybody would get spooked when a hawk cried out or a coyote howled, and I'd laugh while reassuring everyone that I possess forcefield amulets that protect them from the beasts I've conjured. Oh, to have no obligations, little if any clothing, and die at 30 as the clan elder. That would be a life worth living.

(Have you noticed a difference in tone between day Kid Douche and night Kid Douche?)

But until time machines become affordable and safe, I'm stuck thinking about life out in the vast countryside. House pushed way back from the road, neighbors half a mile away, and all the quiet stillness I desire.