Oozy Creamy Brain Goodness
I just read everyone else's blog, and then read a few snippets from my latest entry (I'm in Control . . . ) and I think that I have soma-ized myself. I don't quite know what to think about it. There's something about that post that strikes me as obnoxious. Is this "new attitude" really just me bullshitting myself, trying to make a tedious environment and the fact that I work for a personal friend of President-fucking Bush OK because I make more money? Is this the kind of filthy tool slime-sucker that I have become? Am I now blowing sunshine up my own ass?
Or am I simply utilizing the power that flowery sunshine springtime enemas bring and it's no different than the mindgames that, say, Olympic swimmers use and there's nothing wrong with tricking yourself into happiness. Or Olympic gold.
Or am I truly happy and NOT tricking myself at all and the act of deciding to not let a slightly less-than-perfect work situation get me down lets the happiness happen? Does this make me a Randy Newman song? You know, the ones he writes for movies about friends and happy white suburbanite types? The ones I really fucking hate?
And now THIS post is bothering me, in all its "stoner-question" glory. I feel happy enough. I don't know how I got here, but if it works . . . . I don't have answers for much: "Why did you get married instead of just living together?" It just seemed like the thing to do and I didn't mind doing it. "Why did you want to have children?" I have absolutely no good answer for that one. "Why do you work for a mega-corporation headed by conservatives?" Because I like books. And money. I guess.
"Why do you feel the need to analyze all of this crap?" Because I'm retarded. And, apparently, totally fascinated with myself! Why else would I blog?
I'm going now.
Or am I simply utilizing the power that flowery sunshine springtime enemas bring and it's no different than the mindgames that, say, Olympic swimmers use and there's nothing wrong with tricking yourself into happiness. Or Olympic gold.
Or am I truly happy and NOT tricking myself at all and the act of deciding to not let a slightly less-than-perfect work situation get me down lets the happiness happen? Does this make me a Randy Newman song? You know, the ones he writes for movies about friends and happy white suburbanite types? The ones I really fucking hate?
And now THIS post is bothering me, in all its "stoner-question" glory. I feel happy enough. I don't know how I got here, but if it works . . . . I don't have answers for much: "Why did you get married instead of just living together?" It just seemed like the thing to do and I didn't mind doing it. "Why did you want to have children?" I have absolutely no good answer for that one. "Why do you work for a mega-corporation headed by conservatives?" Because I like books. And money. I guess.
"Why do you feel the need to analyze all of this crap?" Because I'm retarded. And, apparently, totally fascinated with myself! Why else would I blog?
I'm going now.
posted by lulu | 12:47 PM
3 Comments:
So, you're basically saying that anyone who blogs, and many of your friends can be included in that category, is a self-absorbed, narcissitic egotist?
Tell me something I don't already know. And to think, your blog used to be so informative . . .
C'mon, give yourself a break. Venting and bitching is what blogging is all about. At least, that's what the more INTERESTING blogs are all about. And you, my dear, are nothing if not interesting.
(There, that should calm your self-fascination, no?)
No, I don't think we're all self-absorbed. Just that post. I hate getting into those "question loops".
I actually think that blogging is a great outlet--it makes me want to write. Without it, I would have no journal at all. And as for sharing it with people, well, there's nothing wrong with sharing, and no one has to read it. Feedback is good.
Great title, too. My friend Karen was on a kick for a while when she called everything "amorphous" - and it usually was. I think this oozy cream-of-consciousness style would easily slide into that category, along with metaphors like blowing sunshine up my ass? What?! Does that have healing powers?
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