I’m the guy who was in serious doldrums this evening. I think it’s anxiety about work, but it’s been running me down for a while now. I feel overwhelmed, unable to get ahead because there are so many fires to put out. I’ve been talking to people less and less, and having more difficulty just keeping up a normal conversation.
When I got home tonight, I was pretty burned out. The mile with the dogs didn’t help much, and I came home and found myself staring out the window, emptying the dishwasher, and otherwise trying to avoid looking at computer or TV screens.
Eventually, I went downstairs to the library. Still dolorous, I looked over some shelves of books and told myself, “I’m never going to read any of these.” Then, on a whim, I reached out to pick up one of several collections of essays by William Gass, whom I haven’t read in many years. I opened The World Within the Word to its table of contents, saw, Proust at 100, took the book upstairs, cracked open the spine on page 147, and started reading.
At first, I kept losing focus, partly because of Gass’s gorgeous by sneaky prose but mainly because thoughts from the office kept intruding. So I began reading the pages aloud. I thought it would be good practice for the podcast, because I need to learn to record prose without falling into my distant, nasal, uninflected tone. But reading it aloud, finding the rhythms of the sentences, also drove all the office banalities from my mind.
I’m the guy who’s amazed at how far he’s fallen from himself.
The weather was so gorgeous today, I took a half-day from work. I thought about hiking some trails, but I can do that over weekend. Instead, I rolled up to Woodbury Common Outlet Mall to look for a higher-end tux discounted to cheap Jew levels. (My lack of formalwear nearly bit me on the ass this week, so I decided to finally buy one.) I ended up also buying a few shirts, a tie, and a new pair of Merrell Chameleons, to replace the ones that I had on and that needed to be burned.
I stopped at the food court around 2 to get a snack, and that’s where I saw the saddest thing:
I thought about picking it up, but realized it was exactly where it needed to be.
Be easy on me. I’m still feeling my way through this form, and I really hate that it’s just a monologue right now. Once I get some interviews recorded, I think it’ll really take off. But meanwhile, enjoy the ramble!
I’m the guy who seems to hold white people to higher standards of service than non-white people. At least when it comes to coffee.
If I get shitty service from a Starbucks (generally staffed by white people), I avoid returning to it for a long time. If I get shitty service at a Dunkin Donuts (generally staffed by Indians, Pakistanis, or Latinos), I cut them some slack and figure they’ll be better next time.
It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything of note. Here’s a list of reasons for that, but I’m not sure which ones have the most weight:
I suffer from anxiety
I suffer from mild depression and/or this winter has depressed the crap out of me
I have a lot of work to do at my day job and feel guilty if I “waste” writing-time on myself
I don’t feel like writing or sharing things that I once did, because Facebook has become the default destination for minor personal observations
I feel like I can outsource being clever to Twitter
I use my tumblr blog to post short book-excerpts and literature-related thoughts
I let myself get distracted and drown in tweets and RSS feeds
I spend too much time by myself and the lack of conversation really takes a toll on me
I feel tapped out and don’t have much to say (I think this is a big one, but it’s just a symptom and not a cause; I’ve started a couple of posts that just seemed useless, so I zapped ’em)
I make it too easy not to write
I would rather write a book of anecdotes and observations about my old man
I would rather launch a regular podcast, if I can just suss out some technical issues and get over my anxiety about asking someone to sit down for an interview
I would rather work with Amy to make video-montages set to music
I have a sneaking suspicion you’re all tired of my stories, observations and complaints
I have a sneaking suspicion that I’m a fraud
I don’t get around much anymore
I know that if I just get back to writing, it’ll alleviate a lot of the symptoms, but I just can’t do it. I’m afraid I sound like a DTC ad for an antipsychotic med.
Maybe I should go back to posting those What It Is updates every week, but I came to resent the imposition of those, too, just like all the other regular features I tried to write.
I often find myself singing John Entwistle’s song, 905: “All I know is what I need to know / Everything I do’s been done before / Every sentence in my head / Someone else has said / At each end of my life is an open door.”
It’s never a good sign for an adult to find life-parallels in any song by The Who. I’m gonna try and cheer myself up with some Sam Cooke.
My Google Calendar just reminded me that today marks the 8th anniversary of Virtual Memories! For you long-time readers, many thanks for sticking around all these years!
Now congratulate me for perseverance in the face of irrelevance and/or obsolescence! Or buy me something!
(Oh, and check out my new book-oriented Tumblr blog, Montaigne’s Library, somedarntime!)
