HAPPY BIRTHDAY TREES
What a waste of a day. My sole achievements after 12-hours spent sheltering from the rain are to have finished reading a Uruguayan novel I began six months ago (at 150 pages long, that works out at less than a page a day); and to win around $100 playing online poker.
Actually, now I think about it this is far more productive than most of my Sundays. Even so, it would have been nice to have met up with friends, seen a film or done something to drag me away from my fetal position on the couch.
But then, when none of your friends bother to call you - they're either busy, ill, moving house, looking after their kids or out with their other half - and you face the prospect of another night-shift, making social arrangements is easier said than done.
I tried writing a little - keeping myself busy is, I find, the best way to forget about life and to stop dwelling on things I shouldn't be dwelling on. But I'm completely uninspired right now: so far I've managed one whole page of my South American memoirs. And I don't think it's a particularly good page, either.
Bird-wise, things are little better. The dive I went to last night was full of the usual aesthetically-challenged, wide-arsed women. Many of them were drunk, as if to prove that it is, after all, possible for them to appear less attractive than they usually do.
It was all so utterly depressing and not just because of the people. The average age must have been around 25; so what is everyone my age doing? Well, they're either loved-up, married or have better things to do with their lives. I suppose they could also be moping at home, frolicking with their cats, watching Pride & Prejudice on DVD while they stuff themselves silly with Pringles. If they're of a particular religious persuasion, they could be celebrating Tu Bishvat - the Jewish New Year for Trees, feasting on pomegranates and dates and alike. Maybe life isn't so bad after all?
What a waste of a day. My sole achievements after 12-hours spent sheltering from the rain are to have finished reading a Uruguayan novel I began six months ago (at 150 pages long, that works out at less than a page a day); and to win around $100 playing online poker.
Actually, now I think about it this is far more productive than most of my Sundays. Even so, it would have been nice to have met up with friends, seen a film or done something to drag me away from my fetal position on the couch.
But then, when none of your friends bother to call you - they're either busy, ill, moving house, looking after their kids or out with their other half - and you face the prospect of another night-shift, making social arrangements is easier said than done.
I tried writing a little - keeping myself busy is, I find, the best way to forget about life and to stop dwelling on things I shouldn't be dwelling on. But I'm completely uninspired right now: so far I've managed one whole page of my South American memoirs. And I don't think it's a particularly good page, either.
Bird-wise, things are little better. The dive I went to last night was full of the usual aesthetically-challenged, wide-arsed women. Many of them were drunk, as if to prove that it is, after all, possible for them to appear less attractive than they usually do.
It was all so utterly depressing and not just because of the people. The average age must have been around 25; so what is everyone my age doing? Well, they're either loved-up, married or have better things to do with their lives. I suppose they could also be moping at home, frolicking with their cats, watching Pride & Prejudice on DVD while they stuff themselves silly with Pringles. If they're of a particular religious persuasion, they could be celebrating Tu Bishvat - the Jewish New Year for Trees, feasting on pomegranates and dates and alike. Maybe life isn't so bad after all?
posted by David Cohen at 5:43 pm
1 Comments:
I think everyone else our age was celebrating an early Valentine's evening.
Post a Comment
<< Home