angry purple

Be the bird

I’m working in the cube farm again, today, listening to the prig next door talk, inanely, on the telephone. In fact, there’s another jerk on my other side who tells everyone who telephones her, at length, how she hasn’t time to deal with their problems right now because of how swamped with work she is. If she just didn’t bother to answer the phone she’d probably get that work done.

Anyway, the first jerk is one of those who doesn’t know how to modulate his voice to accommodate cube life. Currently, he’s broadcasting to the entire floor how he and his ex1 used to go up to his cabin in the woods, in Oregon, with a case of wine and just work on that case all weekend. “We were poor.” he complains. “We were poor.” Um, what? To obsess a moment: Either he’s being falsely modest about being poor because he had a cabin in the woods, or he actually had a lean-to or a pup tent and is being a braggadocio, calling it a cabin.

Plus, he’s complaining to the woman swamped in work about his computer bag. “Did you get this bag at Costco? I had some of those free backpack ones from the company but the wheelbase was so short it gave me tennis elbow. I didn’t know what was going on. The handle was so short I couldn’t pull it properly. The only thing I’ve been able to do now is carry it on my back.”

Also, he has one of those obviously fake, rapid little laughs that one forces from the bottom of one’s lungs with great effort — heheheheheheheh. No wonder he has an ex. I’d like to rip that “so very 90’s” goatee off his white-bread, WASPy face, the “uhhhh, you know, I mean, I mean, uhhhh, you know” every other word, loud phone talking, Ted Kaczynski cabin in the woods love shack mentioning, clearing his throat every five seconds suck a fucking lozenge already, loud clicky Dell keyboard tapping, can’t just sit in his cube but has to wander around wondering what other people are doing, talking to himself also too loudly, probably wears sandals and a pretentious hat every minute he’s off work, oh god now he's humming a song, I'm not surprised his name is Brad and I know it's Brad because he just ordered an egg salad sandwich on wheat with mayo and mustard, creepy little fuckwad!

Aaiiee-yah! So violent today. I need to remember the lesson taught me by a little bird. The other day, while I was eating some lunch, I saw a bird pecking at crumbs on the sidewalk. The bird had an injured or crippled leg that it held close to its body. Every hop required a quick flutter of wings to maintain its balance. But the bird didn’t complain. It didn’t moan about how difficult life was with a crippled leg to every sucker who would listen. It didn’t stand on the street corner with a wing out begging, “Can you spare 50 cents for some sunflower seeds? You have a blessed day, now.” It didn’t exclaim that it was God’s plan that it have a crippled leg and that its faith was being tested. As if any god worth its salt would allow such needless suffering in any living thing, much less a bird. It didn’t blame its troubles on alcoholism from too many fermented berries. The bird just went about its daily business, intent on staying alive, taking on all comers and carrying on the bird agenda come what may.

As I watched fat, oblivious idiots walking up and down the sidewalk, caught up in their own little worlds and not seeing the bird in front of them, or anything else but what was important to just them, I started getting angrier and angrier. I had to tell myself, “Be like the bird, dude, be like the bird. Slough off these distractions and just live. Just live.”

So that’s my mantra today, so that I don’t start beating people bloody with the phone handset — Just live. Everything in the world is a distraction so let it all go. Just live.


1I love how people use that word, ex. My ex! "I used to drive a BMW but my ex has it now. The ex took the house and the kids and the dog and now I live in an apartment on Q Street. My ex was fucking my accountant."
  • Current Location: the orifice
  • Current Mood: way too worked up
Maybe tomorrows mantra should be "be the accountant, be the accountant".

In actuality, learning to ignore those around you has been a real survival skill. There is far too much idiocy in the world that makes you nuts. R
Trade you the cube voice people for the brain damaged manic woman outside my office throwing chairs at the door yelling "I want food you fucking bitch!" I think that would be a fair trade. N
You know, five minutes after I read this, I stepped out of my room and ran into this stupid wooden stool LSD has sitting in the hall, two feet from my door. I hit said wooden stool hard. The impact was so loud, in fact, that my father, who was in the kitchen, called up that he does that all the time and just hates that.

My foot had already swollen up by the time I was finished with dinner, and my two smallest toes wouldn't touch the ground. So I went upstairs and started poking at my bones. And you know what? My foot is broken! Yeah, it's just the two toes and their respective joints that connect them to the rest of my foot are pretty smashed up. And there's nothing that can be done for it.

But I have a point, and that point is that I was, for whatever reason, thinking about that damn bird when this all happened. Actually, I think I was a bit distracted -- to the point that, when mixed with the darkness of the hallway, produced injury. The same injury as the bird!

Everything happens for a reason, I guess.
GUILTY
of using "ex". surely it's better than "the asswad fomerly known as my husband", no? that doesn't even make for a good acronym. titwiwm? the individual to whom i was married? let's try that out: my titwiwm won't stop phoning here. meh, it could grow on me.