It’s only Tuesday. I hate to break it to you, but it’s only two days into the working week. We’ve barely faced anything yet. It seems that time’s out of joint again. Having a four-day weekend seems to have affected this week something awful. Yes, it means that death from old age is prolonged. (I’m like a sunny side ninja. I’ve got advanced skills.) But it means we’re working forfuckingever. Fucking is the only infix we have in English, you know. We have prefixes and suffixes, but we don’t have infixes, bits that you put in the middle of words. Only fucking. And we’re not fucking forever. We’re getting fucked right now.
You think I’m being melodramatic. That’s your prerogative. You can do what you want to do. You can live your life. But all these twenty-four hour spans have way more time jam-packed in them. We’re getting at least 20% more time free. That’s great when you’re talking about shampoo, but not so much for time. I’m fucking exhausted, and having a hard time keeping up. Even the bare minimums of commitments are hard, like following up with phone calls. Now this incomplete application bullshit. Jesus.
I’ve talked to two other people this week who are also stuck in sticky time. It’s not just affecting me. Like a sundew, it unfurls and we just unwittingly walk onto its tongue like dumbass flies, doing our normal thing. Then it slowly curls up and digests us. And we see it happening to us. Because it’s only Tuesday and there’s a long way to go.
(I just watched 45 minutes of things eating other things on YouTube, beginning with plants versus insects, then frogs versus mice, ending with piranhas eating other fishes. It’s a sick thing about me that I always root for the predator. I think it may be sick because it’s not the norm. It’s deviant. It disturbs people. I have a great book called Food Chain that’s just pictures of small things eating other, smaller things. Coffeetable book. People tell me I’m a sick fuck because of it. It has the line in it “Pinkies [baby mice] are nature’s Cheerios.”)