Fitter. Happier. More productive.

The world is, at times, a profoundly aggravating place.

Scratch that, aggravating is the wrong word. Aggravating applies to bad drivers, to country music, to loud children. No doubt the world can be an aggravating place, but it isn’t right now.

Right now it’s the murky grey wastes between Disappointing and Disheartening, a place far east of Aggravating but on the same latitudinal line of unhappiness. One of the things that gets to me about life as an adult is that I’m never really caught up. I’m perpetually doing things and working and organizing, but there doesn’t seem to be any end to the sheer amount of crap I have to do. There is always another dentist appointment, there is always another broken computer, there is always another lab report, ad infinitum. The hole only seems to get deeper, and it pisses me off. I’m never actively moving forward, I’m just patching holes in the levee; mixing my metaphors, putting things off, and not sleeping enough.

I’m haunted by the universal intimation that, no matter what I do, I’ll always be behind. If I wasn’t so mind-bogglingly lazy and unmotivated, I could get on top of shit and go forward. Perhaps. Even at the best of times, however, shit perpetually slips up. Some douche crashes into my truck, I get sick again, my checkbook doesn’t balance, blah blah blah. The sheer mundanity of it all kicks me right in the spiritual junk.

Jesus it’s late.

Of course, like Cake says while covering that one chick’s song, I will survive. Fuck it. Statistically speaking, if I sack up and deal with this junk long enough something good will come around. Poverty and frustration can only last so long.

I logged on to this damn thing intending to write an overpowering and indisputable response to Chuck Klosterman’s back asswards moronic article about why mainstream country music is good, but I don’t have the energy. Instead, here’s the Reader’s Digest version:

Yadda yadda yadda, the world would be a utopia if everyone who enjoyed country spontaneously caught on fire, i hate you, white people are stupid, go fuck yourself.

Imagine that sentence stretched and polished and structured into a multi-paragraph argumentative fortress. Good work. Now it’s just like I actually wrote it, except now I can get to sleep before the sun comes up.

Over and out.

Oh hey, god dammit:

For future reference, if you are a cool and witty and attractive girl, and you already have a boyfriend, please have the common decency to act vapid, look trashy, and spit when you talk. It helps preserve the sanity of all parties involved. Thank you in advance.

-T.

p.s. Napoleon Dynamite is the god damn funniest movie in years, without a doubt. Go see it.