Spreading the plague (of happiness)
October 11, 2010 in Writing
Have you ever been looking forward to something exciting and the day comes and goes, you enjoy yourself, but then you’re left feeling like “Great.. Half the fun was looking forward to that, and now it’s over..”? Even assuming that your excitement was warranted and the occasion was everything you were hoping or more..even then there seems to be this “anti-afterglow” and eventual panic when you realize that you must find something new and exciting to look forward to.
Yeah, I see that kind of lamentation in myself and others all the time and I’m sure it has something to do with the Buddhist idea of suffering (mourning the impermanence of moments, events, lifetimes, relationships, everything really); however, I’m also pretty convinced we can do something about this less-than-enthusiastic after-the-fact feeling..this anti-afterglow. And we MUST do something about it… Read more
Tell your boss you enjoy what he has you doing, about how you wake up in the middle of the night with ideas. You’d like more to do; you have time. He’ll laugh when you joke that you’re developing a loyalty habit that’s like a twitch. Stop before you admit you don’t want to go home.
Nature documentaries and Star Trek episodes have much in common. Both these programs set one to consider the universe. Both these programs appear in that mid afternoon time slot. And both these programs feature the voice of Leonard Nimoy (or someone who sounds much like Leonard Nimoy).
Huturo huddled in the bush trying to be as small and quiet as possible. He could hear them searching, Goma and William, slashing through the thicket with their machetes. Please, please, go the other way. Please. I don’t want to kill anyone. He cradled his AK-47, as long as he was tall, in trembling arms.
Jump, jump, jump. Slap, slap, slap. Gonna find me a man that’s fat, fat, fat. With money, of course.
Immediately after graduating I was able to attend a post-graduate study in Germany as an exchange student. After a while I wrote to my best friend Tony and told him about my new life.
The jarval stared at her malevolently, saliva dripping from its gaping jaws, making its fearsome teeth glisten in the harsh winter sunlight. 
When I am old I shall not wear my purple hat no more. I shall race down the street wearing nothing at all. I shall wiggle and shimmy, then skip to the tracks along High Street and Broad.
She turned around on the bed to avoid the light that came from the window. She embraced the cushion she had set aside during her nap and kicked the sheet until releasing her feet from under it.
Stay Pure was all she said, then walked out the door. Toad had no idea what to make of it. Ever since he had moved down to the city he had had a feeling everything could, and most likely would explode on him. “Maybe this was it, maybe this was the big bang I heard coming.” He thought, “or not. Probably too soon to tell anyway.” Pulling on his hat and scarf he walked out into the gray fog of San Francisco. A cup of espresso and it would all come into focus. His life had taken so many strange turns, twists and almost acrobatic tumbles. Now at the ripe young age of thirty eight he not only didn’t know what door to walk through, hell he couldn’t even see the hall way. 
Her profile was hidden, she had tried it to appease her friends, but in all honesty it wasn’t for her, an Internet dating site. She had met a few men for coffee, nice, but no chemistry. It felt like her University days when she modeled to put herself through school, putting herself on display, feeling like a piece of meat, and having to sell herself. Going to all those Go-sees, competing with other women for a job. She walked away from it when she finished school, never looking back.
The only thing left to do is to kill myself. I made this decision while seated here at Meryl’s dressing table, confronting my reflection in the large oval mirror which hangs above it. Many times before I had told my wife that she did not need the jars, powders and creams that were arrayed ceremoniously beneath the glass. She was already beautiful enough. But as I sit here and watch the dull sheen of an unnecessary existence realize itself in my eyes, I see Meryl’s reflection in the glass too. My beautiful Meryl.
I’ve been a fan of reading postings on Craig’s List for some time now and I’m always amused at the “wish” lists of men and women searching for each other. The common threads that connect the ads, i.e. romantic walks on the beach, holding hands, cooking together, cuddling, no baggage, are endearing but I wonder just how reality based they are? 
It was their fourth day in Amsterdam, and she still refused to leave the hotel room.
