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fuck around, but when you’re fucking around don’t fuck around*

March 20, 2009

I swear no one in San Francisco actually works.  I’m walking toward Dolores Park on a Thursday afternoon, and the cafes are absolutely filled with young healthy looking individuals sipping lemonade and eating ice cream at noon.  Are these the people I’m up against for those craigslist jobs?  It’s heartening to see that they don’t take unemployment any more seriously than I do, which reminds me of something I was thinking about a few days ago, an appropriate sentiment for my epitaph, which now seems like it might be the perfect sentiment for the collective future gravestone of our generation: They tried, not too hard. 

Suddenly, I too am eating ice cream in the afternoon, and talking to someone about traveling to Belize, and it’s almost 70 degrees, and the best day, the first day, the last day, the worst day of our lives.  My friend, who shall remain nameless, says, “I’d rather keep living in this attic for less money than have a real room for more,” which I remind her is just the kind of attitude that leads to waking up at 40 with nothing to your name but fond memories, not to mention communism. 

And then, and this doesn’t even seem weird until I’m back home, but my friend Steph, the erstwhile receptionist at my previous job, as the one who was hired to replace me has already been fired, calls to tell me she’s on her way to the Superior Court with some filings, and I decide to catch the bus downtown to meet her there, and we spend 15 minutes getting declarations stamped by the clerk and laughing like it is the greatest thing ever, and I just realized that that’s the exact same thing I used to get paid to do, but it was never that much fun when there was money involved.  I think when my parents read this they’re going to lose all faith in my upbringing, but I’m only admitting to it because I’m inexplicably convinced that there are good things coming, and I’m trying to remember how good it feels to feel this good, because memories like this might save my life some day.  

*Written on a drawing in an art gallery on Market Street

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One Comment leave one →
  1. Kent McMIllan permalink
    March 20, 2009 10:32 pm

    Memo to Content Analysis Division:

    This blog is exhibiting a recurring tone. Prior events were on or about February 22 and January 25. Can we adjust the cyclical correction to even things out or do these just go into the separate category “Exculpatory Evidence”? Please do not mention this to the content provider blogger until my kevlar vest is back from the cleaners.

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