Death, Lazy, My favorites, Selfish

We Are All Post Service Employees

I left my bed at 3:45 today. I had taken a shower and everything, but I didn’t really leave my bed until 3:45 pm. Finally it was hunger that forced me away from hulu and the new RPG I found online. Hunger could get me out of bed, but hunger would not cook me food, and as my kitchen is flooded because I live in an illegal basement next to an entire apartment building’s drain hole. I couldn’t cook the rice and cous cous and onions I had been eating for the past three meals and instead had to find some non kitchen necessary food to imbibe.

I ventured into the world outside to search for cereal. I brought my book in the likely case that I got bored of journeying for the perfect granola and instead ducked into the forgiving shelter of a restaurant that serves sandwiches with tempeh. I’m reading Vonnegut again. I’ve been trying to stay away from him because Vonnegut is like crack. Once you start, it becomes impossible to read any other author because no one’s voice is nearly as interesting as the overly descriptive yet not at all descriptive voice of the scraggly haired Indianan. But I’m back to reading him and I probably won’t be able to move onto another author for a 5 months. Luckily he has quite the collection for me to spend those five months on.

Brooklyn was beautiful. It was snowing not to much so that it was cold, dreary, or uncomfortable in any way, but just enough that other Bklyn residents looked outside and acted like fearful KKK members on opposite day and stayed safely inside away from the scary white stuff that lined their windows and streets. I had the sidewalks nearly to myself. A six year old boy sat in a pile of snow just in sight of his parents’ window hoping that he would rediscover what had made this wet fluffy stuff so exciting when he first ran out the door. A daughter was pushed into pile that had been pushed up on the corner of the street by her mother who was quickly pushed in after her by the father who was quickly dragged in after her by the daughter. High school boys screamed “respect my authoritiiiii” while throwing snowballs as though copying a cartoon ten year old would help them prove their power over their friends. This lovely white, sticky joy had filled the world and the world had become joyful in turn.

I speak not of the white, sticky joy that I make bi-daily in the sheets of my bed. This was the white, sticky joy that my world was covered in, and my world was outside. I searched not only for a grocery store that would sell an organic granola, but also a barber shop that would shave me.

I grew a beard for two reasons. 1: I’m very lazy and shaving is one my biggest pains. 2: I don’t like that I look like I’m 18. Facial hair forces people to recognize that you must be of drinking age, or at least graduated from high school age and this way I don’t have to lift my shirt to show them the hairy chest of a person who must be at least 20. Now it’s getting scraggly. I don’t want to start trimming my beard because then that gets rid of reason number one for having a beard, but I can’t shave it anymore because it is far too long. I had been contemplating the idea of a barber shop shave for a while, and then decided it was necessary when I met up with some family friends that I hadn’t seen in years. Each of them individually referred to the fact that I look like my dad.

I don’t take that as purely an insult – my dad’s not the ugliest guy in the world, and despite my penchant for organic granola and soymilk and the fact that I attempt to push b-complex vitamins on all my friends I don’t want to become him. He has a beard. I will not.

I found my cereal and headed for home ready to eat the three bowls that would have to hold me over until dinner arrived.

The decision to stay away from diners and sandwich shops was one I made when I realized that I had to poop. I wanted to poop at home, not because my bathroom’s nicer – it’s too close to the kitchen to be fully without flooding – but because my bathroom is my bathroom. I have the privacy of sitting in quiet peace without the possibility of being walked in on because my roommates are out at their jobs in their lives in this world. I rushed home awaiting my toilet only to get hit in the face by the few other people walking in this snow by their umbrellas.

No one needs an umbrella in the snow. Umbrellas are for rain and Rhianna. Snow is meant to me looked into as it falls gently onto your tongue or shaken off as it follows you into your home caressing your shoulders like a fluffy white neck pillow. Snow isn’t meant to be avoided by placing a wall between you and nature’s cute little dandruff.

I poured myself a bowl and ate while I defecated. It’s the circle of my life: eat’n’shit. Just like the family pushing each other into the snow, just like my roommate traversing the tundra to work so that he can pay rent, just like the levels of my RPG: Everything is cyclical and repetitious in some way and sometimes that makes me mad. Sometimes it infuriates me that no matter what we do we are following in someone else path, or at best: a path we’ve followed before. Now though, now it only serves to remind me that we are all a part of the same world. I am a part of the world that has idiot with umbrellas who are fearful of snow, and children with red cheeks who hope that mom comes out with something more interesting to do on this snow day than sit on the corner of a city street, and teenagers who replace camaraderie with a mutual obsession with violence. We are all part of this world that continues to go on no matter how hard some of us try to keep out of it.


2 thoughts on “We Are All Post Service Employees

  1. Ben says:

    You should read Tao Lin to get over Kurt Vonnegut.

    He wrote this book called “Eeeee Eee Eeee.” I actually mostly hated it.

    It has this line: “Patriotism is the belief that not all human lives are worth the same.” It also has this line: “Dolphins felt top-heavy, that year, most of the time, and wanted to lie down. When their heads weren’t on top they still felt top-heavy, but metaphysically. In public places they felt sad. They went into restrooms, hugged themselves, and quietly went “Eeeee eee eeee.”

    It is sort of like a Kurt Vonnegut book but one where the only topic, theme, or setting is “debilitating existential depression.”

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