rlbourges

A little bit, another little bit, watch nobody steps on you, then another little etc

In Animals, Circus, Current reading, Drafts, Hautvoir, Local projects, Music, notes on October 30, 2013 at 7:36 am

Sometimes, the less thought, the better. Thinking uses up too much energy, same as tears do. So you laugh and get on with it, because laughing feels better than crying. The preceding three sentences summarize  the length, breadth and depth of my deep thoughts on the great For Why Do I Do This?

The next ridiculous challenge for the day (after organizing another bit of someone’s thoughts in a pattern that may or may not fit what the person meant to say in the first place): attempting to produce a newsletter on a computer I don’t know, using computer tools I don’t master and someone else’s filing system. Once that’s done, mailing it out to a number of different lists, also organized in a system the logic of which escapes me. Something like attempting to produce a meal for sixty in somebody else’s kitchen, and with ingredients you’re encountering for the first time.

I fell in love with Camus’ L’Homme Révolté at the ripe old age of fifteen. Read André Malraux’ La Condition Humaine that same year. I was a lot more given to Gloom and Glum at fifteen than I am now. Perhaps because there’s more novelty to Gloom and Glum when you’re young. As time goes by, you try to catch the glimmers in between as often as you can. This paragraph may or may not summarize my general approach to story; at least, as said general approach stands at seven twenty seven am on Wednesday, October thirtieth of the year two thousand and thirteen.

Recollections of a melt-down while sitting in a restaurant favored by union organizers. The meltdown occurring after weeks of long and frustrating hours pulling together a document the Great Leaders could call their own. Mission accomplished, I thought. Then, my boss, sitting across from me at the table said something to this effect: good. Now that we’ve got the foothills out of the way, let’s tackle the mountain.

Maybe some women like to burst into tears in front of large gatherings of macho types. I don’t. So, I don’t. I do what they do: I blow up.

But I’d rather laugh. Much, much rather laugh.

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