Your Identity Crisis
There is a measure of happiness in this city. It is quantified by success. Everyone leads big lives, but I don’t see a lust for life. The first thing everyone asks, “So what do you do?” And like a robot, I speak my programmed response of ” I work at this and that, doing blah blah.”
So here is what I do. I stay up late looking at things on the internet, reading pieces of people’s lives and learning about historical figures. I knit about about four lines of a scarf before I stop and forget about it. I make a great chicken liver pate, but my cheddar souffle is just alright. I try and draw, and dread taking a shower, because it isn’t actually a shower, it’s a bucket bath, an hour long affair of switching on the hot water heater, waiting 20 minutes, filling a bucket and then waiting another 20 minutes for another bucket to heat. I go for drives at night and smoke too many cigarettes, specially right before bed. I collect books and shoes, and mechanical toys, and contemplate learning programming and circuit design.
I go to beaches with clear water and black and white striped sand, and wander around the tide pools looking at the fish and crabs, trying to spot the most colorful and occasionally catching one only to let it go. I go to a dive bar and play pool and drink beers. I’ve always dreamed of designing my own car and calling it the OMG, which is finally beginning to possibly happen.
That is what I do. I don’t do blah blah at xyz. That’s just my job.