Worse Things

I must remember to bring headphones to work tomorrow because it’s so fucking boring! I am a reminded of a poli sci class I took in college. The state is such a wonderful creature. It does everything to ensure that the least amount of work is done in the greatest amount of time. Still we have no resources other than people and we are forced to consult poor Pete nearly constantly as there’s no one else about the place. Today I had to find out what CLIC is. Not a clue. No mention of it on any of the paperwork we were given which, by the way, is becoming increasingly useless. If some hot womyn don’t appear soon, I may go crazy because I can only have the flames of my libido extinguished by the sight severely overweight middle-aged women for so long before the act of trying to get an erection takes on Herculean overtones. Having only just started there, I can still revel in the irony of being surrounded by the obese (clinically, at least) at the Department of Health and Family Services. This is the place that doesn’t allow smoking on its property – not even in the parking lot. So we smokers take refuge in the nearby parking ramp. Now, I’m not exactly thin but I’m not over-nourished as these people are. Offices are no places for young people like myself, surrounded as we are by horrifying visions of the ever-approaching paunchy, balding Middle Ages.

These bad dreams were driven home this week at my lunchtime walks which involve inclines. My legs actually ached a bit. Much bicycling is needed as is exercise generally. But it felt good nonetheless to be out in the air getting a modicum of gentle physical activity. And I figured out where Ancora was. I went there twice to atone for my sin of having gone to Starbucks, only once, mind you, on Monday. (My list of baristas I’d like to fuck has increased greatly in the past three days.) On top of all this, I took the bus home. The act of not having contributed to traffic and carbon monoxide emissions was pleasing. It only took me about 23 minutes to get home, including a brief walk from the bus stop to my abode. Ecce ambulo! More walking! I feel like such a Madisonian. I don’t understand why people here bitch about the bus. No doubt some routes entail excruciatingly long rides but I’m happy. The CTA’s Big Green Limousines were like a second home when I was a pubescent. Being packed like sardines on an Addison bus that served 2 large high schools – mine had 4500-5000 students – as well as an el stop and Wrigley Field. This was before night games there (and before metal detectors at my former school.)

Plus the ride gave me a chance to start reading a book that The Dulcinea lent me, War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning. Quite good. Well, the introduction was interesting, anyway.

I was just going to write that today has been the first day in months without an email from The Dulcinea and then she calls. I didn’t answer the phone because I didn’t want to talk to anyone but Stevie did and the rat-bastard gave away that I was home. We spent an hour or so together and I nearly feel asleep. At first it was OK because I helped her out with a couple things but then had to sit here while she talked to herself as she tried to figure out a newsreader. It’s noisy here in the basement and I could barely makeout what she was saying so I just grunted in ascent most of the time. But finally I went upstairs where it was quieter and listened some more. Why do women do this? Call up a guy and have little or nothing to say? Ya know, if I’d wanted to talk to you or entertain you, I would have called thou. Instead, I was at home having a grand time alone and now it’s done and over. I am not Joey Conversationalist. If you want someone to wane poetic about shit at you, call up a girly friend or family member. We introverted types have to pick our moment of logorrhea carefully and, when we do, we’ll call you.

So now I have forgotten what it was that I was going to write. Ah well. Worse things have been known to happen.