Thursday, October 13, 2005
This Man's Tylenol
Here I am at the end of the day staring at this bright computer screen and I’m left feeling blah. I feel blah over the things I wished I said, I feel blah over the tasks left uncompleted, I feel blah because of my insomniac nature, I feel blah over the tests I failed. So right now I’m taking a deep breath and am going to practice a little art of being kind to myself. I will use my writing like any headache equipped man would use a Tylenol. Today in journalism class we had the man in charge of the school newspaper come in as a guest speaker. Of course he wanted a little superficial feel for the class so he went around and asked people what they wanted to be when they grew up. Without giving the typical Hallmark response saying, “I want to be me” I’d like to explore this idea. As I close my eyes I see the bustling streets of Manhattan. The buildings are like concrete silhouettes against the gray sky. Goosebumps from a gust of wind slaps me to attention much like I imagine a Zen master might do to his pupil. People often refer to big cities as concrete jungles by I’d like to think of it as a concrete flower. I walk up the stars to my spacious apartment and plop down my over-ware unto the floor. I open up the curtains to embrace the outside light and just melt into the front of my Mac laptop composing the beginnings of my four page feature for Rolling Stone. I pull up my computer’s mp3 for a little mood enhancement and my band’s music comes through in stereo…I’m finally living as I should…safe, comfortable, spontaneous and off of my love… off of the security of my art. At the ripe young age of 30 I’m finally living the life I should have lived in high school and college. For now at least this 24 year old man can enjoy the light of a computer screen and the visceral effect of Tylenol.
Here I am at the end of the day staring at this bright computer screen and I’m left feeling blah. I feel blah over the things I wished I said, I feel blah over the tasks left uncompleted, I feel blah because of my insomniac nature, I feel blah over the tests I failed. So right now I’m taking a deep breath and am going to practice a little art of being kind to myself. I will use my writing like any headache equipped man would use a Tylenol. Today in journalism class we had the man in charge of the school newspaper come in as a guest speaker. Of course he wanted a little superficial feel for the class so he went around and asked people what they wanted to be when they grew up. Without giving the typical Hallmark response saying, “I want to be me” I’d like to explore this idea. As I close my eyes I see the bustling streets of Manhattan. The buildings are like concrete silhouettes against the gray sky. Goosebumps from a gust of wind slaps me to attention much like I imagine a Zen master might do to his pupil. People often refer to big cities as concrete jungles by I’d like to think of it as a concrete flower. I walk up the stars to my spacious apartment and plop down my over-ware unto the floor. I open up the curtains to embrace the outside light and just melt into the front of my Mac laptop composing the beginnings of my four page feature for Rolling Stone. I pull up my computer’s mp3 for a little mood enhancement and my band’s music comes through in stereo…I’m finally living as I should…safe, comfortable, spontaneous and off of my love… off of the security of my art. At the ripe young age of 30 I’m finally living the life I should have lived in high school and college. For now at least this 24 year old man can enjoy the light of a computer screen and the visceral effect of Tylenol.