diminished sense

i miss writing the good stuff- the more elemental things like hate, love and everything in between. ever since May, all i have been wasting my time on are corporate communication plans to hoodwink (mussolini used to say this word a lot when we were in grad school and obsessing about cars- it seems a million years ago now) employees into believing there’s more to work than just earning money. the crap! i’ve never really believed that maslow guy’s hierarchy of needs. do not seek self-actualization in the corporate world. do not expect to see prophetic writings on the walls. according to the wise simon and garfunkel, those words are written on subway walls and tenement halls. you think there’s meaning to waking up early in the morning and slaving away the day to make whatever? i mean, even when you’re manufacturing the latest wonder drug to cure a deadly disease, you’d rather be doing something else. me, that would be hiding out in the jungle, perched on a tree, shooting at clueless illegal loggers. that would be my sport and recreation.

so, i have just been edited by my boss who pretends to be a writer. as i revised my beautifully crafted work to accommodate what transience labeled as “pimping on a parade of peacocks,” i felt every part of my body squirm. i felt how a child, pure and good in the eyes of heaven, would have felt while being molested by a pedophile.

i seriously need to feel a stronger feeling to get out of this rut that is quarter-life crisis. there are only two things i feel strongly about these days: the fifa world cup and coffee. i almost cried this morning when i found out germany lost to italy. my beautiful michael ballack! seriously, i need to see more sun.