There's a man at the public library asking the very young man at the IT help desk to help him find books on "how to start a business, or like, an LLC". He came up to him like he knew him saying "heeeyyyy mannn whatsup?!?" and for a second I thought that they knew each other. But then after zoning back out for a few minutes I got yanked back into my eavesdropping hearing Future Businessowner saying "I just feel like I should ask you guys that are like... for lack of a... like 'nerds', ya know?" To which the (admittedly nerdy looking) clerk went "oh sure sure". Bless him. I wonder if he likes this job? I also genuinely wonder what business this guy is planning to start and why he would extend his quest for entrepreneurial advice towards hardcopy texts vs, oh I don't know, THE INTERNET. Where everything is readily available and spelled out for you. Chat GPT could have handled his inquiry tidily, and potentially steered him away and down a more reasonable path by now. What the fuck do I know, maybe weird dudes with black baggy denim and kerchiefs hanging out of their back pockets make the best businessmen. I'm the loser blogging at the library.
Tuesday, October 22, 2024
Shhhh Sh.
Whenever I read my old blog posts, it sounds like someone is YELLING. The entire thing is narrated in my mind by a shrill, high-volume, Gilbert Gottfried-esque (aging myself) voice. The content is cringe enough as it is. We're all idiots until we turn thirty-five, and then we're just cagier, more subdued idiots. The content is cringe but ALSO the tone, and the cadence, and the intimation that there is a giant spotlight turned on us, and that society at large should be so lucky to hear our innermost monologues, wrought with narcissism and dripping with entitlement.
About 345 years has passed since my last blog post. I've gone from nursing a hangover at a desk with McDonalds to successfully nursing and subsequently weaning three children, who I NEVER feed McDonalds because, you know, "toxins". In fact, I'm going to go a step further and just attribute all of the nearly unreadable historical blog post to being riddled with toxins. Toxins out the ears. Everyone knows that too much processed food makes your writing absolute tripe.
I floated the idea of attending a writers workshop to my husband yesterday evening. This was a mistake because he now has in his mind the figment that I may indeed ATTEND a writers conference. Now, every time we go to have an argument (that I start) about my unfulfilled career and mid-life existential crisis, he can say something along the lines of "what about that writers workshop you were going to go to??". Fuck. Not to generalize, but everything I say out loud to anyone after 10pm is such horseshit.