It's not easy being both a hard-working perfectionist and a lazy bum, yet both personas are my own thanks to the wonderful thing known as cognitive dissonance. To maintain this false-knot of cognitive dissonance as long as I have would not have been possible without its two most paradoxical tautological strands:
"Good enough is good enough"
"Better is better.
I would lean on the crutch that best rationalized whatever my impulsive, arbitrary self wanted to do at the time. "Clean your room, Philip!" Would be met with the removal of trash from trash bins and clothing from the floor. Good enough is good enough, I would tell myself.
"Philip. You already got a 2350 on the SAT. What's the point in taking it again?" Obviously the point was to get a better score; after all, better is better.
It must have been that false-knot's unwavering love of life that prevented me from engaging these apparent tautologies for what they were.
And it wasn't so much that these statements weren't logically sound. In a literal sense, they indubitably were, but my haphazard application of both these statements was inherently flawed in an identical way: The first instance of each respective adjectival phrase modifies a different entity from the second.
Is removing trash from bins and clothes from the floor good enough for me to call my room clean? Probably. Is it good enough for me to feel proud and at ease of my surroundings? Of course not. That ever-growing pile of magazines, cluttered closet, and unmade bed constitute a relentless, albeit slow, drain on my sanity.
Is it worth the effort to make my room cleaner? Cleaner is better and, after all, better is most definitively better. As with before, the first adjective asserts that a cleaner room is better than a less clean room. The second adjective asserts that a better room is better for my sanity. In this particular case, the logic happens to be true.
If we revisit my decision to retake the SAT all those years ago, that same logic was decidedly less sound. To get a better score would not necessarily result in a better chance of getting into my college of choice. And I spent a good dozen hours studying for that second chance that I could've spent tidying up my college essays, treasuring the last few months living with my wonderful baby brother, or getting into hard drugs and chasing hookers.
Seeing as I'm far too old to re-lay entirely new foundations for my cognitive dissonance, perhaps the best I can do is to bring my two favorite misleading paradoxical tautologies into harmony. How good must I be at rock climbing to feel good about myself? How much better do I need to be at rock climbing before the cost of additional improvement stops making me feel better about myself?
Borrowing from economics, one solution to the paradox is to assume diminishing returns and to define good enough as the point at which better stops being better.
Since most returns in life are, indeed, diminishing, I think this is a satisfactory conclusion for a random midnight musing. Both my vision of myself as the faultless ubermensch and my desire to justify my laziness are on their last legs, and so too is this corner of my cognitive dissonance.
Perhaps not only am I not good enough today but that the better me of the future should probably be less better than the me I envision.
I suspect this should be a very healthy notion for me to accept seeing as sometimes my ego needs deflating; more importantly, think of all the hookers who need chasing!
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Narita Senorita
To get back to the United States from 7-week internship in Shanghai during the Summer of 2010 (on a little less money if I could help it) I added a connecting flight with a stop in Tokyo Narita. I stepped off the first leg of my journey and into the terminal, foraging for yummy Japanese food like an anteater standing over an ant hive. Sushi express, Tempura Udon, duty free rice cookers, Japanese bread/rice, I was in heaven. (Except I didn't eat the rice cookers, I was just looking to buy one.)
With about an hour and a half left until boarding, I walked over to the gate specified on my boarding pass to find that no staff had yet arrived at the podium so I decided to disencumber myself and listen to my wonderful black iPod touch. There were probably only 3 or 4 other people in the seating area for gate 55, so I just sat in the closest non-handicap seat. Unfortunately, these seats were on the back side of the handicap seats looking away from the gate station so, being OCD as I am, I didn't want to miss the boarding so I looked around the seating area for a more convenient place to sit.
...Just then, directly in front of me, a wisp of a black pony tail turned around to reveal an eye-catching surprise. Bold, curious eyes trailed upwards carelessly toward the top corners of her precious face. She lowered her gaze sweeping across a neat triangular nose. Her lips drew softly together, as though desperately holding back a clever secret, as she turned back around.
Just then, I completely forgot about the silent iPod in my hand. It took me a moment to come back to my senses before I remembered that I did not have headphones. Perfect opportunity, I thought, to kill two birds with a single proverbial stone. I stood up, trotted over to the duty free store directly to my left and picked up an orange pair of ear buds. On the way back, however, I chose a different seat. This time diagonally across from the beautiful object of my attention. It was the perfect seat.
I had chosen it such that the gate station was directly behind her head, so that any brief glances in her direction might be conveniently misinterpreted as just me checking out the flight status.
I smiled to myself, deeply impressed at my stalker skills, as I proceeded to "check out the flight status." She was wearing a maroon velvety zip-up jacket over a printed light-pink T with white text of which I could only read "mpossible Christia."
She sat cross-legged like a yoga master on the gray canvas chair, with white-socked toes sprouting out from the crook of her knee. Over her black and white striped skirt rested a Swiss-cross branded black backpack. She had both arms crossed over the backpack, and with an expression of ennui, rubbed her chin forwards and back across her arms. With a silver Japanese branded suitcase sitting on the floor in front of her, I wanted to take a photograph.
I tried my best not to look creepy as I committed every detail of her appearance and mannerisms to memory, but I couldn't help but smile a little each time I tried to evade eye contact. I thought it was a good time to refill my empty plastic bottle with water and the Gatorade mix I was carrying in my black computer bag.
With my right hand, I grabbed the plastic bottle off the floor, and with my left, looped the computer bag, by its neckstrap, over my head as I stood up. I turned around 180 degrees and went looking for a water fountain.
After passing several restrooms and crossing a (left-sided!??!!?!) moving walkway, I finally found a drinking fountain on my left right across the way from gate 53.
I pressed the black button as the strangely worded Japanese sign requested and a stream of clear water shot out in a perfect parabola. I tasted it just to be sure it was potable, and then unscrewed the cap of the bottle and began to fill. Right when water started to leak out of the top, I released the black button, screwed on the cap and started making my way back to gate 55.
As I took step by step, I decided to practice a rather flashy way to mix a drink that I had learned in high school. Taking the bottle firmly in my right hand I spun it forwards and back, forwards and back. It seemed like I had gotten back my touch when I realized I was already back at gate 55 and somebody had taken my perfectly chosen seat. I decided on the seat two seats over to the left of my previous. For some reason, I continued to spin the bottle even as I was sitting down, causing me to miss the catch for the reverse spin. As the water bottle fell awkwardly to my side and into the metal groove between the seat cushions, I felt more than a little bit humiliated. I swore I heard a chuckle, but when I looked up, the girl hid her face behind a hand-written note on lined paper, which (I hoped) was the true cause of her laughter.
I squinted and tried to make out the contents of the note through the back, since the paper was quite thin and the ambient light from outside the glass wall to my left was quite good.
I unzipped my computer bag and pulled out my Gatorade mix pouch, tore open the hole and began to pour. As the mix was approaching 3/4 gone and I had to give a few shakes for the remaining powder to exit from the tear, I used the opportunity to look up at her lined paper between shakes.
While I was not quite skillful enough to decipher a single words, I could clearly see that markings were grouped in multiple blocks per line--a hallmark of a "word" based Western language, i.e. English.
As I capped off the bottle and began to implement my expert shaking technique, my excitement grew. Since the flight from this gate was heading to LAX, I realized she was most likely American! I put the bottle down by my foot and began running through the scenarios in my mind. Was she Christian? Was the note from her boyfriend? What's the worst that could happen? A restraining order? My roommate once had a restraining order placed on him but that didn't stop him from being a complete dumbass... Maybe it was worth the risk? I was almost daring enough to wave and say "Hi!"
...
Suddenly, our glances met!
I was staring at her the entire time (like John Dorian in every episode of Scrubs, like ever) and my train of thought was completely cut off. I panicked and instinctively looked down again.
Realizing, now, that the only reasonable reason for me to look down would be to look for something below me, I grabbed the only thing fitting that description. I uncapped the Gatorade I had just made and took a hearty drink.
Over the next 5 or 6 minutes as her eyes wandered from the paper in front of her to somewhere in my general direction, I repeated this process a few more times, before I felt it was getting a bit obvious.
Quickly running out of ways to prematurely foil my potential love story, I finally listened to my man-parts and realized that I had to pee. (I will skip the following part, as my toilet-life is already discussed in poetic detail in this post.)
Returning to my seat, I again put down my things, and tried to recall where I left off. As I tried to catch another glance at her, I noticed to the left of her subtle grin that in fact, the gate station was now manned with three flight attendants. The one in the middle picked up an intercom microphone and muttered something in Japanese. Then, in English, the stewardess said in surprisingly comprehensible English, "Please prepare your boarding pass and passport. We will soon be boarding all passengers for flight NH60 with service to LAX."
The maroon gem suddenly looked down and reached into her black backpack. She pulled out a long rectangular boarding pass, and then, (though my colon was freshly empty) I almost shit my pants as I saw a blue passport make its way out from behind the zipper. She seemed to be checking the boarding time on her boarding pass, turned the paper over a few times. Each inquisitive glance at that paper was like a passionate glance into my hopelessly romantic and extrapolating heart. I was stricken.
As she placed the documents back into her bag, I could see a flash through the backside that her seat was numbered 25G... My number was 24H.
She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen and she was American. I now had an unbreakable resolve to spend these last few minutes reinforcing my flimsy resolve to finally say hello. And besides, since we'd be sitting so close, I had a foolproof plan....
The line to enter the plane grew long, but I waited until the last fateful announcement by the flight attendant. As her words echoed over the airport intercom, the angel before me stood up, and I, as nonchalantly as I could, walked past her and made my way to the back of the line, taking my time letting a man in a gray wool suit pass me. I was determined to be as close as possible to this amazing girl I had yet to meet.
And as I walked forward, pulling out my boarding pass and passport, she came up rolling her silver suitcase from the opposite side of the line and came to a stop. Right behind me.
As the line began to move I almost died! I made casual glances to the left and right, each time catching a slight glimpse of that heavenly visage.
I passed through the gate checkpoint with merely a nod as they ushered me forward. Unable to wait for her to catch up through the other turnstile, I pretended to "get lost" once past the glass. I made a big loop towards my left, looking up at imaginary signs, before turning correctly back toward the plane... just inches in front of this walking vision that had finally caught up.
A conniving grin crept across my face as I heard the weight of her suitcase as she rolled it over the riveted threshold to the airplane.
I quickly hobbled up to my seat (in the emergency exit row) and put my small computer bag in the overhead compartment.
I turned back toward her and waited eagerly for my chance to be a hero... As she drew closer, I crossed my arms behind my back stretching in preparation for my painstakingly planned gesture of love!
But... she wasn't stopping. She didn't even slow down, as she walked completely past me without a glance. She stopped at 29G, now with four people standing in the narrow aisle between us. She dropped down the overhead compartment. Struggled a moment for grip, but then effortlessly plopped her silver suitcase into the compartment. Fuck. Me. And. My. Astigmatism. So much for my foollproof plan.
Anyway, since I'm not one to give up without pretending like I put up a fight, I quickly set off to devising another plan. Since this was, in a sense, a red-eye flight, there would be times when most the passengers would be asleep. I could then, during this quiet moment, pass a note to her. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a terribly awesome idea.
So. I waited.
And waited. Within an hour, I looked back to see her wrapped herself under a white blanket and a black eye-mask, presumably fast asleep. Unfortunately, she was probably the only unconscious person on the entire flight. Not only would it be ridiculously embarrassing to write a love note with fully-awake neighbors, but it would be near impossible to deliver without arousing bizarre looks.
It seemed like the best and only course of action was to go to sleep. I ripped open the provided blanket, placed it over my exposed arms and placed the pillow behind my bed. Slowly, I closed my eyes...
"Bum Bum Bum. We are now making our final descent Los Angeles International Airport."
I looked up and back to see everybody awake. The captain had turned on the "fasten seat belt sign" and I could see the LA cityscape outside the window. Shit.
The plane landed without delay and as we were finally towed into the gate at Tom Bradley terminal, it was time to stand up and exit the plane. I thought I would give it one more try and wait it out like I did while entering the plane. But I did something stupid. I stood up to grab my suitcase. Once standing, I was blocking the aisle. And once in the aisle, I had no choice but to be pushed along by the flow of bodies ridiculously eager to be back on American soil.
I glanced back as I walked forward, but couldn't catch a glance of her as I exited the plane. I walked into the terminal and looked around. I didn't see her anywhere under the mass of heads rushing to the immigration clearance center. All I could do was keep walking and keep looking.
As I finally walked into the rightmost line for border inspection, I had all but given up hope. Just then out of the corner of my eye, I saw that distinctive silver suitcase rolling along. She was heading up to the entrance of my line.
It was now or never. I could either try to grab her attention now or let her walk by. I worked up the courage to do something, anything.
Without even pausing, she walked past the entrance to my line, the hood of her maroon jacket bobbing up and down with each step until it finally disappeared into crowd.
With about an hour and a half left until boarding, I walked over to the gate specified on my boarding pass to find that no staff had yet arrived at the podium so I decided to disencumber myself and listen to my wonderful black iPod touch. There were probably only 3 or 4 other people in the seating area for gate 55, so I just sat in the closest non-handicap seat. Unfortunately, these seats were on the back side of the handicap seats looking away from the gate station so, being OCD as I am, I didn't want to miss the boarding so I looked around the seating area for a more convenient place to sit.
...Just then, directly in front of me, a wisp of a black pony tail turned around to reveal an eye-catching surprise. Bold, curious eyes trailed upwards carelessly toward the top corners of her precious face. She lowered her gaze sweeping across a neat triangular nose. Her lips drew softly together, as though desperately holding back a clever secret, as she turned back around.
Just then, I completely forgot about the silent iPod in my hand. It took me a moment to come back to my senses before I remembered that I did not have headphones. Perfect opportunity, I thought, to kill two birds with a single proverbial stone. I stood up, trotted over to the duty free store directly to my left and picked up an orange pair of ear buds. On the way back, however, I chose a different seat. This time diagonally across from the beautiful object of my attention. It was the perfect seat.
I had chosen it such that the gate station was directly behind her head, so that any brief glances in her direction might be conveniently misinterpreted as just me checking out the flight status.
I smiled to myself, deeply impressed at my stalker skills, as I proceeded to "check out the flight status." She was wearing a maroon velvety zip-up jacket over a printed light-pink T with white text of which I could only read "mpossible Christia."
She sat cross-legged like a yoga master on the gray canvas chair, with white-socked toes sprouting out from the crook of her knee. Over her black and white striped skirt rested a Swiss-cross branded black backpack. She had both arms crossed over the backpack, and with an expression of ennui, rubbed her chin forwards and back across her arms. With a silver Japanese branded suitcase sitting on the floor in front of her, I wanted to take a photograph.
I tried my best not to look creepy as I committed every detail of her appearance and mannerisms to memory, but I couldn't help but smile a little each time I tried to evade eye contact. I thought it was a good time to refill my empty plastic bottle with water and the Gatorade mix I was carrying in my black computer bag.
With my right hand, I grabbed the plastic bottle off the floor, and with my left, looped the computer bag, by its neckstrap, over my head as I stood up. I turned around 180 degrees and went looking for a water fountain.
After passing several restrooms and crossing a (left-sided!??!!?!) moving walkway, I finally found a drinking fountain on my left right across the way from gate 53.
I pressed the black button as the strangely worded Japanese sign requested and a stream of clear water shot out in a perfect parabola. I tasted it just to be sure it was potable, and then unscrewed the cap of the bottle and began to fill. Right when water started to leak out of the top, I released the black button, screwed on the cap and started making my way back to gate 55.
As I took step by step, I decided to practice a rather flashy way to mix a drink that I had learned in high school. Taking the bottle firmly in my right hand I spun it forwards and back, forwards and back. It seemed like I had gotten back my touch when I realized I was already back at gate 55 and somebody had taken my perfectly chosen seat. I decided on the seat two seats over to the left of my previous. For some reason, I continued to spin the bottle even as I was sitting down, causing me to miss the catch for the reverse spin. As the water bottle fell awkwardly to my side and into the metal groove between the seat cushions, I felt more than a little bit humiliated. I swore I heard a chuckle, but when I looked up, the girl hid her face behind a hand-written note on lined paper, which (I hoped) was the true cause of her laughter.
I squinted and tried to make out the contents of the note through the back, since the paper was quite thin and the ambient light from outside the glass wall to my left was quite good.
I unzipped my computer bag and pulled out my Gatorade mix pouch, tore open the hole and began to pour. As the mix was approaching 3/4 gone and I had to give a few shakes for the remaining powder to exit from the tear, I used the opportunity to look up at her lined paper between shakes.
While I was not quite skillful enough to decipher a single words, I could clearly see that markings were grouped in multiple blocks per line--a hallmark of a "word" based Western language, i.e. English.
As I capped off the bottle and began to implement my expert shaking technique, my excitement grew. Since the flight from this gate was heading to LAX, I realized she was most likely American! I put the bottle down by my foot and began running through the scenarios in my mind. Was she Christian? Was the note from her boyfriend? What's the worst that could happen? A restraining order? My roommate once had a restraining order placed on him but that didn't stop him from being a complete dumbass... Maybe it was worth the risk? I was almost daring enough to wave and say "Hi!"
...
Suddenly, our glances met!
I was staring at her the entire time (like John Dorian in every episode of Scrubs, like ever) and my train of thought was completely cut off. I panicked and instinctively looked down again.
Realizing, now, that the only reasonable reason for me to look down would be to look for something below me, I grabbed the only thing fitting that description. I uncapped the Gatorade I had just made and took a hearty drink.
Over the next 5 or 6 minutes as her eyes wandered from the paper in front of her to somewhere in my general direction, I repeated this process a few more times, before I felt it was getting a bit obvious.
Quickly running out of ways to prematurely foil my potential love story, I finally listened to my man-parts and realized that I had to pee. (I will skip the following part, as my toilet-life is already discussed in poetic detail in this post.)
Returning to my seat, I again put down my things, and tried to recall where I left off. As I tried to catch another glance at her, I noticed to the left of her subtle grin that in fact, the gate station was now manned with three flight attendants. The one in the middle picked up an intercom microphone and muttered something in Japanese. Then, in English, the stewardess said in surprisingly comprehensible English, "Please prepare your boarding pass and passport. We will soon be boarding all passengers for flight NH60 with service to LAX."
The maroon gem suddenly looked down and reached into her black backpack. She pulled out a long rectangular boarding pass, and then, (though my colon was freshly empty) I almost shit my pants as I saw a blue passport make its way out from behind the zipper. She seemed to be checking the boarding time on her boarding pass, turned the paper over a few times. Each inquisitive glance at that paper was like a passionate glance into my hopelessly romantic and extrapolating heart. I was stricken.
As she placed the documents back into her bag, I could see a flash through the backside that her seat was numbered 25G... My number was 24H.
She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen and she was American. I now had an unbreakable resolve to spend these last few minutes reinforcing my flimsy resolve to finally say hello. And besides, since we'd be sitting so close, I had a foolproof plan....
The line to enter the plane grew long, but I waited until the last fateful announcement by the flight attendant. As her words echoed over the airport intercom, the angel before me stood up, and I, as nonchalantly as I could, walked past her and made my way to the back of the line, taking my time letting a man in a gray wool suit pass me. I was determined to be as close as possible to this amazing girl I had yet to meet.
And as I walked forward, pulling out my boarding pass and passport, she came up rolling her silver suitcase from the opposite side of the line and came to a stop. Right behind me.
As the line began to move I almost died! I made casual glances to the left and right, each time catching a slight glimpse of that heavenly visage.
I passed through the gate checkpoint with merely a nod as they ushered me forward. Unable to wait for her to catch up through the other turnstile, I pretended to "get lost" once past the glass. I made a big loop towards my left, looking up at imaginary signs, before turning correctly back toward the plane... just inches in front of this walking vision that had finally caught up.
A conniving grin crept across my face as I heard the weight of her suitcase as she rolled it over the riveted threshold to the airplane.
I quickly hobbled up to my seat (in the emergency exit row) and put my small computer bag in the overhead compartment.
I turned back toward her and waited eagerly for my chance to be a hero... As she drew closer, I crossed my arms behind my back stretching in preparation for my painstakingly planned gesture of love!
But... she wasn't stopping. She didn't even slow down, as she walked completely past me without a glance. She stopped at 29G, now with four people standing in the narrow aisle between us. She dropped down the overhead compartment. Struggled a moment for grip, but then effortlessly plopped her silver suitcase into the compartment. Fuck. Me. And. My. Astigmatism. So much for my foollproof plan.
Anyway, since I'm not one to give up without pretending like I put up a fight, I quickly set off to devising another plan. Since this was, in a sense, a red-eye flight, there would be times when most the passengers would be asleep. I could then, during this quiet moment, pass a note to her. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a terribly awesome idea.
So. I waited.
And waited. Within an hour, I looked back to see her wrapped herself under a white blanket and a black eye-mask, presumably fast asleep. Unfortunately, she was probably the only unconscious person on the entire flight. Not only would it be ridiculously embarrassing to write a love note with fully-awake neighbors, but it would be near impossible to deliver without arousing bizarre looks.
It seemed like the best and only course of action was to go to sleep. I ripped open the provided blanket, placed it over my exposed arms and placed the pillow behind my bed. Slowly, I closed my eyes...
"Bum Bum Bum. We are now making our final descent Los Angeles International Airport."
I looked up and back to see everybody awake. The captain had turned on the "fasten seat belt sign" and I could see the LA cityscape outside the window. Shit.
The plane landed without delay and as we were finally towed into the gate at Tom Bradley terminal, it was time to stand up and exit the plane. I thought I would give it one more try and wait it out like I did while entering the plane. But I did something stupid. I stood up to grab my suitcase. Once standing, I was blocking the aisle. And once in the aisle, I had no choice but to be pushed along by the flow of bodies ridiculously eager to be back on American soil.
I glanced back as I walked forward, but couldn't catch a glance of her as I exited the plane. I walked into the terminal and looked around. I didn't see her anywhere under the mass of heads rushing to the immigration clearance center. All I could do was keep walking and keep looking.
As I finally walked into the rightmost line for border inspection, I had all but given up hope. Just then out of the corner of my eye, I saw that distinctive silver suitcase rolling along. She was heading up to the entrance of my line.
It was now or never. I could either try to grab her attention now or let her walk by. I worked up the courage to do something, anything.
Without even pausing, she walked past the entrance to my line, the hood of her maroon jacket bobbing up and down with each step until it finally disappeared into crowd.
Shanghai Morning
The verses below document a particular morning commute to my internship during the Summer of 2010.
Today at 8, my cell phone screamed
to tell me that the time I'd deemed
to be the one at which I'd rise
was now upon me. How time flies!
It seemed the night had just begun
when out from nowhere came the sun!
I felt half dead, so loathe to wake
but sleeping in would surely make
Me unemployed, so thus I rose.
And with my stiff and dusty toes
took step by step o'er to the John.
The shitting time was now upon.
And as I labored through each log
and spurt of piss, the morning fog
did slowly fade. I wiped my butt
and noticed that I had not cut
My beard in six or seven days
and thus my chin emitted rays
of unkempt stubble needing shave,
so not one hair did my blade save.
Now looking suave, I rinsed my face
and brushed my teeth, but now my pace,
I noticed, was a little slow.
And at this rate there would be no
More time to eat my breakfast so
my laptop in its bag did go.
I grabbed my shirt and pants at once.
And though I looked quite like a dunce
I did not have the freedom to
redress myself with something new.
And since no socks were on the floor
I went without them out the door,
My foot directly in my shoe.
So thus in shoes of neon blue
I turned the doorknob 'till it locked
and towards the elevator walked.
I pressed the button pointing down
but then my face became a frown
when not until three minutes passed
did come the ringing lift at last.
As I stepped in I checked my watch
and frowned some more when every notch
inside the floor-mark seemed to bring
another stop; another ring.
When finally I hit floor one
In fact, my quest had just begun.
I still had quite a ways to walk
until I'd reach the destined block,
Which held the office that employs
my fellow working girls and boys.
I took a step and then one more
and as I walked I saw a store.
And to fresh soymilk I was drawn!
I bought two bags and then walked on.
But since just soymilk is quite bland
and one more shop was near at hand
I took a look and bought a bun
but now I really had to run.
I took a bite with every stride
Hurry up! My conscience cried
when I reached down beside my crotch
and checked my cell phone's built-in watch.
I was of time nearly bereft--
I now had only minutes left.
I dodged past every bike and car
yet still my office seemed so far!
Each honk, each cry, each Chinese swear
zoomed past my ears; my only care
Was getting to the office door!
Now I could see the sixteenth floor!
Though both my legs felt stiff as lead
The building was just up ahead!
I was almost there, I'd reached the block
And though 'twas almost nine o'clock
the chance still lived to make it up
before my boss could fuck me up.
And as the stairs my legs did climb
I once again checked on the time
Just seconds left, my final dash
the sliding door, the welcome sash!
And as I crossed the finish line
I looked around and felt divine!
Now short of breath, I slowed my pace
and walked o'er to my office space
When on my desk I saw a note,
That my employer quickly wrote.
His penmanship could not disguise
his message. I could recognize
Each and every painful stroke.
Ahh my boss, you flaky bloke!
Why couldn't you have called to say
that you'd be running late today?
Today at 8, my cell phone screamed
to tell me that the time I'd deemed
to be the one at which I'd rise
was now upon me. How time flies!
It seemed the night had just begun
when out from nowhere came the sun!
I felt half dead, so loathe to wake
but sleeping in would surely make
Me unemployed, so thus I rose.
And with my stiff and dusty toes
took step by step o'er to the John.
The shitting time was now upon.
And as I labored through each log
and spurt of piss, the morning fog
did slowly fade. I wiped my butt
and noticed that I had not cut
My beard in six or seven days
and thus my chin emitted rays
of unkempt stubble needing shave,
so not one hair did my blade save.
Now looking suave, I rinsed my face
and brushed my teeth, but now my pace,
I noticed, was a little slow.
And at this rate there would be no
More time to eat my breakfast so
my laptop in its bag did go.
I grabbed my shirt and pants at once.
And though I looked quite like a dunce
I did not have the freedom to
redress myself with something new.
And since no socks were on the floor
I went without them out the door,
My foot directly in my shoe.
So thus in shoes of neon blue
I turned the doorknob 'till it locked
and towards the elevator walked.
I pressed the button pointing down
but then my face became a frown
when not until three minutes passed
did come the ringing lift at last.
As I stepped in I checked my watch
and frowned some more when every notch
inside the floor-mark seemed to bring
another stop; another ring.
When finally I hit floor one
In fact, my quest had just begun.
I still had quite a ways to walk
until I'd reach the destined block,
Which held the office that employs
my fellow working girls and boys.
I took a step and then one more
and as I walked I saw a store.
And to fresh soymilk I was drawn!
I bought two bags and then walked on.
But since just soymilk is quite bland
and one more shop was near at hand
I took a look and bought a bun
but now I really had to run.
I took a bite with every stride
Hurry up! My conscience cried
when I reached down beside my crotch
and checked my cell phone's built-in watch.
I was of time nearly bereft--
I now had only minutes left.
I dodged past every bike and car
yet still my office seemed so far!
Each honk, each cry, each Chinese swear
zoomed past my ears; my only care
Was getting to the office door!
Now I could see the sixteenth floor!
Though both my legs felt stiff as lead
The building was just up ahead!
I was almost there, I'd reached the block
And though 'twas almost nine o'clock
the chance still lived to make it up
before my boss could fuck me up.
And as the stairs my legs did climb
I once again checked on the time
Just seconds left, my final dash
the sliding door, the welcome sash!
And as I crossed the finish line
I looked around and felt divine!
Now short of breath, I slowed my pace
and walked o'er to my office space
When on my desk I saw a note,
That my employer quickly wrote.
His penmanship could not disguise
his message. I could recognize
Each and every painful stroke.
Ahh my boss, you flaky bloke!
Why couldn't you have called to say
that you'd be running late today?
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
The other half
While half of me is satisfied,
the other groans in pain.
The one does leap through sunshine
as the other loafs in rain.
=P
---
The one is glad he did so well
on Wednesday morning's test.
The other screams and tugs his hair
for failing all the rest.
So glad's the half that now has found
a method to succeed:
To read once through the lesson plans
is all you really need.
But angry is the second half.
Why had the first not thought
of this before? The plans were in
plain sight... were they not?
---
They were, indeed, but this does not
deflate the brighter half.
He closes up his Physics book
and notes and starts to laugh.
He's laughing at the problem set
he finished off so fast-
In fact, when pencil left his hand
not twice an hour had passed!
But laugh does not the second half
whose eyelids barely part.
It's four A.M! Why did you wait
'till two to lastly start?
---
The first, unfazed, conserves his glee
and then begins to speak.
Well anyhow, I think I gained
twelve levels just this week!
YOU KEPT ME UP FOR STUPID GAMES?!?!?!
The first can not but nod.
THERE'S MORE IMPORTANT THINGS IN LIFE...
LIKE SLEEP, FOR ONE, BY GOD!!
The first just shrugs, while smiling still.
The second's rage burns bright.
But it's too late; I go to bed,
and turning off the light,
...I tell the warring halves to save this for another night.
the other groans in pain.
The one does leap through sunshine
as the other loafs in rain.
=P
---
The one is glad he did so well
on Wednesday morning's test.
The other screams and tugs his hair
for failing all the rest.
So glad's the half that now has found
a method to succeed:
To read once through the lesson plans
is all you really need.
But angry is the second half.
Why had the first not thought
of this before? The plans were in
plain sight... were they not?
---
They were, indeed, but this does not
deflate the brighter half.
He closes up his Physics book
and notes and starts to laugh.
He's laughing at the problem set
he finished off so fast-
In fact, when pencil left his hand
not twice an hour had passed!
But laugh does not the second half
whose eyelids barely part.
It's four A.M! Why did you wait
'till two to lastly start?
---
The first, unfazed, conserves his glee
and then begins to speak.
Well anyhow, I think I gained
twelve levels just this week!
YOU KEPT ME UP FOR STUPID GAMES?!?!?!
The first can not but nod.
THERE'S MORE IMPORTANT THINGS IN LIFE...
LIKE SLEEP, FOR ONE, BY GOD!!
The first just shrugs, while smiling still.
The second's rage burns bright.
But it's too late; I go to bed,
and turning off the light,
...I tell the warring halves to save this for another night.
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