Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Bitter and busy

Daggone. When the hell did my time become so valuable that there's just not enough of me to go around? I need to bottle that shit up and sell it for a fortune if it's that important to the world.

Between my family, my house, and work (almost entirely work), I am completely used up and then some. I am nodding off by 2100 every night now, and I'm a zombie at 0515 when I'm making some coffee. The real work day starts when I get home and I have to fix all the shit that breaks around the house while also handling the general maintenance.

So yesterday afternoon I was destroying the indigenous flora with a gas-powered, bladed whirling machine, bitching in my mind about how silly this weekly task is, and it dawned on me how fickle mankind is. Here we have an outdoor area for recreation that we have to do constant maintenance to in order for it to "look good." Sound familiar? I place grass cutting right under tying a sturdy piece of multicolored fabric in a slipknot around the neck; it's a mundane thing that serves absolutely no utility at all, is extremely dangerous, and could in fact be completely avoided by intiating some common sense. The last bit would entail thinking for yourself, thus breaking the ant-line of human stupidity which would allow for things to really get done.

I'm thinking that I can aviod grass cutting by spraying the lawn with weed killer at the first sign of Spring. It only makes sense. Planting a garden or flowers is different, but grass? Really? Why do we do it? What's the point? We can't come up with something that looks good but doesn't require the use of a device that spins a sharp blade at 500 rpm just 18 inches from your feet?

I could care less about how my yard looks; to me lawn manicures are for three-times retired folks who actually have enough time to cut grass, and who don't have hobbies. I don't have enough time to do a fraction of the hobbies that I have, to say nothing of the ones that I want to do, so to me cutting the grass is a big ass waste of my time. I have drywall to sand and painting to do before I can even think about dinner, and then maybe I can take a glance at the Hornady dies that Mr. UPS man kindly delivered to my door before I stumble off to bed.

On my list directly below grass cutting are work meetings. People will schedule two weeks worth of all-day, mandatory meetings that start an hour before the folks with children can even get into the building, and then top off the first three days of a third week with intense mandatory meetings to address timeliness and why everybody hasn't got shit done around here. Are you fucking kidding me? Is 0900 so damn difficult? I would like to be able to take a piss before sitting down and listening to absolutely nothing of importance for eight hours. And while we're on the subject of urination, seriously, give a five minute break every hour so that the poor bastards stuck in the meeting can jettison the six gallons of coffee that we have to ingest just to stay awake.

Some day I will write a manual of common sense, but something tells me that half the people who read it would have their head explode.
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