In moments of sheer ennui the one thing I always have to turn to is the vast potential of the as yet untarnished white expanse of "Document1". I can't quite explain the nature of my languor. The nature is no doubt just as boring as the boredom itself. Hmm...what does that even mean? I don't really think it is even boredom...a quick Shift+F7 is giving me "world-weariness" and I think that's closer to what I'm feeling.
I just took a walk around the building and it was not the most soul-sating experience, although I did like the brief sun-baking. It's not that I'm not working or don't have work to do; it's just this inexplicable lack of motivation to do more than what's necessary to get through the day. I don't understand it, it's strange. I just downed a tall non-fat mocha like it was a tall glass of something special, but even it failed to hit the spot.
Let's turn away from my inexplicable insouciance and wind the reel backwards. I took a new route to work today. The junction of madness had a flashing red man denying passage and instead of standing with the rest of the herd I looked ahead and noticed another pathway that would eliminate one unpredictable stoplight out of my two stoplight commute. I headed down the sidewalk towards the elevated walkway arcing above the busy avenue below and felt a new energy surging through me. I sucked my belly in and reveled in the extra exercise of two winding flights of stairs, one up and one down. Whew! Funny I hadn't thought of this path before.
During this new and improved walk I reflected upon the past year, paging quickly through the incredible material covered since December. Let's see: renounced hope in male/female relationships; decided it'd be okay to live alone for the rest of my life and adopt only if that maternal itch got too unbearable; went to a place far, far away; met the love of my life (a man, wow!); moved to a country still rising with the crimson tide; agreed on the general approach to curtains; proposed to twice; married once; migrated to a new position at my job; and erm...what else?...right - moved a second time. Weave into this general plotline trips to Beijing, Hong Kong, Chengdu, L.A., Oakland, Beijing, back to L.A., San Francisco, Denver, Chicago, Hong Kong again, London, Edinburgh, Paris, Devon, Singapore, Chongqing, in that order. Then just to throw in a bit more "spice" add the love of my life alternating between Beijing and Shanghai every week, with side trips to New York and Inner Mongolia. So as I was saying, an uneventful seven months.
It's all whizzed by so quickly. I find myself now happily married and anxious to hang out with my husband on those wonder-filled days when the Fates graciously weave us both into the same city. I actually have a full year calendar tracking the days we are in the same city and the current forecast has us together 52% of 2006's 365. No joke. I am not sure what's sadder, the percentage itself or the fact that I came up with a percentage at all. Ah well, now's not the time to examine my slight obsession with the wonders of Excel (for the record though, Sheet1 can be just as enticing as Document1 depending on the particular demands of the day, oh and don't get me started on cell A1...ah, the possibilities!).
I'm not completely sure what I'm trying to get at here. I rarely have a plan when I open up a Document1, the trip-hop of words/random thoughts forms its own rhythm on the page. But I have a sneaking suspicion today's fragment has something to do with the fact that life is just speeding full throttle ahead and at times I'm the one strapped into the passenger seat, braced against the armrests, my right foot grinding through the carpet as I slam on the imaginary brakes - reminiscent of my mom when I was learning how to drive. Ah, the exhilarating memories of those first left turns into oncoming traffic.
I still have ultimate control of the steering wheel, but more often than before obligations and responsibilities force a warpspeed auto-pilot I'm not accustomed to. Not only are there my own responsibilities, but now those of my other half as well. The Technicolor has become even richer than I'd ever imagined it could be, but along with it comes the occasional blur of white as the reel motors on with you in tow.
So perhaps this inexplicable ennui is in fact not languor or boredom or world weariness at all, but a kind of wide-eyed Rothko of white. White whooshing by as I struggle to grasp the reel and slow it down enough for the technicolors to separate and form actual images. This leads me to think...perhaps at this very moment my way of slowing the wheel is taking the time to send these thoughts skipping across the expanse of white that used to be Document1. Hmm...a Rothko overcome by typewritten text, row after row laying claim to the white expanse - a strangely satisfying image.
