space & other wasted things

forty two minutes. unheard of. most of my logins lately clock in right around six minutes — what i get for a quarter. i can spend a quarter. i really start balking at things like forty two minutes (buck seventy five) — and that was two comments, two tagboard entries, and an email.

anyway, hi, i probably owe you an email! i try to compose offline but i’m not configured that way, so it’s a struggle & let’s face it — i’m lazy. i’ll obsess my ass off on things, which makes me look productive, but trust me, i hardly ever produce what i should be producing. usually because i’m obsessing on something else. but anyway.

today i lost a big chunk of my afternoon to a pen. and i wasn’t even sure it existed.


so i got this wonderful spiral notebook at the ninety-nine cent store today, 5×7 ruled sheets & the cover is hard as a hardback book, and it’s silver swirly holograpic (shiny things! good god i love the shiny things.) and a couple days ago i bought these gel pens. initially i bought them to make custom nail polish colors (the right gel inks, mixed with clear or glitterpolish — magical! & shiny!) but they turned out to be just the best pens. thick points, smooth flow, just a hint of metallic, and the colors! not the standard-issue gel pen colors. had to go back & get some cheap crap-ass gels for the polish mixing, had to keep the luscious rose art pen set.

so anyway. got home with the notebook & i wanted to scribble. so i found four of the pens — no easy task, as i’m in full-on packrat mode (re: shiny things). but the fifth, the fifth was nowhere to be found. now, there is no pen shortage here. there are the shiny pens, there are your standard foo-foo colored papermates (pink, green, purple), as well as several other pink &/or purple pens, and a couple boring regular (blue &/or black) pens i never use, though i have them should the occasion arise. whatever that might be. at any rate, at the time i launched into my phantom pen obsession, i had in my posession no less than a good-sized handfull of absolutely acceptable pens.

but. but. it was the first time i’d really taken these rose art gels for a spin. i switched between the orange/gold, the pink/mauve, the silvery purple, & the burnished teal for effect as i babbled (it’s kinda like a blog but more boring) (b’lieve this is called a ‘journal’). four color monotony scrawled in a fresh new notebook, it doesn’t get much better than that — oh wait. yes it does. for one thing, the fifth pen, the fifth pen was missing, and i missed it. sorely. and i didn’t even know what color it was, i just knew that whatever that color was, it was a color i wanted.

so i searched. and yes, i destroyed. i dug through my prodigious pile, my haphazard hazmat stash, my treasured trash — my *booty*, okay? arr. avast ye …

erm. so anyway. when i say dug, i mean that literally — i burrowed. i excavated. i found stuff i had given up looking for, but i also lost stuff that wasn’t lost when i started — my cigarettes for instance. they come in these useful cardboard boxes that i use to keep my not inconsiderable collection of very very small shiny garbage, i have approximately five such boxes right now within arm’s reach. by the time i was done searching, i had misplaced my cigarettes & had a box full of the innards of cheap pens & radios & shit like that, in my purse.

i searched & i searched. i searched until i was sweaty & disheveled, & then i searched a little more, for good measure, then i had to change clothes (and yes, i’d buried the ones i needed, so i had to dig for those) and then i … took a deep breath, realized i’d blown pretty much all my free time for the afternoon, and then i … searched some more. i began to wonder if there really was a fifth pen, maybe i misremembered the pen count of that particular packaged pen set?

and then. and then. i was walking past the dresser, the dresser which is not a place i keep pens, or use pens, the dresser which would be a place i absentmindedly set a pen down (probably in the process of being distracted by a shiny thing) & there it was. the fifth pen. oooooh, and such a lovely, lovely slate blue, the fifth pen. which is part of the reason it was left carelessly where pens are not kept, or used, because i had initially dismissed it as too ordinary, blue. that would have been before i discovered the general extrordinary nature of these rose art gel pens.

the whole set, complete with caps (!), is nestled next to the shimmery notebook now, and i’ve just been inspired to write … this, one of the long-windiest, what’s the pointiest blog posts … ever. well maybe not ever, ever. but … anyway.

but i am feeling much much better now (*twitch*) & am no longer muttering under my breath about running off & joining one of those baby seal clubs i’ve been hearing so much about.

however i am still a little bent about the events of ten years ago this day. well, the event. dammit kurt. i mean, okay, i understand, not completely of course but i do know that sometimes it is too much. but still. too much is too much but look how much has been wasted now! so much. ten years.


so in honor of whatever, ima gonna splurge & upload a whole messload of pictures, some shiny things, some kids playing in a park, some girls dancing …

I’m so happy ’cause today
I’ve found my friends …
They’re in my head
I’m so ugly, but that’s okay, ’cause so are you …
We broke our mirrors
Sunday morning is everyday for all I care …
And I’m not scared
Light my candles in a daze …
‘Cause I’ve found god
Hey, hey hey

so much. wasted.

7 thoughts on “space & other wasted things

  1. dude. i spent like, three hours online today, which is like this major splurge but sometimes ya just gotta. i mean i had all those pictures. some of which i quite like. i mean … anyway.

    & i’ve been kickin’ it with my homegirl maryjane, you may know her? yeah, she’s like, my bud. & even otherwise, life *is* good. kind of surprisingly, actually. but anyway.

  2. on kisw they were talking to some guy named rob the trucker who was going on and on about how he “used to hang with” kurt, and had a signed yearbook picture of him, etc. the dj’s and various callers were all saying stuff like “so, like, did he have a clique or anything? how did he treat, like, you know, normal everyday people?” etc. the most intelligent thing said was “well dude, you know, he like dropped out sophmore year…”

    people want so bad to be near to greatness in others, i suppose, because they are too timid to search for it in themselves, or fear confusing it with egotism. personally, i believe that the only real testament to kurt lies in thinking for one’s self and then acting on it. i think the thing that really got to kurt in the end was finding himself caring what other people thought, and the transformation was unsupportable.

    it’s sad that his music ended up being more useful to others than it was to him, but i guess that’s how it goes.

  3. A full pen set, a journal with a hard swirly cover and a moment of interconnectedness?
    Plus pictures?
    Life is good…

  4. i have that tendency too. if it’s gone i want it. especially the arty stuff. and it irks me to no end that when i need it the most it does not appear. four, five, six weeks later that’s when they come out. looking smug and self confident. as if to say. we know you wanted us. we know. but. we call the shots here b�b�. i thought i was the only one who shunned blue and black to write in purple, aqua and apple green.

    wasted. but not always lost. so no. not wasted. just set aside. for other things.

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