Monday, December 01, 2003

I need purpose. direction. a reason for being. This above all is what
I lack. Unfortunately, I am, for the most part, am
disinterested. ambivalent. I say I need purpose, and I am
sincere. Yet, I immediately want to scoff at the idea. I listen to
co-workers discussing their hobbies and interests. How sad they seem
babbling about racing or gardening? They don't even drive the cars,
they watch the television. They watch little pixel representations of
cars zooming from left to right. My cat's favorite program is
racing. Why doesn't my cat ever get invited to watch racing with
them. My cat also likes to dig up gardens. He likes to fertilize them
as well, a generosity my neighbour never seems to appreciate. My
coworkers are as interesting as my cat. At least my cat is fuzzy and
cute. Mr. Racecar looks like a frog with its skeleton
removed. Mr. Racecar also never refills the coffee pot. Strike two,
mister. Things or activities can never give true purpose. It must be
another person. A protegee, perhaps. Unfortunately, a protegee
1)knowledge to impart (most of my knowledge can be headed
under 'Minimal effort, maximum return' which would fill two thirds of
a page.')
2) the desire to have a extended and personal interaction
with some other human being. Both present their unique difficulties
for me as a disinterested misanthrope.

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