The Red Planet was a promise broken. I don’t know, half-baked phrases that wiggle up out of the sludge of my brain. Dying on the shores of over-caffeination, lack of self-esteem, and attention deficit disorder. Never to evolve past their primordial stage. Never to take shape as anything other than a “hey, that may be neat to write about.” At least not in the last few years. Who knows. Maybe with a new home, my own room, and a distinct desire to create something, I’ll get beyond the “concepts generated while taking a crap-taking a drive-taking a shower” stage of my (lack of) creativity.
Fucking crap day, here. Just busy. Really fucking busy, and ineffective. My class smells blood, knowing the end of the semester is upon them next week. Today this led to a case of The Mondays in class writ large. A disaffection that was equalled in enormity only by the disruptiveness with which it manifested itself. In other words, no one gave a fuck, and everyone was talking. So class was going shit, and then during our mid-class break it became known to me through a squabble of error messages and beeping that the copier was. In fact. Fucking broken. In other words, I wasn’t able to make a copy of (what should have been) tonight’s reading. So what am I doing tomorrow? Fuck if I know. Today was the first day (and this is probably actually a good sign) in my 3+ years of teaching where I openly asked myself, “What the fuck am I doing wasting my time with this?” A shuddering, unrelenting tidal wave of bile-duct refuse and existential despair washed over me. And for it I have no answers, other than to hope it ebbs as well as flows. I’m sure it does.
Monday Morning Commute Tuesday Evening Commute! Bit of a hectic week. The house I thought Sam-OMEGA and I weren’t buying we are now buying. Which means stripping our bank accounts down to the bone to sacrifice at the altar of the Debt Gods. On top of that there is the summer class I’m teaching. On top of the students I’m tutoring. On top of the hours upon hours of placement essays my co-workers and I are reading to decide which English class incoming freshmen will be enrolled into (yes, someone has made the mistake of placing me on a committee with that sort of authority). So yes.
This is my third week of marriage. It feels very much the similar to the life I was living prior to marriage – namely a maelstrom of responsibilities and too few nights spent actually enjoying the company of my Wife. We spent the weekend house shopping, and now she’s away on business. When…when does life calm down? And in the midst of all that bullshit — we are submitting an offer sheet on a house tomorrow. So there’s that. Either we get a house tomorrow, or we have to hit the house hunting grind again this weekend. Which, admittedly, is a privilege. I get that. But it’s stressful as fuck, and at a certain point having more space for shit you probably doesn’t need must feel irrelevant in the Frowning Face of Not Enjoying Time with a loved one. Right?
Welcome back to Monday Morning Commute! Missed it last week. Was away. Being on a “honeymoon” with the “love of my life” doing “cool things.” Naw — I’m just fucking around. It was pretty fantastic. But here I am. A year-and-a-half journey has come to its end and now SAM-OMEGA and I “on to the next chapter of our life”, which hopefully doesn’t “cost thousands upon thousands of dollars” to live out like the previous one.
Hello, True Believers! Degenerates! Booger Eaters! Slobs! Slovens! Functioning Human Beings! Individuals Excelling At Their Vocations! If you’re down with the Space-Ship, if you’re here by mistake, if you’re on the Fence and considering writing my Mother a strongly worded email. I want all of you! All of you to share what you’re up to this week. What’s getting you through the doldrums? This is Monday Morning Commute. And that’s the point of this column.
Monday. Morning. Commute. Welcome to its Insides. The Place where we share what we’re up to during the current work week. It’s rife with strife, gloom, and malaise. JUST KIDDING. Let’s party! Fuck the Frowns, Embrace the Clowns?! Do I mean this?! I don’t know! Am I pumped up on Diet Dew and a False Sense of Excitement?! You fucking bet!
This is what I’m up to this week. Happily.
Ah yeah! Friday, mothertruckers! And that can only mean one thing. Weekend Open Bar! The only fucking blog post you need over the next couple of days. Stop in here and let fly with anything! Consider us the corner table in the the Debauched Pop Culture Tavern. Share what you’re up to this the next couple of days. Share pictures of your Wonder Woman thong. Share gifs. Share stoned ramblings about the Illuminati. Anything & everything goes.
It’s with a tearful eye and a hyper-extended thumbs-up that I bid farewell to 2012.
The last twelve months have been some of the finest of my entire life. And I’m not exaggerating. Unlike those saccharine slobs who always clamor about the present hour being their finest and the preceding moments nothing more than the bliss-steps to their existence plateaus, I have no illusions about the fact that I’ve chalked up some miserable years. I’ve anguished through entire calendars, burnin’ `em up with fuel of the most incendiary sort.
Self-doubt! Resentment! Apathy! Vitriol! Cynicism! Sally forth towards the mire!
But 2012 was a whole different beast. Sure, there definitely some moments when my nostrils were assailed by the wispy vapors of the aforementioned propellants. But repugnance was ultimately cast aside, overpowered by the surfeit of wonder! It’s almost as though entertainment and art and love formed a giant sword-wieldin’, monster-destroyin’ mech, and I got to pilot the son-of-a-bitch!
Anyways, it looks as though every crew member of Spaceship OL is delivering their year-end highlights, so I’m going to join the party. But since I’ve garnered a reputation as being the erratic, currently-undiagnosed-but-we’re-working-on-it, hack-writin’ resident of the crew, I’m going to switch things up a bit. Each of my highlights will be paired with an Ultra-Dimensional Portal! By clicking on any UDP, a hole will be punched in space-time, and your consciousness will be projected astrally.
Got it? Okay, here’s one last look at 2012!
Hello friends. Welcome to the jamboree. Lately the status quo on Spaceship Omega has been a blinking red sign that reads “busy, busy, busy, busy, busy.” Rendar has gotten himself embroiled in a class-action lawsuit against McDonald’s. Something about dipping his testicles in hot coffee that wasn’t hot enough, didn’t leave scars large enough, I’m not sure. He pulled down his pants and I turned away when I began to see the boils and then I started screaming.
I’ve been chugging along, writing my thesis for my Master’s Program. All along the oblivion known as the “Real World” has been staring me in the eyes, rubbing its belly and chuckling manically. We are going to have to tussle very, very soon. Throw thirty+ hours of tutoring on top of that, and whelp…let’s just say the Spaceship has been on auto-pilot. None the less! With all this busyness, we could all use some escape.
This is Monday Morning Commute, the column where we spout off the various arts and crafts keeping us from stabbing ourselves during the grind of the 9-5. The following are my jams.