I know, in my heart and in my head, that I have nothing of import to impart, but I spit things out anyway, like those bits of puke that get stuck in the back of your throat and make you gag: a piece of undigested spaghetti, maybe, or a fragment of spinach.
I load the dishwasher, careful to place the forks tines-up, wipe the crumbs from the counter, clean the sink, feed the cat. No one posts pictures of loaded dishwashers on the internet. Or not to my knowledge anyway. Maybe I'll google it later. In this era of cats and coffee mugs, loaded dishwashers can't be far behind.
Watching video footage of a cycling tour through Italy while running in place seems unfathomably ridiculous. I wonder how many people are concerned about their heart health and how many people just want to look good at the beach. Why are there kids on the treadmills?
Ah, the drudgery of life. This is not the first time I've written about minutiae, about ennui. Only boring people get bored. Am I boring? Iggy Pop is the self-proclaimed chairman of the bored, and he's had a pretty exciting life, all things considered. He probably loads his dishwasher. I bet he even goes to the gym.
I often catch a glimpse of something dark in my peripheral vision, something too tiny or moving too quickly for me to see. This time it was an ant, which I picked up, tossed in the toilet, and drowned in urine. If it finds something, a counter crumb I missed, maybe, it will relay that message to the surprisingly-hardy colony that lives just outside the garage door. Best not to take the chance by letting it live. The urine drowning was incidental; I had to pee. Two birds.
But it's not always an ant. Sometimes it's nothing. Which makes me wonder what it is that I am seeing out of the corner of my eye. Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe I blinked and didn't realize it. Sweet mother of fuck, is this what I've sunk to? Wondering if I've just blinked?
Tomorrow I will be vivacious, witty, vibrant. Today I'm going to try to beat my score in computer mah-jong.