I am convinced that my cat doesn’t eat a lot because he is – as always – trying to exactly like me; trying to emulate me as if I was some sort of role model: he constantly follows me around, gazing at hallucinatory miscalculations – those which consist of rules which regard an insignificant emblem of his feline perceptivity, but back to his behavior – what the hell? I ascertain nothing. Among other many other perplexing and rebellious behaviors, he will not, under any circumstances, eat his “little tiny-expensive-so-he-will-live-damnit!” food unless his beloved Me is in the room. Right now, as I address you, he sits aloft my computer monitor, pretending that he is absolutely aloof to my presence… But I am catching on to his deceptive little feline games! He is unaware that I am aware of him following me everyplace that I wander, faithfully and consistently. He takes his own little precise kitty time, catches up to me, plunks down within millimeters of me, and pretends like he isn’t cosmically tandem – like I’m not his GOD. Ummm… just joking. Anyone from Cleveland? Affirmative, Maw, I know I ain’t god. I received that memo YEARS ago. But hey – I’m al’ight. I’m existing splendidly, thanks for asking! I realize that I subsist only of my own integrity and conduct. I am whatever I think I am. I accept the consequences of my own actions. I believe in the laws of cause and effect (insert any joke here). I decide to confront my own contradictions and demonstrate interpretation of my truth. I will not tell you to go to hell or anywhere else, but I will continue to harvest you in tactful consideration of my every influence, though I may choose to disobey you from time to time. Kosher?
Listen very carefully, this is my only demand: Nothing. Would you give me that for once?! I demand absolutely nothing from you and I expect you to carry through with this.
“But that is beside the point,”
“What ever it is that you have to tell me, you better have something to say.”
I nodded. “A silent world would be an ideal utopia for you Ms. _______.”
“I really,” she paused at tried to look dramatic, clenched her jaw and tapped her shoe on the ground twice, then scuffed, “yes, I think that I rather loathe your frequent and flawed – so called – ‘obscurity.'”
I imagined my day at work would be completely obscure and meaningless to perhaps those who were not aware of my heroic, pathetic intentions to be wonderful, which was therefore equated with obscurity.
Clearly, I was losing my mind.
Moral of the tale: Whenever you can’t figure out what you were going to say, what the question was, if you really want to be wonderful, you will eventually turn out to be a boob.
And my advice, one of the most impressive habits of we obscure heroes, is to just end every paragraph you speak, is to say this simple phrase “…but that’s beside the point.” You can do this till you get bored – nobody catches on unless they, too, are as obscure as you.
I am convinced that my cat doesn’t eat a lot because he is - as always - trying to exactly like me; trying to emulate me as if I was some sort of role model: he constantly follows me around, gazing at hallucinatory miscalculations - those which consist of rules which regard an insignificant emblem of his feline perceptivity, but back to his behavior - what the hell? 471 more words
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