Monday, September 22, 2003
___Scratch "Sorry"
I'm one of those people you don't see, now, but you know about.
You know -- I painted our living room ceiling green. Not "off-green", not light green, not a spring green, not a shell green: a grass motherfuckin' green. Yep. I'm one of those people you think about as you walk through the house on Sunday afternoon, thinking, "What the hell were THEY thinking?" That's me.
That said, I really like it. It's different, doesn't exactly go with the rest of the house, and it's warm, intimate, and, uh . . . green.
So I'm running down S. Lake Dr. in St. Francis, thinking that there's too many periods in this sentence, and then I notice the company that's doing the construction on these big, monstrous "townhomes" is named "Uhen Construction". So maybe I run by the main site -- right off the lake, mind you, wind blowing, sea gulls floating, and the sun striking just across the bridge of my nose, slanting-like, you might say, knife-like. I see some workers, maybe, and they're working hard; they're pulling and pasting, doing work I could only look at from a distance and say "Hm" about, and I raise my fist in the air and say -- "Go Uhan!" And they all just whoop and laugh and cheer right away, and I'm zipping along the sidewalk with grasshoppers sticking to my knees, trying to rhyme "sockets" with "pockets", and we all have a good laugh, see, me just pretending all along that we agree on the same thing. But hey, it was all the same language anyway. Cheers, you old Uhan.
Sitting in class tonight I learned that all my friends were right -- education's a game. They make you play it, all the while telling you how serious it is. Haha. So I sit in class and beat it all back, a chessplayer in a classroom of five-card, testing my own patience, swatting at them in my mind, and, no, I'm not sorry at all.
You know -- I painted our living room ceiling green. Not "off-green", not light green, not a spring green, not a shell green: a grass motherfuckin' green. Yep. I'm one of those people you think about as you walk through the house on Sunday afternoon, thinking, "What the hell were THEY thinking?" That's me.
That said, I really like it. It's different, doesn't exactly go with the rest of the house, and it's warm, intimate, and, uh . . . green.
So I'm running down S. Lake Dr. in St. Francis, thinking that there's too many periods in this sentence, and then I notice the company that's doing the construction on these big, monstrous "townhomes" is named "Uhen Construction". So maybe I run by the main site -- right off the lake, mind you, wind blowing, sea gulls floating, and the sun striking just across the bridge of my nose, slanting-like, you might say, knife-like. I see some workers, maybe, and they're working hard; they're pulling and pasting, doing work I could only look at from a distance and say "Hm" about, and I raise my fist in the air and say -- "Go Uhan!" And they all just whoop and laugh and cheer right away, and I'm zipping along the sidewalk with grasshoppers sticking to my knees, trying to rhyme "sockets" with "pockets", and we all have a good laugh, see, me just pretending all along that we agree on the same thing. But hey, it was all the same language anyway. Cheers, you old Uhan.
Sitting in class tonight I learned that all my friends were right -- education's a game. They make you play it, all the while telling you how serious it is. Haha. So I sit in class and beat it all back, a chessplayer in a classroom of five-card, testing my own patience, swatting at them in my mind, and, no, I'm not sorry at all.
