Saturday, August 26, 2006

Late Post

To Break Kayfabe?

It's sort of hard to write something about coming back to write something when you feel you need to write something now. NOW.

Off today from work; yesterday was my last shift as a full-time summer replacement. Not sure how the summer went or what it means or any of that deep-thinking-so-go-to-a-quiet-place-and-think stuff. I suppose I should do that here in the most confusing way possible--that is, in total disorder without resolution:

Did working some 30 hours a week in a newsroom make me a better journalist? Did it make me even want to be a journalist any more? I doubt whether it made me a better person. I rarely think about making a good impression, so any good impressions were coincidences. Did I earn the respect of the people I worked with? Ask them. I'd say no, but then respect is often over-rated; an unmalleable commodity that's hard to know what to do with. So I'm respected, what now? So I'm not respected, what now? Who really gives a fuck? The people who need to be loved; the people I have no time for. Perhaps I'm even thinking about this whole damn thing too much? Four months in a newsroom doesn't mean anything. Sitting at an online desk means less. Or maybe it means just as much as any other newsroom job? I'm not sure. I'd be guessing to answer. What are the facts? Many hours spent at a desk reading the news. I developed a routine. I developed ticks, perhaps gimmicks. Was it actually me? Or some character I played? Did I mean anything I said? Did I feel anything I said? Does it even matter? There are many questions I should ask and seek the answer to and perhaps by placing some of them in this massive, glob of text, I'm saving myself from re-reading the questions and finding the answers. Perhapses and maybes. So many questions, what the fuck does it all mean? Maybe it's just late at night and I'm intoxicated with a shifting barometer and broken kayfabe. Maybe I'm just fucking with anyone still reading this; asking questions I didn't ask or could care less about. Maybe I've pulled you into this massive paragraph as distraction to fool you from what's really happening. All the grammar mistakes, all the dull jokes, all the nothingness and pointlessness of these words and any words like them.

Big paragraph with no meaning. Or all meaning? Fuck do I know.


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