that he's going out to buy an envelope.
He writes:
Oh, she says well, you're not a poor man. You know, why don't you go online and buy a hundred envelopes and put them in the closet? And so I pretend not to hear her. And go out to get an envelope because I'm going to have a hell of a good time in the process of buying one envelope. I meet a lot of people. And, see some great looking babes. And a fire engine goes by. And I give them the thumbs up. And, and ask a woman what kind of dog that is. And, and I don't know. The moral of the story is, is we're here on Earth to fart around. And, of course, the computers will do us out of that. And, what the computer people don't realize, or they don't care, is we're dancing animals. You know, we love to move around. And, we're not supposed to dance at all anymore.
Some of us prefer to sacrifice efficiency for the chance of gaining genuine, human interaction. Sometimes — today, today, today — I don't care about getting 'it' done fast or getting 'it' done at all. I'd kill for a smile. Just one real smile.
"...you're getting in the way."
Kurt Vonnegut didn't look at the woman with the dog and say, "You're getting in the way of me purchasing an envelope." He stopped. He asked what kind of dog it was.
We're human. We're not robots. We get distracted. And — as Paulo Coelho tweeted two days ago — "If we are wasting time and enjoying ourselves, we are not wasting time."
(But Kafka once said, "Evil is whatever distracts.")
I don't want to be anybody's "distraction." I don't want to get in the way. I just want ten minutes of honest, loving conversation. Then a kiss or something that suffices for one. And I'll be on my merry way. On days like today, I want — more than anything — those stupid, menial occurrences that inject tiny spurts of humanity into our otherwise emotionless lives.
I know —
I know — that there's a giant logical disconnect between the Vonnegut excerpt and what I'm trying to say. I know that I'm making little sense because I'm speaking out of my emotional asshole.
My point is this: I miss you.
At the risk of sounding hedonistic, let me ask you this: if we can't enjoy the hell out of every dumb thing we do, why do them at all?
And what if we abided by this: If something — anything — gets in the way of us loving the shit out of the people we're meant to love, put. it. down.
Humans are NEVER what get in the way. Fuck that. Everything else is secondary. Always.
