Listening to: Flying Machines, "On a Whim"--and the dulcet tones of my neighbor's chainsaw.
Yes, that's right. Chainsaw Man returns. He's out there, chopping things down, cutting wood to splinters. Except that it's Monday.
You would think his constant weekend chainsawing would be more offensive, simply because more people are home, and trying to do things like sleep in, or work around the house, or read. But, to me at least, the Monday chainsawing is the most egregious. I mean, it's Monday. Mondays, in general, burst with suckitude. The weekend's over, and a long week begins yet again, with more goals that will go unmet, more projects continually unfinished, etc. The weekend seems so very far away. And the cat is bothering me with renewed vigor, since he doesn't have TH around to chase him about the house.
Plus, I'm the only one in the vicinity who's home, as far as I can tell. So it seems like Chainsaw Man is doing all this for my benefit. "Look at me, I have a chainsaw, and I use it on the weekdays, too! I cut down trees! WhirrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"
There. It's out of my system. I'm going to turn the volume up a few more notches, thank God for headphones, and get back to work.
Or I'm going to start perusing the real estate listings in the area.
One of the two.
If you don't feel that you are possibly on the edge of humiliating yourself, of losing control of the whole thing, then possibly what you are doing isn't very vital. If you don't feel like you are writing somewhat over your head, why do it? If you don't have some doubt of your authority to tell this story, then you are not trying to tell enough. --John Irving