I have continually thought to post in this blog over the past two days, but at precisely un-useful times. It's mountingly frustrating, because this whole project is a love letter to you, and it's one I'm not done writing yet.
Today: check.
I was thinking about personal problems. I feel like in our society, there has been an odd inversion of the relationship of maintenance to character. I, specifically, have to deal with a number of effects related to being a human person. Sometimes I get this gnawing sensation in my stomach when I haven't put food in it for a while. And it's hard to focus if I haven't slept in the last day or so. I know, it's really embarrassing. I mean, why would I even admit to such humiliating conditions? The preceding is, of course, farce. Culture has simply dubbed some aspects of personal maintenance "acceptable", and others as "un". Psychotherapy was trendy in the 80's and 90's, but now it means you're a crackpot. Me, I've got dandruff to deal with. It's astounding how endemic it is, this idea that a dry scalp actually reflects a devaluation of my soul. I say it because I find myself feeling it too. So if a guy is a sleaze and can't hold a job, but has fabulous hair and smells like a warm tropical breeze, he's okay? I slink through the shampoo aisle, hoping no one will notice me reaching for something "medicated". If only I could buy zinc on the black market. Where have we gone wrong here?
I bought some Men's Vitamins from TJ's today, in the belief that they will make me more manly. I certainly need them; I've got to compensate for these glaring flaws somehow. Hopefully no one will find out that my body can't synthesize essential nutrients on it's own. What would they think?
Shameful.
- J
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