Here are some of the funtacular phrases I've written in word while immersed in boredom, attention deficit, and general angst. Some of them I think I like.
To begin, I once was whistling wearily wondering what wonders would wane when whereupon we were. Verily the vivacious virtues vowed not in vile, but vindicated the vested vengeance against vanity. Though the phantoms fought ferociously, we do not see fit to flee from what was foolishly found fearful. Quickly, quietly now, we quixotic quest-laden friends questioned the core of the queue.
Today was gray, or at least it should have been. I searched for socks this morning and found them quite easily. No simple feat, to be sure. Then I drudged on in that nonchalant and pained manner for which I find myself bedraggled in bedraggled? Surely a slug has taken captive audience of my ego.
Well, if that were the worst of it I would surely be gone by now. I am thinking. It’s thinking that perhaps I ought to take a writing class, revamping this dry occupation with the surge of literary prowess. Is that possible? I certainly hope so.
Benny is an honest kid. He likes action movies and drinking with friends. He wants to work for a nuclear power plant. One of these statements is false.
He was completely still, sleeping deeply. Suddenly, the blaring alarm clock brought him to attention. The bastard clock was also a clever one. Its noise grew increasingly painful, louder and louder, until he amassed the force of will to smack it into submission. The ordeal finished, he rolled over for ten more precious minutes.
We sat there, silently basking in the glory of what we had accomplished. There was an unspoken surge of pride, swelling of energy, and yet none of us moved.
Do not think that I am crazy, because that would absolutely ruin what I am about to tell you. Do you know what its like? Can you feel it? You’re lying to me.
Veela, the orphan child is not a real person. She does not think. She does not emote. She does not interact with her world. For all purposes in this story she may be considered to be made of wood.
The Doldrums
We find ourselves sitting in a blank, pale, and quite boring cubicle wondering just how long it will take for ten minutes to pass. This is by and large the least of our worries as we consider whether or not their will be traffic on the drive home, whether or not the rain will continue to worsen, and whether or not there is enough gasoline. We begin to wonder if other people preoccupy themselves with such mundane tasks as these. We then realize that the absolutely frightening ennui of our lives is the crushingly sad state that most people must exist in. Why do we find these 10 minutes of ordinary planning of daily tasks to be nothing other than soul-crushing disappointment? What would we rather be doing instead?
I propose to you, the listener, one ought not to experience any sort of soul-crushing on any regular basis. Otherwise, horror of horrors, one might get used to having their soul crushed on a regular basis. Eventually your soul could be represented by a tiny, dense, fractured cube much like what happens to a rusty Cadillac at a junkyard. Avoid the necessary soul-sucking doldrums at all costs. Perform the perfunctory duties of your lot, but do not let such duties become your essence. You (me?) are not merely the sum of your actions but are the product of your dreams. Etcetera.
Now isn't that fun?
Labels: funtacular, juniper, scrumptious, snicket
