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post #72
bio: stu
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8/22/2005
23:57

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The Evil of Banality
From April:


----------------------------------------------
To: Name Unimportant: unimportant@gmail.com
From: Stu fakeaddress@youthinkImcrazy.com
Subject: This is not another drunken email...
----------------------------------------------
...though it may seem like one at times, it is actually a "God, I can't sleep, and the sun will be rising soon" email.

Apparently, there's a name for what I go through when I try to sleep and can't. "Racing thoughts," and it is apparently one of the things many anti-depressants claim to be able to treat. Funny, that.

Anyway, no alcohol was involved in the creation of this email. No depression, either, as far as I can tell, though no trained psychologists have made that judgment one way or another.

So I'm writing you because I was semi-inspired on this train of thought from reading it in one of your emails, so I think you'll at least semi-understand what I'm trying to say...and since I can't promise to say it too clearly, it's good to have someone who might at least kinda understand. Even better, of all my friends and acquaintances, you are perhaps the one most willing to call me on my bullshit.


And that's where my email draft ends. I have no idea what I was going to say there, and I've combed through a month's worth of emails from the girl in question. So this great epiphany that I apparently had a half a year ago has been lost to the ages. Either that, or I adopted it and have integrated it into my life so seemlessly that I don't even notice it anymore.

I've been like this all day, though. I just can't think anything through clearly. I'd kill to have some of those racing thoughts right about now; I have the attention span of a 3 year old, without any of the energy.

Suddenly my life feels a lot more banal. And I promised myself I'll never make this spot an experiment in the extremes of banality: this is the Post-Modern Drunkard promise.

So I'll see you on the other side of whatever this momentary lapse of energy is.






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