I was at the grocery store yesterday
and, when we made eye contact, the cashier said, “I was just looking at all
your tattoos. They’re crazy. What do they all mean?” Looking past the fact that
she asked what would normally be a request for a fairly complex set of answers
for most people, I said, “Nothing. Just like life.” She laughed and handed me
my receipt. Hopefully, she bought a bottle of wine with the assuredly hefty
discount she receives from her minimum wage job, went home to an empty apartment
she can barely afford, uncorked the bottle and drank directly from it because
she has never owned any wine glasses. I also imagine my small statement
resonating so deeply within her that she even gave up on the idea of using a
tumbler because she would have to clean it later and really, what’s the point
to that? To measure how much you’ve consumed? Just accept that the bottle will
be consumed eventually and you don’t need to measure it to know you’ll get to
the end. Just enjoy the sips. Just do it,
as some salesman for Nike probably repeated thousands of times during his
short-lived career with the company in the 90’s. Michael Jordan was popular and
no one held it against him. The salesman probably even looks back on that time
in his life like most people look back at their time in college.
Recently (and for the better part of
the last five years) I’ve been thinking about how happy the past makes people.
I’ve been considering a humanity where no one remembers what they’ve done and
how that would pan out. I assume Homo sapiens would be happier because
comparison would only exist for their current situations, such as choosing a
dog at the pound. This one has spots.
That one doesn’t. This one is missing most of its left ear. That one is
smelling its shit. I suppose it’s possible for comparison to exist when
looking into the future as well though. I think we will always find something
to compare ourselves to. This table
serves a purpose. It was made with a specific design in mind. Families will
love this table. They will see the same model in their favorite sitcoms and
exclaim to their current lovers: That’s the same table I ate off of growing
up! as if the same model, breed, genre,
etc. means there is only one. I suppose it does in a Platonic sense.
Still, the meaninglessness protrudes
through what you pretend matters. You may tell someone near you that they
matter, that they serve a purpose, but they don’t. The lower me is setting in
now. You may speak of how meaning is subjective and how you create it for yourself,
but you don’t actually mean this. You mean that you are lying because it allows
you to feel alright with yourself. You are the two-year-old pissing the bed,
blaming it on the fact that you are two. You just need to learn more, you say.
You just need to experience something new and then everything will be a set of
Lego pieces that fit anywhere you want them to fit. I miss how much I used to
look forward to getting Lego sets for Christmas. I miss getting stickers from
my granddad. I miss being ignorantly content instead of consistently angry.
Everyone, even the group that is making
a good amount of difference for the betterment of the world, is annoying.
Everyone. Do not be confused that meaning takes on a new meaning. Everything
still exists as meaninglessness, but there is some joy to be found there. If
Camus can imagine Sisyphus with a stupid smile on his face, then I can slap one
on too because absurdity is what we all want. Invention is what we need. And no
matter how hard you want to fall in love just to have an indent in the mattress
when you wake up in the morning, you will still judge yourself while you brush
your teeth in the mirror before work.
