Let me begin by stating that I had every intention of coming to the library to do work. I did. I brought all my work, headphones, caffeine, water, snacks, my lap top (the very thing I'm typing on right now).
Let me continue by stating that certain foods constitute library snacks while others don't. Nilla wafers: library snack. Chicken masala: Not library snack. Generally, the unspoken rule is that anything with a particularly strong odor capable of distracting other library patrons from their work should be left at home. Sorry pizza. Adios tacos. Why then am I left here to endure the savory aroma of something very much like a meat ball hero? Who does this person this she is that she can just do that? At least I'm full. I suppose things could be that much worse if I were hungry. Then the smell would be taunting me.
Let me further state that I have severe doubts about being able to hold out here and complete all the work I was intending to do. Having just completed a major assignment this morning (which isn't even due until the end of this week) I've convinced myself that I deserve a bit of a break. I'm contemplating a nap back in my room at some point...
No! I must stay strong. What would become of the world if people gave into the temptations of meat ball heroes and naps? Nothing would get done. Well, a lot of sleeping and eating would get done, I suppose, but that hardly seems productive.
Productive. Produce. I must produce. Continue producing.
I saw the Disney film WALL-E over Thanksgiving. Several friends had been telling me to watch it since it came this past summer, but I never got around to it. Finally, last Wednesday my parents and I decided to sit down and watch it. It's one of the few movies we've all watched together all the way through. I loved it but I found myself so completely depressed by the whole first half hour of the film. Several times I was near the point of tears. While the end (the credits especially) was extremely hopeful and optimistic, everything up until that point was a classic urban dystopia, the kinds of stories I'm addicted to even though they keep me up at night.
What if it's true? What if I'm destined to produce and produce without any real purpose to my production?
What will I produce? How can I be sure it holds meaning?
I guess the big question is: Does all THIS mean anything?
I'm not sure how I got from the library to THE question. You'd think I could find the answer here, among this vast collection of human knowledge.
Whatever. So long as you keep reading, I'll keep producing. I guess that means something.
1 comment:
This is a kickass testament to stream of conciousness writing.
To answer your question: yes, it all means something. It's kind of like that line in "You've Got Mail" about how the whole lot of nothingness has meant something. I have spent upwards of ten minutes trying to find the exact quote, but as a New Yorker, you are perhaps versed in that movie.
Anyway, I find that most answers to life's most pressing questions are not found in the library. So where are they?
The supermarket, of course!
Post a Comment