Wasn’t I just at the laundromat yesterday? The last week seems to have happened on autopilot, though I had the dirty clothes to prove that it actually existed. So to the laundromat I trekked, schlepping clothes in, and then out again in an existential exercise in running to stand still. But it’s all about being present in the moment, right? And carpe diem and all that jazz that is as blue as the IKEA bags that I use to carry the small mountain of clothes back and forth.
MacBreak Weekly is my normal starting point, though I’m so far behind now that the experience can hardly be called news. After which I moved on to the Thom Yorke solo project The Eraser, which is punchy and yet sedate– some nice trippy, techno-ey mood music. But it’s no Radiohead, if you ask me.
Mostly though, it’s yet another late night that feels just like the rest of the seemingly endless stretch of late nights before it. None of which is particularly painful or difficult, but all of which just wear me down with their utter monotony. I try to embrace them and accept them for the singular experience that they are, which I will never relive and will probably always look back on with fondness and a certain pride. But perhaps such romantic reminiscences can only be accomplished after the fact, and I should relieve myself of the burden of appreciating something so bland and fatiguing. Perhaps I should just complain about them now, and apologize later.