sometimes, i just don't know what i'm doing
While waiting at the Burgerville drive-thru today with my friend Shon*, he uttered words of flesh-searing significance:
"Sometimes, I just don't know what I'm doing."
That is, of course, the primary condition of being human—not knowing what you're doing. Having no fucking idea why you're here...but needing to know...but being unable to ever know...and so pretending.
As we sat there with our faggy dogs in our laps, Shon also said that the word "diary" is too feminine and should be replaced with the word "journal." I think "journal" is too grey...and I promised never to use the "b" word...so I'm sticking with "diary."
The Dallas Mavericks lost today, and I was naturally saddened, because they have more white guys than any other team still in the playoffs. Even at the height of my Malcolm-X-reading, Raiders-shirt-wearing, hip-hop-listenin', wiggerish peak in the late 80s, I'd still get a mild upsurge of pride whenever I'd see a white guy making a basket.
It was around that time that I started to realize that people, even against their better wishes, are tribal creatures.
It was many years earlier that I realized I'd never belong to any tribe.
Today's Racial Survival Tip: If a group of black people is chasing you, jump in the water. (They have trouble swimming.)
*[I don't approve of the way he spells his name, but there's no talking sense to him about it.]
