February 23, 2009
a jobless person, by definition, has no job to do. and the only thing that has been equitably distributed among the humans of this world is time, giving everyone the same twenty-four hours of the day. hence, the person with no job to do has obviously more time on his hands than anybody else. this surplus time leads people to do different things, depending upon their dispositions. the understudy starts musing, and moping. hence this monologue.
pray tell me, why does the night canteen not have a room service option? isn't it cruel to expect a moping person to wake himself out of his reverie and carry his body-weight down two flight of stairs to face a never ending queue filled with endless chatter that further disturbs his train of thoughts? or is it really just to let a famished soul witness mouth-watering dishes being prepared one after another and other people mouthing them while he watches in abject (and growing) hunger and waits for his turn?
there are only so many games of kenken one can play. and the news sites don't get updated as often as one wants to. so much for the saying that we live in a happening world. and people with blogs are very machiavellian in the timing of their writings. when their readers are hard pressed for time, these authors will turn out posts at a frantic pace but come slack-time and it will seem as if the drought in things-to-do has caught onto the blogs too. weird, stupdid, world!!!
there are times when the muser wishes for a genie who was a patient listener. the dark of the night is hardly the time to disturb any one on the phone. and the strange machinations of the string-puller are manifested again in the chat list - people who he doesn't want to talk to will be online all the time while the ones who he's ready to bare his heart too will almost always be found offline, or at least when he's in dire need of a distraction from his dark musings.
what then can anyone do, except release all these pent-up grievances in words?
so is this a letter of complaint against the world? it seems like that, doesn't it? but the answer is no. this is just a jobless person whiling away his time, spewing out words one after the other, hoping that the end-product makes some sense. this is just a genie-wisher conjuring up an imaginary genie and talking to him. this is just the growling of an empty stomach of a lazy fool who's torn between hunger and the superhuman effort needed to haul his ass out of bed. this is a tirade against all the emptiness in the muser's mind that he hopes to fill with endless words.
huff!! puff!! typing can be tiring too!! an effort that malnutritioned musers can ill-afford.