Three inane things.
1. I’m concerned about the way the brown coffee stains sticky the inside edge of my favourite mug – the one with the crows on it, made by hand on an island by that woman I wrote that story on – and how I’m then forced to scrape away at those grain stains the morning after my handmade vessel has been left sitting, unwashed, on the counter for an entire 24 hours. When I wash it clean, right before dirtying it again, I can’t help but wonder how big the coffee stain is inside of me, in my tummy, no way to scrape that inner stain away.
2. I hate the way group projects at college and university are always bullshit except the first time around when you had a fleeting thought that maybe they weren’t, maybe it was you, and now, 30 years on, there’s no doubt about it that in a group of four, only two of you won’t be doing you know what to the dog while everyone, in person, face to face, is pretending not to notice how lame those slackers are.
3. I despise the cretin who uses that old, steel bee-hive ashtray attached to the outside of my apartment building, near the intercom, as a garbage can. He or she tosses their used Kleenex, candy wrappers, hard, brain-like sculpture of Wrigley’s spearmint gum, and red kissed cigarette butts across its tinny top until I imagine some contaminated 21st century hen just laid that mess there after a Saturday shopping trip to Value Village.
Most of all I can’t figure out why waking up really early on Sunday morning when everyone else is still in bed makes me feel like writing the kind of writing (albeit a bad imitation) that I often despise in Geist magazine.
Okay. Make that four.
They say it’s the little things that drive people crazy. Anything inane bugging you right now in particular?