Pity Party

There is a story of a man who turns into a bug. The man turns into a rather large beetle, I believe, and his boss, his family, his friends will not accept his excuses, nor his wish to be a bug alone. I used to read this story of this bug man and believe it was about how the outside world affects a person. Now, looking back on this bug story, that I refuse to read again now that I am free of the bindings of an academic institution, is more of how a person makes themselves feel.

No ,I am not letting the family, boss, friends off the hook. They seemed very… evil step family from a fairytale, but there is this universal feeling of being a bug stuck on its back, spindly legs waving in the air that you don’t recognize anymore. Maybe not so universal, but I get it Mr. Bug. Whether I am waking up after an insomniacs nap, or counting the ridges on my fingernails after smoking, just to focus on something, admist the monotony of work and life and everything that floats by when you try to take a moment to be alone and recognize yourself again.

I have been living with my parents for the past 10 months. Mr. Bug, you’ve told my story before I got a chance to. A summary, for those who were able to avoid drunken surrealist conversations with men studying philosophy and poetry. Mr. Bug wanted to be a bug alone in his room when the everyday took away the essence of what he was. A person. When fun, love, and joy become delicacies you scrounge for in between keeping up with work and friends and family. Should I switch my anaolgy to a truffle pig or do you get my point. I am tired and I am confused and I want to take a nap and read books and paint and travel. Instead I will sit at my desk as I type the end of this between meetings, and I will go to sleep early on this Friday night, and wake up tomorrow to work my second job.