Oliver Benjamin
imagine why I did this. I can only assume that it was because I was
an utter asshole.
Let me assure you that despite the fact that curmudgeonry has
often been portrayed as a brand of fashionable rebellion, it really gets
very tiresome after a while. Really, you’re so busy finding flaws and
faults in all the things around you that you don’t have the time to ever
sit back and enjoy anything. Hence, the emotion that I felt most often
was the profound lack of one. Nothing ever felt really good because
nothing really ever made me feel anything at all, except the dull throb
of unfocused discomfort.
It’s like this:
You know the feeling you get when you’re driving in you car, lost
in thought and there’s some tune you can’t stand coming out of the
radio, but you’re not aware of it, and all you know is that something
is really driving you up the wall, keeping you from thinking clearly?
You know how you get more and more annoyed until you finally
realize that it’s the radio that’s been irritating you, so you lean over
and switch it off?
Well, I felt like that all the time, every day. Only the radio was
stuck in the on position.
So now enough of this kind of talk. This was a long time ago and
things are much different now. After what I went through that year,
I could hardly be expected to come out of it the same person. A
Native American friend of mine put it this way: put a lemon in a
blender and it’s no longer a lemon. If nothing else, it’s margarita mix.
You see, as it turned out, sometimes the best way to take care of
a staticky radio is to throw it against a wall and watch it explode into
a million pieces. That’s easy. Anyone can do that.
The hard part is not getting hit by shrapnel.
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