Wednesday, April 6, 2011
I believe my manifesto is deflating, shrinking, melting -- something like that. It was such a nice manifesto, accompanied by a pretty springtime picture. I just don't think I'm the manifesto type. Somehow, the moment I make the formal declaration, my excitement fizzles out. The grand plan shifts to chore. I begin to feel like Bartleby, and I've never even worked in a dead letter office. It's such a shame. Perhaps things would be different if I had an office boy named Ginger Nut. Or maybe I just prefer the messiness of life, and breakfast.
"I would prefer not to." -Bartleby, the Scrivener