A long time ago, when I was much angrier or at least cared more, some idiot commented on my blog in all his pretentiousness and [in all likelihood only] criticized me for writing about the ‘minutiae of my life’ [because it made him feel all warm and special inside to say a word containing more than three vowels in it]. He made his statement that no one cared but me.
And you know, that’s true. It is. No one does care about this stuff, except me, and maybe the people I write about, and maybe a few more people if I throw in a good pop culture WHAMMO! every now and then. I never denied any of that. Just felt a bit angry and annoyed with the part about some moron feeling himself important and above it all enough to make such a statement in a world that’s booming with blogs of every kind.
Now that I really stop to think, though, there’s so much more to it than the absurdity of that statement. ‘The minutiae of our lives’ is what our lives are comprised of. When I think of the things that Ellie and I did, sure, some of them slightly impacted others, in the way any other day-to-day transaction did. We never did anything to conquer the fucking universe, but had a lot of fun, a tonne of laughs (if they could be weighed), and a million little experiences we enjoyed but never thought would amount to anything.
But they do. Everything adds up to this one giant bag of shit we call life. And I happen to enjoy that bag of shit, whether it’s rainbow coloured or brown. Whether I put an end to the credit crunch, or I end up paying off my debt one day and meeting a lot of great (or even useless) people in the process, that’s what’s happened in my life. You sold a painting to an adult contemporary washup who will be comprised of the same thing as me when each of us dies. The only difference is soil or ash. And that’s not something that’s based on whether I wrote “Candle in the Wind” or not.
And whether you want to believe it, you’ll end up the same way too. It doesn’t really matter what we do in life, minutiae or selling poor quality artwork to celebrities, because when we’re gone, it’s done. The world keeps turning.
Pearl said this to me today:
Life is like a game of chess, at the end of the game the king and pawn go in the same box.
That’s right kids. Three disappointing, money-wasting years at Niagara fucking College are coming to close, and I’m beginning to gain back my train of thought again. This can’t be good for the economy.