My brother and I were sitting at the kitchen table today. We were playing a distracted game of Rummy, while listening to a CD I just bought called “Flight of the Conchords.” I asked him if he felt that life was somehow meaningless, and that we were just going through the motions in something that has already been predetermined. (Predetermined is implied here, as you like, from culture, geographic location, genetics, experience, society, God and so forth)

Apparently he did Not feel this way, as he promptly told me to shut the fuck up. He followed with “It is our responsibility as adults to recognize feelings of desperation, bottle them up, let them grow and fester to a ripe, old age and join their counterparts, so as not to ruin the times to be had of those around us. I would appreciate it if you just kept your feelings to yourself until 40 at least, and then you are free to have your midlife crisis as you like." (I guess midlife does imply some age well above early 20’s, but I digress) He pointed out that he would be living elsewhere at that point, and should I turn to him for help in examining my breakdown, via the telephone, he would be afforded the option to just hang up.

I thanked him for his honesty.

I was probably just being melodramatic. I mean earlier today I was sitting in front of the cho-cho train section of the Barnes and Nobles, in awkwardly small furniture, reading the first chapter of yet another book I will never finish. Tears spilled out of my eyes when I realized that a person can never unlearn something, and the more effort that is put into trying, will only amount to more thought on the subject.

Then at the request of my subconscious, I was diverted in thought to Ryan, the children section clerk. Ryan, daily called upon to select the perfect story that would mold the minds of those little darlings of the patrons of B&N, presently looked ambivalent as two such patrons crowded the counter for his special attentions. The request of the two lady’s seemed nothing but random to me, as one lady wanted a book with a helicopter on each and every page of the story, (that was it, she didn’t care about plot, illustration quality, readability, structural soundness in the case of popups or anything else, she just wanted a helicopter on each and every page of the story) The other lady wanted a picture book, no words, just pictures, that would express a story profoundly, and it was up to Ryan to pick the topic. As Ryan attempted to find the items filling these requests, I played out, and looped, a situation in my head where when I got home, I was going to call Ryan, and tell him I wanted a picture book, with no words mind you, that expertly describes to a 3 year old where babies come from.

When he attempts to let me down gently, I will say “I bet Borders wouldn’t give me all this trouble” and hang up rudely.

Then it was back to meaninglessness.