As I swill vodka

Right. If nothing else, I believe this: since the earliest glittering sparks of sentient thought, man has harbored a desire to register his opinions of his circumstances, whether they be satisfactory, uninspiring, drastic or shameful. Hence, this god-cursed blogger culture, a great expanding reservoir of piss and bile to which I now contribute.

The first of many complaints: my life seems more grossly mundane than ever. I feel that I am simply passing the time between major purchases. I am struggling with the sheer blandness of modern adulthood, which is this:

- I wake up. SomaFM's BeatBlender is playing thinly from the laptop on my nightstand.
- I sit up and open the laptop. I close Winamp. I reivew the New York Times headlines and read Doonesbury.
- I have my breakfast: either a Cliff bar (peanut butter crunch) or plain yogurt and granola. And a glass of Odwalla substance.
- I walk eight blocks to work. Since the scenery seems more peaceful on Lawrence, I choose that street to walk south. Also, I'm spared Arapahoe's morning menudo stench.
- I walk up the stairs to the office and boot up. If the project manager is singing showtunes, I curse her openly for it.
- I spend the next nine hours drinking coffee and cursing many other things openly -- flash, photoshop and illustrator; the network, the coffee and the temperature; the creative director, the clients, my agent and all stupid people.
- I open the time tracking program and shamelessly fabricate billable hours so I can get paid. I am faster than our estimates, but I'll be damned if I let that affect my earnings.
- I power down and walk home. I visit the gym. I make some phone calls to friends and family. I stream some music on the Roku, my latest novelty. I check the scores on ESPN.

Mundanity upon mundanity! But most people would say I have it good. This makes me feel like an unworthy, whiny little bitch. Because they are right. Truly. I do have it good. At least by measures visible to the naked eye.

I live in a nice loft in a fine city. I have an easy commute. I am paid handsomely to do very little. And what do I do with these blessings? I petulantly brush them aside and instead focus on nitpicky little quarrels. Pretty arrogant, eh?

What more could I ask for in life? Well, being the precocious brat that I am, I will say this: many, many things.

I would trade all of this for a reasonable chance at a meaningful, mature, long-lasting relationship with a woman. I would trade all of it for a sense of purpose -- to have an undoubtable reason to rise up and attack each new day. For true blandishment between my parents. For forgiveness from those against whom I've sinned.

For those things I would trade this life. And so would anyone else with half a heart. Anyone who wouldn't is a threat to civilized society -- an unfortunate defect, a malformed person who ought to be eradicated.

For a new mind, one that banishes malcontent thoughts. For a new heart, a wellspring of courage and compassion. For those I would give anything.