It is of the Homles Brand my fan is. Adjustable angle, adjustable speed, it does it all. My desk allows it to perpetually attach itself - much like the barnakle-dock relationship. I suppose the desk appreciates the coolness it receives on the hot days, and the fan appreciates the security that the maple provides in exchange. What do I offer the fan in exchange for it's unwavering service? At a first approximation - nothing at all. But a more nuanced analysis reveals that I am quite an entertaining performer for it. I provide this fan laughs, smiles, tears, exaltations and vulgaries. What is most entertaining to the fan however, is that it must use its imagination to guess exactly why I go through these scale of emotions. It cannot see what is on my computer screen; which is the root of one hundred percent of the cause of any and all of my emotions at work. It cannot hear what my boss may tell me in his office. It cannot hear the thoughts in my head, or feel the feelings in my heart. But, because of this the fan must have created for itself, an embodiment of everything that makes up my personality, as directly a function of my expressions, that is quite certainly of more interest, than I truly am.
For that, you are welcome fan. If you were privy to my screen, and my phone, and my body, you would know that I am far less of interest, than the man you think you know.
No comments:
Post a Comment