In the face of change

It is just one of those days.

I sort of want to escape. But I won't.
I will go do something that will distract me, but it won't be until I start dreaming that I really face it. So maybe I am escaping to my dreams.

I don't know.

The day started off fine. A boss's birthday and there was free food, which was nice, since I am currently broke off my ass. But the day only got worse.

I just had a horrible performance at work. I got overwhelmed, frustrated and didn't do as well as I know I can. At lunch, I found out Robert Jordan, who is an amazing writer, died recently. After work, I found out that my friend Anne couldn't visit me because she got into trouble. And as soon as I get home, I find out an old family friend had finally fallen to her cancer and died Friday.

R.I.P. Jan Kannrey. 7/18/08.

So I went outside, to try and get my mind off of the day, when I saw a beetle, back on the ground and squirming desperately.

"Why is everything dying?" I said aloud to no one in particular.

I sighed.

"Not everything is dying." I corrected.

I stared at the beetle for a bit, watching as it squirmed around and contemplated what I should do. Normally, I think I would crush it, but I didn't have it in me today. I grabbed a small tool and flipped the beetle over onto it's feet. Only to find out that one of it's front legs was broken.

And all I could think to myself was "All I can do is put you back on your feet."

I'm not totally sure what the point of the blog was. Maybe it's just a shitty day. Maybe I am trying to find more meaning to connect a series of seemingly unrelated events.

Or maybe it's just a shitty day.

Quitters never prosper

I have this addiction.

And I want to quit.

And as i type this and look at that line, part of me is laughing and part of me is crying. I was outside on my patio, contemplating this to myself as i fell into this addiction, when I stepped on this small pin. It had it's back on, but part of the needle was peaking out of the shell.

Maybe it was supposed to get my attention.

I picked it up and all it said was "Real"

How are you supposed to stop participating in something you enjoy when you know it's bad for you. An abusive relationship with myself and I'm unable to walk away.

I need a shower, but I need to clean more than my skin.

My Neighbor

Life has been pretty hectic lately. Moving into a new place, trying to get it organized, adjusting to a new schedule, slowly morphing into a working stiff. I've been working at this place for less than two weeks and already I am trying to figure out how to get promoted. But even as my life tries to turn mundane, my brain has still been active.

Lately, I've had this idea for a short story involving a young girl, a dragon, the grim reaper, and a roof top as they contemplate life and the stars and such. The idea is slowly panning out. But I can't seem to take the time to sit down and write it.

I think one of the things that keeps me from being creative is my neighbor.

I don't mean to say that she is loud or disruptive in anyway. In fact, she leaves me alone. When I go out to the patio, if she is out there, is inquires about my life and I, to her's. But neither of us really have anything going on. I'm starting a job, she works. We both live alone, even though her boyfriend visits her often. I've been told they have an on and off relationship, and by my estimations, it's going through an On-phase.

But it begs the question, why do I wonder about her?

And today, while trying to walk around and get inspired to actually write something and not loose whatever touch I have with my authoring skills, i think i have figured out what bugs me.

I would like to consider myself a man of possibilities. Not just possibilities for myself, but what possibilities lie in store for others. I think one of the reasons I am such good friends with my friend Matt is that I see such possibility in him that part of me just wants to see how it will turn out. Like reading a good book that happens to be two thousand pages long. You don't want to rush it, but you are still anxious to see how it turns out.

But when it comes to possibilities and my neighbor, I've started to wonder what route she has taken in her life. The majority of the time I see her, she is slurring her words. Since it is not a constant thing, the easy assumption is that she is drunk. Most of the time, I do see her drink a lot. But someone such as myself is in no position to assume a moral soapbox. Nor should I be one to assume at all. My socially train gut instinct tells me she might be a drunk.

Yet another event sticks out in my mind. One night, while out on the patio, relaxing, I overheard a conversation she was having on her side of the porch. And the young man, maybe a few years older than I, was asking her if she wanted him to remove her other personality.

I think the hopeless romantic thinker in me wants to secretly delve into her past. What was she like when she was younger? When you first look at her, you might think of an old toy doll sewn up but still wrinkled from age but someone felt compelled to give her new, if not silvery hair. I wonder what she was like before I met her? Maybe as a youth, she was extremely intelligent bookwise, but made a few bad decisions. Maybe she has always been a bad seed. But I can tell she is not a bad person completely. Whenever I talk to her, I am oft reminded of how she raised her son from the age of 4 to 18. She is proud of him, that is for sure.

Though in a rare instance of timidity, I don't pry into her life. Maybe I am afraid of seeing my romanticized ideals of what she could, or can be, lashed to pieces. Maybe part of me is cautious of making a new attachment to someone when I know I won't be staying where I am for more than two years (I hope).

But I find my self somewhat disappointed to not see her when I go out back.

The only thing I know is that this contemplation is interfering with my other writing, and it's pissing me off.