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.