2/14/13

Landed at La Guardia about 11am or so. Made it to the hotel in Chelsea about 1pm. People with flowers everywhere. Sidewalks, subways, elevators. Valentine's Day in NYC is truly illuminating.

I was born in North Carolina

I was brought to Texas when I was 7, I believe. I remember my parents showing me a map and Dallas being on the far edge of the paper near the crease.  I don't remember feeling very sad about leaving my friends.  7 is old enough to feel sad but I don't think I was. I don't really remember.  I have a bad memory. I do remember being loud back then.  I think I was loud until about Junior High.

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Yesterday I mentioned my soul.  Sarah reminded me that I don't believe I have one.

The word 'soul' doesn't have any clarity for me. It just seems that our soul is our mind. What we comprehend ourselves to be in life.  

Maybe I have zero souls. Or several.  Several constantly fighting to claim who I really am.

Most afternoons at work, I'll reminisce about going home.  One recurring thought is a simple one- I get home, make myself a drink, sit at the dinner table and read. Yet almost every day, I get home, make myself a drink and cannot bring myself to take any further steps towards my goal.  A sense of pure exhaustion comes over me.  I feel like I could just melt down and become part of the scenery. I don't know why this is.  It's like I'm too lazy to relax.  That sentence shouldn't be allowed to exist.

You know what I do?

I finish my work and then I prop my feet up on the desk, lean back and read.

Charles Bukowski

I like reading his shit. I like knowing that he worked at the US Post Office for several years while writing. I like knowing he had an actual job. I guess most authors do, or did before they got big. Maybe it'll summon some motivation.

What a difference a year makes

Ain't that the truth.  Unpleasant things happened this past year, that's definite.  I go back and forth between anger and gratuity, depending on my mood.  Which changes every 6 minutes, about.  

When something bad's happening to me, it feels so specific.  Like I'm being singled out and discriminated against.  But that's not true.  I mean, it can't be true, right? Other people are dealing with the same things or MUCH worse.  This book I was recently reading said something about how you may feel all alone when you're up at 3 in the morning pondering your life, but really, there's many other people doing the same thing.  And so you're not really alone at all.  Reading that put me at ease- for the moment.

When I unclothe myself of pride and contempt, I'm thankful for the past year.  I'm thankful for those that I've met and things that have happened.  They weren't pleasant then and for a long time I felt like nothing could get better, but it did.  There are things in my life that I want to change, of course, but I'm happy for the way things are going.  There are no asterisks or parenthesis by my feelings.  They just are.  I suppose I've been set free.

Reality

Vampires, werewolves, zombies, angels, witches, wizards, unicorns.

All are so prevalent in our society yet none are real.

Or are they?

No, that's stupid.  Or is it? 

What is real or not real?  I dunno and I guess I don't care that much.  

Well, zombies.  Maybe I care.