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.