Once upon a time, I could venture into an unknown world of my own creation in a moment, spurred by any number of inspirative stimuli. That’s not the case so much anymore.
To those still following this blog in any capacity, thank you for your dedication despite the intermittent nature of my posts. As you might have picked up, I’ve been going through a bit of a rough patch which has derailed my drive to write for a year and a half. Despite my friends in the … Continue reading Working and Writing: Conflict and Reward
Honestly, I can't complain about Christmas this year. At least I got to spend the morning with my man and the afternoon binge watching every Christmas movie I owned or cared to watch off Netflix or Amazon. I found it a little disturbing and profound that I identified with George Bailey up to the point where he never escaped Bedford Falls. Reminded me of my high school years, constantly dreaming and yearning for the day when I could cut loose and escape the smallness of my hometown.
Over the last month I lived in Montana, I caught myself thinking things like, “That’s the last time I’ll walk through that door.” Or “That’s the last time I’ll see that person,” or hundreds of other ways it could be the “last”. Somehow, I found myself considering what it will be like when the time comes that it will be my last of everything. Morbid, to say the least, but very realistic.
Most of what I throw away is the kind of thing you find in the check-out aisles in any department store: half-eaten candy bars, Bic lighters, waxy flavored lip balm and Rubik’s Cube key chains.
“Badass” was the last term anyone would use to describe my first two vehicles. They were the soccer mom rigs of the late ‘80s and early ‘90s. The only claim to coolness either could make was that they rode like boats and had V8 engines.
At 6 a.m. on a September morning, my parents literally kicked me out of the tent at the KOA in Billings, Montana. Thus ended my first move as an adult and started a long career adrift.