27 years young, fingers covered in donut frosting at midnight. Sticky fingers fueled by caffeine type nothing. Going nowhere far now to go somewhere far tomorrow. Grizzly bears don’t wander into California. We only like kind bears in the golden state.
Growing up in suburbia either makes you feel a constant sense of boredom or imbues you with the ability to find fun in any situation. I’d like more of the latter and possess more of the former. Lately there has been far too many chance encounters. I’ve spread myself all over the place. The nutella runs low; I must make the end of the jar last for a little longer. You run into everything and everyone over and over again. What would be a new situation?
What is one to do when they can’t leave, but must savor the here and now? The itch is persistent. If I had balls, I’d sit here with a pair of irritated rocky mountain oysters. What is so boring about paradise? Why do some humans like to press on their bruises?
We are all guilty of being caught between temporary diversions and meaningful activities (but who knows if they are meaningful?). Wandering outside, freeing my mind from thought is interspersed with episodes of facebooking, youtubing, and blogging. We are guilty of sitting on busses, eyes glued to our “smart” phones, ears full of headphones. My balance is off.
Wanting to go somewhere. Move your feet. Watching the young coeds giggle at the cassanovas’ displays of masculinity. Remembering when you were a giggling coed. Remembering to not remember. Move your feet.
Wake up, work towards… sumting… sumting…, get tired, irritated, feel guilty for feeling irritated, sleep.
Pointless exercises of sobriety remind you why you love getting drunk. There are too many questions with no answer. Accept there is no answer. Move your feet.
Be part of what is…