Post Script

Breif sort of diary entry

Buh, it’s been a bit.  My thoughts have been drifting more to the visual side of life than to the literary front.  It feels good to be back though, I feel like I am stretching long sleeping muscles.  Don’t have much to say however.  I think I am leaving soon; I am both really happy and really sad at the same time.  I am escaping two heart breaks, or at least the memories surrounding them, and that feels pretty nice.  But I am leaving friends behind at the same time, which feel way less than nice. 

Finding a job is cumbersome, I chip away at the task on a daily basis, yet still feel like I am making little headway.  Oh well.  I will live, I have before and I will again. 

My camera is a savior, it keeps me sane, and I can feel like I am creating something with every click of the shutter.  I have always had a burning desire to create, feels like a good outlet for my creativity. 

Not much else to say really.  My ability to form interesting sentences seems to have died along with my heart.  Oh well.  My mind still thinks on a photographic level fairly well.  I will be back, make no mistake, just need to process some of the mental red tape first.  I am just going to keep churning at the daily grind until I see the light at the end of the tunnel. 

desirous day dreams drift.

My apartment is quiet.  The afternoon sun has just passed its apex of sky, and the window fan drones softly in its slanting light.  We keep the light off on days like today; it seems hotter when the room is illuminated, as if the heat from the bulb would drive the heat in the air past some undefined point of tolerance.  Drabbed in dull tones of shadow, the cat is sprawled across the table not even twitching an ear when fleshy human ankles pass by; a prey that periodically drives her to paroxysm.  Her chest slowly rises and falls, murmuring a counter rhythm to her tail swaying with vexation for the heat.  Even the dust seems to move slower, sluggishly sifting through the heavy humidity, hoping to find sanctuary away from the yellow rays of sun. 

Shadowed and slant lit, my apartment’s apparent laziness defies the contrasting thoughts in my head.  The heat and shade pull at heavy eye lids, but the brain forces them back up with torrid points of thought.  My body sends up a yawning rally cry for a nap, yet my brain counters with the torpid rumblings of a headache.  Day dreams are often the discourse in the self-involved struggle between sedation and speculation.  The mind can channel its desires and the body can digest.  Images corresponding to sated wanderlust drift by, flitting and blinking by with the twitching of lidded eyes.  Slowly the brain spins down, unwinding its coils of bright emotion into the realm of fantasy.  The tense brow that was beginning to thrum in tune with the pulsing warnings of pain eases slowly.  The brain spins slower; with little emotion left to expend the creeping concept of the nap begins to win negotiations.  The brain concedes and desirous day dreams drift into that which is sleep. 

Whiskey untill 7am, and this is what comes out.

Josh called me a crack head.  I am, in fact, not a crack head.   Confused? Yes.  Crazy?  Most defiantly.  Addicted?  Hmm… maybe.

But not to crack, to something else far more confusing than a mere chemical.  Something so blazingly confusing that this simple Microsoft Word program would never be able to portray the intricate twists and turns of the human emotion that are so tightly fastened to the core of the subject.  No amount of structured sentence would accurately conjure the correct representative image that I hope so dearly to depict.  There is no good way for me to tell you the position that I am in, and have you see it through my eyes.  (Is that a warning flag?)

Addiction, hmm, Colin said that he thinks I am still slightly addicted to drama.  I hate when people say that, I really hate drama, but I think he is right.  There is some sick part of me that likes the turbulent, awkward, and emotion charged times in life that come when drama lurks with the morning fog.  It makes one feel alive; to live a boring life is to let each day pass wasted and unused.  I think I have been substituting drama for my adrenaline habit.  That might be bad.  I do like my adrenaline.

Bah!  It is better to live life than to watch it go slowly by.  My answer to Josh calling me a crack head is that I never want to look back and ask myself ‘what if?’.  Sure I am addicted, but not to what he thinks I am.  I just want to live a life with as little regrets as possible.  If my heart is at stake I will always gamble on the long shot, it fixes itself eventually, and eventually that gamble will pay off.