Sunday night ramble.

I sat down with an ataulfo mango and peeled the edges recklessly. Some choose to eat the thick skin, I prefer to shed it. Now, I’m three hours into my writing time today and going absolutely no where. It’s funny how my times of peace lead to intense and terrible writer’s block…still a pointless term I prefer to not use. The thought of a hard-earned bummed cigarette sparks nostalgia and I can feel the snow on my fingertips. Those days I wrote with such purpose. Today, I can’t knock one thought long enough to get my fingers scribbling.

She smiled at me today. I rambled about something irrelevant. If there were ever a star struck little boy who swallowed his foot every time this particular beautiful girl walked in, I was him. But still again, I must continue to remove my rose colored glasses in hopes of level headedness. This, although an unachievable stand point during most of my time, has skewed my ability to maintain too much expectation. And isn’t that what all of life’s greatest disappointments are from born?

Now, I bite my nails between paragraphs. Where do I even begin? What began as a strong idea has fizzled into one measly chapter of my main character running away from his absent-minded wife on a beach. Maybe I am not meant for novel writing. Maybe I am not meant for writing. Maybe I am meant to sit by the lake on my porch, and just think. For hours on end, play the stories out in my mind and never write them down. But then again, maybe not.

It’s often too hard to concentrate. The lake often draws so much of my attention that I get sucked into listening to the night birds for hours. Occasionally, the sounds are interrupted by an alligator snapping down on one of them. That’s a sound you just don’t forget. A sound that at first is shocking, and slightly disturbing. But becomes yet another comforting and wonderful reminder of the actual circle of life. Not the circle that man kind has created, but the one that would eat us all alive if we were squatting it out in the swamps.

I’ve been in a very Kimya Dawson, I Like Giants mood. Too small to handle. To small to care.



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