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I've been trying to tell people what happened to me in California that was Good, what, except for the humiliation part, meant that I'm not really dissatisfied with the whole trip. The most overwhelming thing I can see is that I have recovered my attention.
(I'm not sure you're going to believe that, if you've looked at my journal lately and seen these damn ADD type posts I've been making.)
I no longer have my attention absorbed by a few critical things in my life. Don't ask me why, maybe I just needed an opportunity where I felt like I wasn't obliged to them. My mother is the same way, you know, worries incessantly.
Since I came back to Georgia, I've been on this computer constantly. Peruse the past few days of this journal and you will see what I consider to be the seeds of a few different stories or essays. I am not even expressing THIS as well as I would like.
Stream of consciousness on the way home was something like this: Last year at this time, I was on my way home to the loft. And the year before that. I hope I remember to take the right off ramp. I haven't heard from Mark since I left his house with Toby a few days ago. I wonder if he was expecting to hear from me. I guess not, he hasn't talked to me. Speaking of which, I wonder what happened to Stroble. When was the last time I even saw a Sophocles post, anyway?
I seem to be using a lot of fuel; well, I do need an oil change. It's not like this job is going to make me enough money for me to actually consider it a profit, just keep me from actually having to beg for pocket money to get around town on.
That restaurant that I used to go to next to work is a Chevy's now. The same as the one Roon took me to for lunch that one time. Well, I guess I took him. That was a good kiss. I'd give a lot right now to have a job like the one at the collections agency. Cool, sterile, technical. No heat, no bugs, no food, no grease traps. But it never seemed that clean when I was there. A lot of emotion. I felt like I was wearing Hawaiian print among gray suits, sticking out like a sore thumb where high tension, stressful emotion, was stock in trade. Maybe I'm different now. Maybe not.
I wonder if this is what Mark feels like when he wants to have someone around, and he's been buried in his head, and his work, and he feels guilty about not contacting them, and he has no idea when was the last time he actually talked to so-and-so. Was it Tuesday? Wednesday? Well, he didn't call me either. I have been going at lightning speed the past couple of days.
I didn't take my medicine today. When was the last time I took my medicine? Sometime when I woke up in the morning. That would mean sleeping at night. I wonder if I will take it tomorrow....
(I'm not sure you're going to believe that, if you've looked at my journal lately and seen these damn ADD type posts I've been making.)
I no longer have my attention absorbed by a few critical things in my life. Don't ask me why, maybe I just needed an opportunity where I felt like I wasn't obliged to them. My mother is the same way, you know, worries incessantly.
Since I came back to Georgia, I've been on this computer constantly. Peruse the past few days of this journal and you will see what I consider to be the seeds of a few different stories or essays. I am not even expressing THIS as well as I would like.
Stream of consciousness on the way home was something like this: Last year at this time, I was on my way home to the loft. And the year before that. I hope I remember to take the right off ramp. I haven't heard from Mark since I left his house with Toby a few days ago. I wonder if he was expecting to hear from me. I guess not, he hasn't talked to me. Speaking of which, I wonder what happened to Stroble. When was the last time I even saw a Sophocles post, anyway?
I seem to be using a lot of fuel; well, I do need an oil change. It's not like this job is going to make me enough money for me to actually consider it a profit, just keep me from actually having to beg for pocket money to get around town on.
That restaurant that I used to go to next to work is a Chevy's now. The same as the one Roon took me to for lunch that one time. Well, I guess I took him. That was a good kiss. I'd give a lot right now to have a job like the one at the collections agency. Cool, sterile, technical. No heat, no bugs, no food, no grease traps. But it never seemed that clean when I was there. A lot of emotion. I felt like I was wearing Hawaiian print among gray suits, sticking out like a sore thumb where high tension, stressful emotion, was stock in trade. Maybe I'm different now. Maybe not.
I wonder if this is what Mark feels like when he wants to have someone around, and he's been buried in his head, and his work, and he feels guilty about not contacting them, and he has no idea when was the last time he actually talked to so-and-so. Was it Tuesday? Wednesday? Well, he didn't call me either. I have been going at lightning speed the past couple of days.
I didn't take my medicine today. When was the last time I took my medicine? Sometime when I woke up in the morning. That would mean sleeping at night. I wonder if I will take it tomorrow....
