So I’ve moved up in the world, using an actual copy of Word now instead of some MS knockoff, packaged version. Such a badass rock and roll lifestyle I’m living now. I know I’ve been slacking, dear readers, but I’m trying at least.
Just need a place with a fence and my wingus, dingus, wiggle-butt dog.
And DSL, but a paycheck is coming in soon. My first for this job. As long as the taxes don’t continue to ream me into utter and complete poverty I think we can make this work. Good luck on hoping though, eh’?
Anyways, had a thought last night hit me, a rush. You know, those pure moments of feeling that just feel so god damn right, that kinda cut through the almost non-existant depression and shine a surreal little light on your ass and show you the words. Pity I couldn’t write it down then and there, but hey, once again, not complaining about my busy little self. At least I know I’m not a complete lazy ass anymore.
Busy man, with shit to do.
But I’ve got my sneakers on my feet, a good sturdy pair of pants, loose enough to fit the mood, my laptop bag strapped to my back and one nappy ass hat fitting my head oh so nicely. I step out of the house, with a goodbye thrown to all in the area and hear the screen door flop shut behind me. I didn’t even shut the solid door. Didn’t need to.
And the moment hits.
Here I am, lookin good (HAHAHAHAHA) and feelin fine, a place to go, some things to do, the air outside is almost tolerable, if not a bit bland, and everything hits that surreal mark.
Don’t have to lock the door.
People…no…families are outside, sitting on their porches sipping their after dinner drinks, chatting away like good folk. There’s the vibrant sound of a lawn-mower running it’s way across an already neatly trimmed yard a street over. Probably some guy getting the chores in after a nice day of work, with his kid in the already mowed back yard playing as a kid should, and embedding in her mind the memories she will never forget.
The smell of fresh cut grass, something she will always love and remember, even when she moves to the city to make it big.
The smell of her mother’s cooking drifting from the kitchen window, and the casual but careful face of her mother peeking out now and then to make sure she’s not digging up buried treasure.
The taste of dirt.
The smell of grease and sweat as her father picks her up and slings her over his shoulder as they both laugh and trot inside to sit down at their respective places.
I can almost drive the whole day with the windows down now. Still way too cold at night, and I’m still using the heater on the trip to work in the mornings. That won’t change. As I coast down the residential streets I find it’s all…perfect, in a way.
Things I never really got to see or experience as a child. Maybe that’s why they strike me as surreal. Fake. Straight from the big screen.
I hope I don’t grow accustomed.
So I sit here and read Transmetropolitan, which I recommend to any cynical and sarcastic bastard out there, and figure I’ve written enough for today.
Yeah.
