bloody fucking hell
I am aimless on my days off. I wish I could sleep in, eat, watch dumb movies and paint my toenails.
I wish I could relax. What the fuck is relaxing? I don't know how it's done. Instead, I stare at walls, the computer, I workout, I clean, I listen to music, and the ideas come. I get inspired to be a million things I'm not. For five minutes, I am the world's best, undiscovered novelist. Then, I am a director, making documentaries filled with grimy truth and plain faces. Maybe I'm a humanitarian. I am offering up the only hope and inspiration I have to someone who needs it more. I am planting trees, picking up garbage, leaving emission fact sheets under the wipers of SUVs. I am young and untouched by all of the adult realities that have started making choices for me. I am present. My head is clear. I smile at my reflection. I know that I have something, am on to something.
The sun was out, so I walked today. Plugged into my mp3 soundscape, things looked good.
In the express line at the grocery store, an old man was buying a bag of walnuts.
'Are you the soup girl?' he asked me. I told him I wasn't. He insisted that I looked just like her. We fell off into an unsatisfactory silence. He paid $1.87 for his walnuts and left.
What would we have talked about if I said yes? Told him soup was my passion?
Another wasted opportunity.
I wish I could relax. What the fuck is relaxing? I don't know how it's done. Instead, I stare at walls, the computer, I workout, I clean, I listen to music, and the ideas come. I get inspired to be a million things I'm not. For five minutes, I am the world's best, undiscovered novelist. Then, I am a director, making documentaries filled with grimy truth and plain faces. Maybe I'm a humanitarian. I am offering up the only hope and inspiration I have to someone who needs it more. I am planting trees, picking up garbage, leaving emission fact sheets under the wipers of SUVs. I am young and untouched by all of the adult realities that have started making choices for me. I am present. My head is clear. I smile at my reflection. I know that I have something, am on to something.
The sun was out, so I walked today. Plugged into my mp3 soundscape, things looked good.
In the express line at the grocery store, an old man was buying a bag of walnuts.
'Are you the soup girl?' he asked me. I told him I wasn't. He insisted that I looked just like her. We fell off into an unsatisfactory silence. He paid $1.87 for his walnuts and left.
What would we have talked about if I said yes? Told him soup was my passion?
Another wasted opportunity.