From pen-and-paper after yet another failed attempt at sleep.
It's just not the same.
It's simple, really, to believe you've gone off and lived your own life because you live under a different roof. And every time you would come home, you would feel that the experiences you had made you so much more than what you've come from, as if your place of birth was nothing more than a catalyst, a launching pad from which the Real, Adult You would emerge. You would come home every so often, slipping into the warm ocean of old friends and old habits, both of which would listen to your recent escapades with an enthralled ear.
Time passes.
The old friends and habits become fewer, until you're just down to one of each.
I find it awfully coincidental that on this, the particular trip home in which I resolve to not only admit that I have yet to live and truly seperate, but also subsequently pledge to do so, my one night-owl friend is asleep at 1 AM and my one habit is no longer even enjoyable, as my favourite selection in the jukebox has been removed and they even take credit cards now.
I'm sitting here in complete silence, wondering whether or not it would be considered sacrilege to order something different to eat for a change. After all, I am making a drastic revision to my life in approximately seven hours. Perhaps I should. What could it hurt? At the same time, I've always ordered the same thing. However, that was a different period - back when I knew who was pouring my coffee.
This is a vicious cycle - grilled cheese vs. omelette becomes a question of integrity vs. compromise, Spain vs. The New World.
And, fuck, I don't even have any spices to offer.
_____
Well, I ended up not getting anything to eat. I wondered why for a moment. Was it because I was scared to make a decision at all? I don't think so. After all, I drove home for the sole purpose of announcing a decision; why would making one more frighten me? I considered why I left without getting any food. The conclusion that I came to was that I'm not entirely certain that I have to shed my old skin in order to fit a new one. I don't have to always choose between the old and the new. I don't have to get naked to put on a new coat.
I don't have to be anything I'm not. And I wasn't really that hungry.
Time to get down to business.
It's simple, really, to believe you've gone off and lived your own life because you live under a different roof. And every time you would come home, you would feel that the experiences you had made you so much more than what you've come from, as if your place of birth was nothing more than a catalyst, a launching pad from which the Real, Adult You would emerge. You would come home every so often, slipping into the warm ocean of old friends and old habits, both of which would listen to your recent escapades with an enthralled ear.
Time passes.
The old friends and habits become fewer, until you're just down to one of each.
I find it awfully coincidental that on this, the particular trip home in which I resolve to not only admit that I have yet to live and truly seperate, but also subsequently pledge to do so, my one night-owl friend is asleep at 1 AM and my one habit is no longer even enjoyable, as my favourite selection in the jukebox has been removed and they even take credit cards now.
I'm sitting here in complete silence, wondering whether or not it would be considered sacrilege to order something different to eat for a change. After all, I am making a drastic revision to my life in approximately seven hours. Perhaps I should. What could it hurt? At the same time, I've always ordered the same thing. However, that was a different period - back when I knew who was pouring my coffee.
This is a vicious cycle - grilled cheese vs. omelette becomes a question of integrity vs. compromise, Spain vs. The New World.
And, fuck, I don't even have any spices to offer.
_____
Well, I ended up not getting anything to eat. I wondered why for a moment. Was it because I was scared to make a decision at all? I don't think so. After all, I drove home for the sole purpose of announcing a decision; why would making one more frighten me? I considered why I left without getting any food. The conclusion that I came to was that I'm not entirely certain that I have to shed my old skin in order to fit a new one. I don't have to always choose between the old and the new. I don't have to get naked to put on a new coat.
I don't have to be anything I'm not. And I wasn't really that hungry.
Time to get down to business.