yeah so I needed to start writing again...
Just something I'm starting to write and may decide to continue...
As I lazily fumbled through the sun scorched grass fighting away the assortment of prickly plants, I could even feel the hairs on my neck becoming unbearably hot. That's Florida. Every blade of grass and every ray of sunshine had really begun to irk me. I hated this place. I hated the senior citizens, the humidity, the boredom, the isolation, the falic shape and anything else I could associate with this state. I was ready to go home, to get back to New York City. Well, it was Brooklyn really, but that's still a part of the city of New York. Anyway, I couldn't bear it anymore. Nothing good had come from this place. All it had done was lift me to the highest point and drop me like a rock. No, not like a pebble skipping across a river. I didn't get that sort of civil treatment. My fall was more like...well, like the last of a skydiver with a faulty 'chute. Yep, it hit hard and nothing could be salvaged. If my emotions were equivalent to the skydiver's remains, you'd surely have to identify me by my dental records. My clothes were sticking to my skin. I stopped for a moment and pulled a few sand spurs off my pants. If you're familiar you'll know that the effort was futile. With each step my pants were lowered into a pit of the pesky clingers. I didn't know why I bothered taking this route. I knew it'd be this way. I suppose I could apply the cliche "doing the same thing and expecting different results." But really, I expected nothing different. I was accustomed to this daily routine and I didn't know why I was compelled to drag myself through the torture each day. Oddly enough it was somewhat refreshing - the heat, the sweat, the plants' invasion and rapid conquer of my pants. At least I could always depend on it - something familiar...
As I lazily fumbled through the sun scorched grass fighting away the assortment of prickly plants, I could even feel the hairs on my neck becoming unbearably hot. That's Florida. Every blade of grass and every ray of sunshine had really begun to irk me. I hated this place. I hated the senior citizens, the humidity, the boredom, the isolation, the falic shape and anything else I could associate with this state. I was ready to go home, to get back to New York City. Well, it was Brooklyn really, but that's still a part of the city of New York. Anyway, I couldn't bear it anymore. Nothing good had come from this place. All it had done was lift me to the highest point and drop me like a rock. No, not like a pebble skipping across a river. I didn't get that sort of civil treatment. My fall was more like...well, like the last of a skydiver with a faulty 'chute. Yep, it hit hard and nothing could be salvaged. If my emotions were equivalent to the skydiver's remains, you'd surely have to identify me by my dental records. My clothes were sticking to my skin. I stopped for a moment and pulled a few sand spurs off my pants. If you're familiar you'll know that the effort was futile. With each step my pants were lowered into a pit of the pesky clingers. I didn't know why I bothered taking this route. I knew it'd be this way. I suppose I could apply the cliche "doing the same thing and expecting different results." But really, I expected nothing different. I was accustomed to this daily routine and I didn't know why I was compelled to drag myself through the torture each day. Oddly enough it was somewhat refreshing - the heat, the sweat, the plants' invasion and rapid conquer of my pants. At least I could always depend on it - something familiar...