it was like castaway without the volleyball
They say life imitates art. I wonder how that holds up when your life is art?
Pretty good, I'm guessing.
Take, for example, Craphole Island. I left one island to go find myself, and here I find myself doing the exact same thing. Just, you know, metaphorically. Back home, I could actually find myself being the Multiple Man that I was. I could find myself being a teacher or a detective or a Buddhist monk. Here, I can find myself being sorry. Guilty. Brooding with a touch of angst.
God, Rictor was right. I really did lose my sense of humour when I went all noir.
I remember why I laugh now. It's less depressing that way. Put a smile on the violence and survive with it. I killed people, I get that. I understand that. I'm...okay with that. No, okay's not the right word. I'm...accepting of what I did. And that's what I'm okay with. The acceptance of the inevitable.
(...Mr. Anderson. So what if I like the Matrix movies? I'm allowed to have layers.)
When Jamie arrived back in the Compound, he was slightly smelly and a little more than dirty. In other words, he looked entirely unkept. Wild, even. Of course, that's what living in the wilderness of Craphole Island for nearly a week can do to a guy.
Despite this, however, he walked with a certain lightness in his step. Like a man who'd had the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. He dropped his dufflebag on his bed in the basement dorm, pleased to see that his bed hadn't been taken over by anyone in his absence. He'd left a note before he took off, just to say that no, he hadn't disappeared off the Island, but one could never be certain about those things.
He peeled off his damp, dirty clothes and grabbed a towel before heading to the showers. Because despite what it looks like on Lost? Washing in a river doesn't really leave you looking like you just stepped off a photoshoot. He took a bit longer than he usually did, due to discovering sand in places he never knew he had, but he was still done soon enough. Feeling like a human being again, he dried himself off and padded his way back to the dorm.
Once there, he dressed his usual outfit of black t-shirt, jeans, and yellow flip flops, before sprawling out on his bed, his dog-eared copy of One for the Money in hand.
All in all, he was feeling pretty good.
And that's a pretty good thing.
Jamie's back and 99% angst free! He's chilling out in the basement dorm, open to anyone.
Pretty good, I'm guessing.
Take, for example, Craphole Island. I left one island to go find myself, and here I find myself doing the exact same thing. Just, you know, metaphorically. Back home, I could actually find myself being the Multiple Man that I was. I could find myself being a teacher or a detective or a Buddhist monk. Here, I can find myself being sorry. Guilty. Brooding with a touch of angst.
God, Rictor was right. I really did lose my sense of humour when I went all noir.
I remember why I laugh now. It's less depressing that way. Put a smile on the violence and survive with it. I killed people, I get that. I understand that. I'm...okay with that. No, okay's not the right word. I'm...accepting of what I did. And that's what I'm okay with. The acceptance of the inevitable.
(...Mr. Anderson. So what if I like the Matrix movies? I'm allowed to have layers.)
When Jamie arrived back in the Compound, he was slightly smelly and a little more than dirty. In other words, he looked entirely unkept. Wild, even. Of course, that's what living in the wilderness of Craphole Island for nearly a week can do to a guy.
Despite this, however, he walked with a certain lightness in his step. Like a man who'd had the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. He dropped his dufflebag on his bed in the basement dorm, pleased to see that his bed hadn't been taken over by anyone in his absence. He'd left a note before he took off, just to say that no, he hadn't disappeared off the Island, but one could never be certain about those things.
He peeled off his damp, dirty clothes and grabbed a towel before heading to the showers. Because despite what it looks like on Lost? Washing in a river doesn't really leave you looking like you just stepped off a photoshoot. He took a bit longer than he usually did, due to discovering sand in places he never knew he had, but he was still done soon enough. Feeling like a human being again, he dried himself off and padded his way back to the dorm.
Once there, he dressed his usual outfit of black t-shirt, jeans, and yellow flip flops, before sprawling out on his bed, his dog-eared copy of One for the Money in hand.
All in all, he was feeling pretty good.
And that's a pretty good thing.
Jamie's back and 99% angst free! He's chilling out in the basement dorm, open to anyone.