“While everybody’s hiding under covers,
"While everybody's hiding under covers, who's making Lover's Lane safe again for lovers?" - Elvis (Costello, not Presley)
It has come to my attention that the early morning doesn't like me very much... well, I don't like that bastard either. I'm dizzy on RealLife™ and want to float away. I heard from an old friend this morning. He is changing jobs (again) and moving from Detroit to some little town in Ohio that I've never heard of... with his new, live-in girlfriend. I was listening to him describe the job, the move, the her, the hours, the pay, the house, etc. I guess I didn't even notice when exactly I started hitting my head on my desk until the blood was running off onto my khaki slacks and making little patterns that looked like Looney Tune characters in a porno. Ok, so I wasn't bleeding... but that would have perked up my morning a little bit. I have always been the guy scalping tickets on the road less travelled. That guy that tried to convince my friends that the real salmon don't die after struggling upstream, the are all swing dancing and laughing through martini goggles. I remember my graduation from NNPS in Orlando... while my friends were celebrating over a pitcher of horse piss at a local sports bar and spilling peanut skins on their laps, I was collecting fossils at 243 feet below the surface in a subterranean cave system in the Florida aquifer on the deepest SCUBA dive I have ever attempted. I remember passing up a pay-per-view boxing match with the lemmings to have Killington peak all to myself when the wind chill was 75 below with on-contact frost bite at the top of the lift. I remember spending my summers and autumns on belay in New Paltz... stopping on the third pitch of a climb to photograph the ocean of colors as the forest below changed through the seasons. I remember Australian style repelling shear faces and hiking the Adirondacks for days without civilization. I remember learning to fly and how good it felt. These are the things I was thinking about while my friend's domestic suburbia was painted on our conversational canvas. Life is meant to be lived. I sit here not judging him for his definition of that, but more judging myself... moments like this clarify why I always feel like I'm searching for something. While not unhappy, I feel like there is something is my life that is missing... something that I need, but I can't quantify it into verbal description or imagery. What is it? I'll probably spend my life looking for it... and clearly the irony lies in it's mystery... if I find it, I may never know I had.
It has come to my attention that the early morning doesn't like me very much... well, I don't like that bastard either. I'm dizzy on RealLife™ and want to float away. I heard from an old friend this morning. He is changing jobs (again) and moving from Detroit to some little town in Ohio that I've never heard of... with his new, live-in girlfriend. I was listening to him describe the job, the move, the her, the hours, the pay, the house, etc. I guess I didn't even notice when exactly I started hitting my head on my desk until the blood was running off onto my khaki slacks and making little patterns that looked like Looney Tune characters in a porno. Ok, so I wasn't bleeding... but that would have perked up my morning a little bit. I have always been the guy scalping tickets on the road less travelled. That guy that tried to convince my friends that the real salmon don't die after struggling upstream, the are all swing dancing and laughing through martini goggles. I remember my graduation from NNPS in Orlando... while my friends were celebrating over a pitcher of horse piss at a local sports bar and spilling peanut skins on their laps, I was collecting fossils at 243 feet below the surface in a subterranean cave system in the Florida aquifer on the deepest SCUBA dive I have ever attempted. I remember passing up a pay-per-view boxing match with the lemmings to have Killington peak all to myself when the wind chill was 75 below with on-contact frost bite at the top of the lift. I remember spending my summers and autumns on belay in New Paltz... stopping on the third pitch of a climb to photograph the ocean of colors as the forest below changed through the seasons. I remember Australian style repelling shear faces and hiking the Adirondacks for days without civilization. I remember learning to fly and how good it felt. These are the things I was thinking about while my friend's domestic suburbia was painted on our conversational canvas. Life is meant to be lived. I sit here not judging him for his definition of that, but more judging myself... moments like this clarify why I always feel like I'm searching for something. While not unhappy, I feel like there is something is my life that is missing... something that I need, but I can't quantify it into verbal description or imagery. What is it? I'll probably spend my life looking for it... and clearly the irony lies in it's mystery... if I find it, I may never know I had.
you need a holiday, mate… :-)
lisa = genius
:-)
...i feel a MTB expedition coming on…
o, please, lord, let it happen soon. yeti in the garage and screamin’ to be taken out.
Holiday - definately!! Yes, or you could look into working visas and take off for a couple of years. Amazing how that “void” goes away, but you also look forward to having some sort of home and routine again. You also meet wonderful people along the way.....
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