Space...

Thank you for giving me a bit of your time today. I realize that it's precious. I just wanted to blab on for a bit before bed. This is my little moment tucked away especially for myself before the dreams and nightmares start and before the birds outside get up. Before things to do and before Saturday sits on my head or either caresses me like a mother does a baby. Twenty-four hours ago I was asleep. Three hours later I would be driving through the fog on a dark street, following a line of red brake lights. They were going to their jobs and I was going to my new part time job. Aerospace parts for NASA, Boeing, The Air Force. Blargh. Yeah. They need a writer. Hmmm. I was puffing way at a rare early morning cigarette. I usually don't smoke during the day. The window was down. I was cold but it was pleasant in a punishingly vibrant way. Howard Stern was on, and so was my mind. Where the hell was I? Was I going to get lost again? What if I get in an accident? What am I doing? Why do I want another job? Why don't I have one, good one? 6-9:30 pm. Lost in an office. Working. Not comfortable being in the position of not-yet-comfortable. Learning new stuff on the computer or having to relearn stuff that I've done only once on the computer. I drive home tired. Get to rest with my girlfriend a half hour before I have to get up to iron a different shirt for the other job. I stood next to a senator as he was talking to Arnold Schwarzenegger. I didn't even know until afterwards. I would've loved to say something - but, like I could've.

I run around like crazy, and have small slices of conversations with people. A tiny amount that I actually like and care about and the others that I talk to on fake robot mode. The people that we've al been forced to serve or interact with that scare me. They scare me because I realize that we spend a major portion of our lives being not ourselves. That we craft answers based on or according to another's conversations, questions or responses. That even if our mind is elsewhere - thinking of the important stray thoughts - that we're nodding heads, and pretending to laughs because, either - we might not want to be rude or hurt the other person's feelings, or that we're in an environment in which our welfare depends on the illusions of communication even though the other person knows nothing really about you and that you wouldn't really be able to talk to them about any of the things that you find important.

After all of this, I go back home. In my car with the broken window I think about one of the girls that works at the comic book store and how when I walked in yesterday - she looked like she was either sick or crying. She was sad. A friend with health problems. Other friends were experiencing bad luck also. I talked to her about. It was a nice, meaningful, and pleasant moment. Both came out of it...not with their heads higher, but maybe just a little bit better. Don't know. But right about when she rang up one of the comics and then we talked about it and how she bought it too and about how one couldn't go wrong with a little Alan Moore writing about Cthulhu stuff. I thought that wouldn't it be cool to be friends with her? I mean, I'm not attracted to her or anything. Don't get me wrong. I have a girlfriend that I love and who's asleep on the couch behind me thinking happy bunny thoughts, college nightmares, and about taking road trips with me. But the comic book girl would be really cool to have around. She's not even a scary comic book girl. She doesn't weigh three hundred pounds and have a pink mohawk. Just a bunch of tattoos and a high tolerance for really nerdy, heavy-breathing, bad-hygiene, balding bastards. It was nice to think that there are sometimes, still interesting people around. I think that you just have to search for them a little bit more than we used to. Back in the day, I know, they used to fall from the sky. A long time ago.

I have to go back at 4:30. Two new young guys are waiting for me to train them. First thing I said was that I didn’t know that they were new employees, that I thought that they were a bunch of Mormons. This is what happens when you meet me folks. All of that type of shit just comes vomiting out of my mouth. But I don't care, I'm not rude - just really bad sitcom-ish. All of the things and all of the wasted time. All of the things that I could've been doing. Walking back and forth to pass the time. Not invigorated. Not excited. Being polite. Blah Blah. Not real stuff. No discussions about nature, space, dolphins, books. No random thought conversations. Just a bunch of waiting-for-the-clock type of drivel.

Time to go to the store, and then home. Have a nice time with the Israeli student that works at the corner store from my work. Drive home. Remembering this morning’s fog. Will the world allow me to continue on? To shoot questions at crumbling skeet from passing ships? The day was filled, even when hectic, even when frenzied - with ?'s and !'s. With love and hate. With helplessness and ferocity. I had a good shower. I played with a kitty. I talked to friends about what I missed out on in my day. What they did. What I did. What I did that they didn't do. The money and the hours accumulated are always an afterthought with me. It's never an issue or a necessity until I need it or it's needed of me. I read. I watched a movie sluggishly. A movie that nobody liked eventually started to get some focus when I realized that this was a thoughtful movie. No wonder nobody got it. I still didn't know what I was getting. It just made me think. Every once in a while, we find these by accident. Sometimes, they're no masterpieces - but define a masterpiece, Jackson Pollack? What makes sense to you, Mr. Hawking? What's funny, Mr. Izzard? I don't know. I just know what I feel. Sometimes, that don't even cut the cheese, Hoss.

And now, about in an hour, twenty-four hours ago. My alarm would start to go off. And I'd be thinking about the day ahead of me...and how I wished that I could just get more sleep, stay home, and try to write things like this...

I hope this makes sense tomorrow.