It’s 8:34 PM on a Saturday, and I’m sitting on my 70 inch sofa that’s situated at the center of my tiny studio. This piece of furniture is nearly two-weeks-old and it’s already covered in cat hair; of which belong to my baby, Haley, who finally returned home last Tuesday after a week-long “adventure”, having been lost on the 4th of July.
I haven’t been writing much. What else can I say? Do I have nothing else to say? What ever happened to my need to express. It was the only thing going for me.
I haven’t done a lot this summer except work (as a Certified Trainer in a restaurant), go to the gym, gain some more weight, and hang out with two people who have become the first friends I’ve had since… the 7th grade. That was when I met my step… –
He’s dead to me!
Light brown tiles beneath me. Green walls around me. My studio is just about complete, except for a piece of molding that has to be installed, some second coating of paint in some spots, and missing furniture that are to hold many of the clutter that scatter around the room.
Cleaned my acoustic guitar just now. The metallic buzz that had turned me off from playing nowadays has diminished a bit, enough for me to return to practice melodies that are waiting for the right words to follow.
I need another job. I haven’t been proactive in my search, but my idleness won’t last forever. I’m just relaxing a bit. Maybe, I’m waiting for that recommendation letter to arrive in August. Maybe, I’m trying to build some more confidence. By writing stories to show off. By going to the gym. By finishing my studio, so that I can have something to come home to. Or maybe, I’m waiting for new horizons in my current job. There’s always interning in Ohio. Or Missouri. That, or I’m too attached to these people.
I’ve been reading the news a lot. The latest one had something to do with an 18-year-old man murdering an 11-year-old girl. I’ve been reading so much news that I’m starting to see the difference between a well-written report, with references and quotations, and a waste-of-time article that asks hypothetical questions, littered with “maybes” and “who knows”.
A doorbell rings upstairs. I think love is finally home. I was beginning to worry. It’s 8:53 PM.