I used to spend at least 2 or 3 days a week in the coffee shop just on the other side of the academy that pays my bills. I'd wake up several hours before the beginning of the shift and I'd take the opportunity to overdose on java beans and keep the world abreast of my travels. I was even getting back into actual writing; nothing spectacular, nothing even really complete, but it was something more than the narcissism and "look at me" ego stroking that every blog on the face of the planet has become at some point. Fiction was always where I preferred to dip my wick and it was beginning to feel a bit like home again. Then, it got cold.
|Leaving my apartment|
February is here and the world keeps teasing with the threat of spring, but then the sun goes down and I'm painfully reminded that short sleeves and a light jacket was a shitty idea when I walk home 4 hours after the light's gone out. This month used to offer a sense of excitement and anticipation for me. My birthday's on the 25th and it always felt like a beacon through the gloom. It was like the entire world was congratulating me for making it through the longest 'short' month in existence... and, to top it off, they brought bitchin' presents. Now I just get to look forward to being another year older. The presents come in the form of an errant gray hair or two, a few wrinkles and the realization that I will never again be as young as I am right now. Who needs a drink?
|Fuck you, Winter... Summer is Coming|