This is really strange. I find myself back home from work all alone. No one contacted me. I didn’t contact anyone. I’m just here sitting in my living room typing this out. I don’t know what to type about, but I know I should write about something. What will that something be?
Back in high school—I think when I was a junior—our English teach made us journal for the first ten minutes of class. It didn’t matter what we wrote about, we were just told to write out a stream of thought for as fast as we can. We counted the words when we were done. We didn’t have to make any sense. I remember that was when my handwriting started to fail me. There was this other kid in class that tried to beat me in the number of words written. Most days I would win, but there would be a few days here and there I would lose. So that said, I’m going to type out a stream of thought for the next ten minutes.
This is the first afternoon in awhile—maybe like three months awhile—where I can finally claim some me time. It’s been a pretty high pace three months between finding and moving into a new place and with my girlfriend coming back from Spain1. I don’t believe there was a single weekend where I could just relax and do nothing. I don’t even think there has been a single week day where I could relax and do mostly nothing. It’s been occupied all the time with going out, working out, or getting work done. It’s fine to be busy most of the time, I guess. But I know burn out is coming (if it hasn’t already).
So it’s a good thing that I get to relax right now at this very point in time, right? Well, I guess so. If it was a Monday or a Wednesday that would be fine. But it’s a Friday night! I should be out doing things with people, right? Where is everyone? What’s everyone doing? Where’s everyone?!
Oh wait, one of my roommates just came back. I think I just lost three minutes of writing. It’s okay. He was showing me all this carbon fiber accessories that he had to get for his bike. I think my moment of taking a breath is coming to an end. We’re heading out to help one of our friends. She’s moving from Irvine to…. I forget where. (It’s probably best I don’t mention where anyway.) If all goes well, we’ll head over to Clearman’s North Woods for steak. (It’s been years since I had that.)
Times up, maybe my next entry will be more meaningful. Who knows. (I really should just start writing… writing about anything, again.)
- “My girlfriend”—I’ll never get used to saying that [↩]