I reach for my box of Marlboro Gold 100s to find them empty, so I prepare myself for the one hour trek to a gas station to pick up some more. My MP3 player is dead meaning I’ll have to rely on my thoughts and the environment for a soundtrack, which can get pretty nasty at times. I throw on my Venom hoody which is still damp from when I washed it earlier and walk out the door. My busted sneakers lead me past the cookie cutter homes which make up the neighborhood, past the pond and near the wooded area which will soon be replaced with the overwhelming blandness of small town America.
This is when my thought process kicks in.
I tend to live my life somewhat as a vagabond. Just a month ago I made the third cross country relocation in the span of only a year. The story for the first and second can be found here, with the third taking place here. I actually do this pretty regularly. I’ve never mastered the art of making a relationship, either romantic or platonic, last more than six months and it makes it much easier to sever all ties and abandon ship. The only problem is that the social and economic consequences get heftier each time.
As a matter of fact, the only things I was able to bring with me during this move was a duffel bag full of clothes and toiletries, my netbook, Kindle, MP3 player and the flashdrive and journal which make up I’ve no reason to dream… I end up having to do a lot of laundry because I only brought enough clothes to last me about a week. Money is dangerously low.
As I’m walking and letting my mind wander I get sporadic text messages from her and they intensify the lonely feeling which has lingered with me over the last several days. My brain keeps trying to ask questions I don’t want to find the answers for so I do my best to ignore it.
I don’t have a car so the only jobs I’ve been able to apply for are the various retail outlets within walking distance from the house. I’m almost 27 years old and I really thought I was beyond doing this kind of stuff by now. I’m not saying I’m too good for this kind of employment; I just want more for myself. It’s difficult once you find where your heart is and the thing you are most passionate about; only to discover it’s damn near impossible to make a living off of. I’d self published My time in Hell… as an e-book almost three months ago and so far have sold a whopping 7 copies. Don’t get me wrong I’m thankful for each and every one of them and I wasn’t expecting to make thousands of dollars, but I don’t know…it’s a little disheartening.
Back at the house I sit outside and smoke a cigarette as I let all the thoughts I’ve shaken up settle back down and fall into place. I haven’t been writing much as of late and find it a difficult muscle to stretch once it’s started to atrophy, so I’ll leave you with this…
I have to believe everything that’s been happening is leading me somewhere and just need to be patient until I finally arrive.
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