This is my gay little morning-pages exercise. You can write about anything as long as you write something. So I am writing that this is stupid and that I am sitting in my living room like a jackass. Yay. Woo hoo, I am a writer now since I am writing “anything no matter what it is” on my morning pages, even though I haven’t written a thing in what seems like forever. Yay, everything is working just like it’s supposed to. Ass ass ass ass ass ass ass ass. Japanese. Balled-up clouds! Whatever. Nothing is going to happen just because I wake up early and there is more love and beauty in this world than we could ever imagine. I was at Home Depot once. I must have been, like, I don’t know, nine or ten, and I found this wad of twenties. It was over two-hundred dollars of cash. Obviously that’s not a lot of money, but at age nine? Ten even? I mean, Christ, I was rich! At the time, that was more money than I could have ever imagined to be in a single place. Even if someone had told me they experienced the exact same thing before I had, I wouldn’t have believed them. Anyways, isn’t that how it must be with love and beauty, too? Seriously, don’t you think so? You know, like, there’s so much in this world that we’re all bound to find an abundance of it sooner or later. And not just an abundance, but an amount even greater than we ever conceived possible.
There are moments when I don’t even want to look at this site; moments where, for any number of reasons, I can’t concentrate and have writer’s block so intense that it could probably constipate Jabba the Hut (apologies for the visual there). These moments are usually followed by a Shangri-La, sea-like pool of ambitious ideas. This goes for other aspects of life as well. Such as experienced by any human, I’ve lived through times so overwhelmingly, intensely negative that I’ve promised to return happiness tomorrow if just having been graced by it today.
As mentioned with my first post, Between the Lines, I’ve always found that life is most entertaining amidst chaos and, because my life has become so unbelievably, almost confusingly random, my subconscious has learned to shrug off any objective analysis. Now, whether it’s a few beers shared with someone I may meet at a bar or a chance, two-hour long conversation with someone who’s missed the same Metra train that I have, gradually, slowly, this life has taken me in. Beautiful moments on top of heartbreaking ones, no matter how frustrating this pattern of extremes might be, my sense of self is stretched and molded to become part of something much larger. Life is moving in slow-motion now. I’m able to retain every little detail. I used to spend a considerate amount of time wishing that timing were better with certain situations. This was a result of my, habitually, becoming increasingly alert and aware of my surroundings just as they’d begin to fall apart.
There was always this little part of me that loved the way things happened, how they worked out like that. This little part of me that whispered that maybe it’s when things fall apart that’s really the best time to actually show up and start living. Thankfully, now I won’t have to wait for something to happen for me to feel alive. And, hopefully, neither will you.
Ladies and Gentleman, welcome to optimism.
