So I'm at home reading the first chapter of the third book I've picked
up since yesterday and drinking yerba mate and eating the fattest pbj
since we started making them on our own.
Intermittently, I am reading strangers' blogs and wondering how, no
matter what you end up doing, life can be poetic.
I want to be an ambulance driver in the war.
There is a lot of behind the scenes work that is unsexy and like
trying to swim in jello. This could practically be an office job.
Incidentally, I do not have an office. I'm trying not to do anything
wrong, but sometimes this doesn't feel like it should. I think. I
don't know.
I'm trying to work on opening a million opportunities for these guys.
I'm surprised at just how much opportunity there is. Do you know what
I mean? I wish I knew this when I was eighteen or eleven. I was so
certain that I was going to die at age 22 of old age or something. And
I think these guys think so too. They might think they've actually
already died, like in The Great Divorce, and all you have left to do
is drink your way through purgatory. I'll explain what I mean to
whoever thinks that's inappropriate. Imagine having all your family
and friends around you for your entire life, and your ex living next
door. What's going to change?
I showered and put on a baggy polo shirt, jeans, a belt, I even shoved
my wallet in my pocket, hours ago. Then I caved to indecision. I'm
eating carrot sticks out of a ziploc, I pulled my nalgene put of my
backpack. I opened the doors. The wind stopped blowing this morning,
so I don't feel that hurried tension. On the other hand, my host
family left the house for the first time this week, now that it's safe
to go outside. It's my first day at home for a while. Fifty homes were
left without a roof in a nearby neighborhood this week.
There's a lot going on here. It's beautiful and hectic. Come check it
out when you want to.
I hope your week has been a powerful blast!
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