disynthetic

Morning rolls around. Mist is floating in my open window, dragging into my room the cloying scent of dampness and chill breeze. It's 8am and though I fell asleep merely five short, uninterrupted hours ago I'm not at all tired or wanting of more sleep. For some strange reason today is a day to walk straight outside and have a seat, kick my legs up and enjoy a cigarette while I still have a positive feeling about the day and what fate it is to bring my way.

It can't for certain be understood why more days aren't like this, and more days are definitely not like this, though I daresay too many would certainly spoil the pleasure of it all. Damp as if it had merely finished raining as I awakened and cool enough on the air to comfort me rather than to chill me, the normal three to four minutes spent enjoying a cigarette, stretch into an enjoyable length immeasurable by memory and it's deceptive nostalgia. Yes I will have to do this again sometime soon.

Isn't it beautiful/depressing the way our memory allows us to put a sepia-gleam/monochrome-palette to our memories whether they be long ago, in a dream last night or just this morning? For myself the whole process is what I day dream about, however is the dream or the process of dreaming my ultimate goal? I wish I knew. Do I wish to discover the things about myself noone could ever know or do I try to make myself a person noone will could ever know? There's alot for me to think about there. At least I'm confident in my understanding that the proper way to forge paths in your own destiny is to know when and what to ask. Not merely how to.

I let my interest in writing down my thoughts interrupt my lunch. Now it's cold in the microwave. Why do I care so much about saying what's on my mind? Because the act of pretending someone is listening is just as therapeutic as knowing someone is listening-- whether they are or not.

Despite the ever present self doubt, my friend tells me I'm too smart to be wallowing in my personal vicious cycle. I need to go somewhere (figuratively) and soon. I'm committing suicide one pin prick at a time right now and will eventually die. Like sands from the hourglass, these are the last vestiges of my potential. I don't like to speak much of my potential, seeing as how it's a touchy subject for me. I'm just not sure what steps I can take given the limitations of my current predicament. Oh well, all will fall together soon. Things happen for a reason. It is silly to believe because people think it's a cute witticism it couldn't be true. I digress.

Love is lacking in my life. I've all but cut myself off from that possibility. Emotionally and physically. By putting myself between a rock and a hard place, were I to actually connect with someone, we would not have as much of a relationship as either of us deserved. Granted that's no reason not too pursue someone, the other half of the problem is... someone. I can't describe what I look for without sounding pompous. Well I suppose that means I am. Regardless, a pretty face protecting a functional brain is not nearly enough. A partner is supposed to challenge you, support you, placate you yet not allow you to fester. They are supposed to be more than simply the person you decide to pair-up with as if life were a game of red-rover or tetherball.

Emotionally? Somehow I've grown acustomed to dissapointment and solitude. People say that, but I believe I'm perfectly fine without someone in my life. At least currently I am alright with it-- who's to say I won't slowly deconstruct into a hateful, bourbon-breathing, chain-smoking hermit that writes great fiction and has to rely on prostitutes for some reminders of intimate human touch? I haven't forgotten, can't forget. It has nothing to do with shying away. It's closer to a disinterest in meaningless forays with love. Seeing as how dangerous love can be if you're not all in, I tend to stand behind myself on that decision. I won't pursue something of equal or lesser value to my past.

Odds are not in my favor, which is good, considering "odds" are merely a word who's English-language definition is meant to describe the quantum randomness in a preordained way, when in all actuality, nothing quantum is consistently predictable much less preordained. So, in less than ten syllables: Good luck Cale. I wouldn't want odds to be in my favor given the circumstances. Maybe I'll have greater likelihood of meeting a great lover who stimulates my mind AND my meatpipe.

I'd say more, because believe me I could, but for now I have another arrangement to deal with. Back in the real world.

If anyone stumbles across this and would like to add a thought, please do so. It would be an excuse for me to contact you via an instant messaging program and have a chat or two.