~ I’m not exactly sure what was going on at this time in my life but it seems quite humorous to me now, 5 years later. Enjoy.
Trying to envision what my environment is to be like when I write does everything but intrigue my capabilities and merely terrorizes my soul. I would say it’s been about 2 years since anything decent has come worth from my innermost being. Mostly proverbial topics which I have already covered to the full extent, and therefore do nothing to help my ailments, only drive them deeper into a neurotic state.
Recently torn between my own afflictions, I feel compelled to sit here, for what may turn out to be hours, before leaving again to find an answer for my trivial dilemma. As I am coming upon my twenty first year, I feel depressed that I have not ventured further out into this world, but yet remained in this bubble I call home. Though excited with the possible opportunity to cross the state line and see what other things life may have to offer, I am frightened to begin something new, which may, in turn, end something old.
These damn cats crawl upon when I am in tune with you. Never will they come to me when I have nothing to do. Only when I am engrossed in my own activities do they feel the need for comfort. This is comparatively close to the actions of most men. They only have time for you when you must be off to work, but when they day is dull and even the sun is hanging his head in utter boredom, they’re as busy as a bee with no time to spare.
This is usually when I stop writing, for the topic which I started on has now nothing to do with what I have ended up with, much like my daily conversations. Most get a kick out of my sporadic mind which trips backwards to remember half a conversation from the earlier part of the day, and I just can’t hold my tongue. Out slides the question, or the answer in which I just figured out. What’s so wrong with a little variety anyway? Not that I am a lose canon or anything of that nature. Generally I ask myself a question at least fifty times before gurgling up the nerve to ask the person in which lies the answer. I can remember times, somewhere in elementary years, when my question never even arose because the more I probed it in my head, the more frightened I became of it. There are probably many things I never received due to my fear of voice.
Quite the opposite now. My tongue is generally free now when I have an opinion to cast, or a statement to criticize. Not that I am a lose canon, for I already told you I was not. More like a little pistol that is half cocked because the safety won’t fully release, them Bam! See, you had warning. You could have left before the trigger was fully engaged, but you hung around for it, so here it comes. Oh well! I could be worse. At least I know most of what I am talking about. Most people that pop off the first thought in their head have not even the first clue of what they are speaking about.