Write something

I need to write. I am not sure exactly what I want to write about. My life? I'm 37. Same number of dicks that Dante's girlfriend sucked. Same age as Dennis in Monty Python and The Holy Grail. It's September. Another summer has come and almost gone. September more than January feels like a new year beginning. All those years of school set that pattern.

Sometimes I make little vows to myself to change something. A long time ago I made a decision to move to California by September 13, 2002 a year after 9/11. It began a strange journey that I feel I am still on but have lingered too long in a comfortable but not exactly happy place.

I have been through many jobs that aren't exactly what I want to do. Jobs that don't incorporate the best parts of me. My intellect, my imagination, my creative drive which I still feel but it's locked away in a vault.

I don't know how to unlock it. Except to write and draw. Will it go anywhere? I don't know. There is nothing wrong with saying that. But at some point I have to know that this is not where I ever thought I'd be.

Living with my parents in my childhood cave like Bilbo in his Hobbit hole. Many years after adventures that yeilds much treasure and the meeting of magical friends.

My friends magic or otherwise are scattered around. Some on the west coast. Some on the east. Some so close but I can never see or talk to for reasons I don't understand.

Who am I? It is a futile question at this point. No answer really captures who I am.

As I sit on my deck. In the cold. Yes it is now getting cold. The hard wood of the deck is uncomfortable. I just smoked a cigarette. I smell the char. The burnt paper and plastic. The sweet spicy tobacco. The suffocating carbon monoxide poison.

Why am I doing this? Why am I slowly killing myself. I know my life can be better, brighter, healthier. But I still remain trapped in this flabby exhausted prison. My teeth are rotting. I hardly brush. I eat too much fast food and whatever I can get my hands on. I have money but never seem to keep enough to do anything of value.

Where do I go from here?

I just touched a slug. Ugh.