I now wake up at dawn, of my own accord.
We put $10 of oil into a pot, so it’s been a week of fried food. Fried chicken for breakfast led to way too many fries, jalapeño poppers, corn dogs, and fried chicken cutlet sammies before we were done with it.
Thanks for listening, universe. Happy New Year to you, too.
Actually, I kind of can’t wait.
I’ve been back in my tiny New England town of adolescence for a few months now, and there is nothing, yet everything, to talk about. At least I remember why I hated small towns like these. Happy as I am, I already yearn to move on. A lot of this bullshit is… Bullshit.
I just want to go back to where I’m nobody and things are uncomplicated. I have too many secrets. West coast warmth would also be welcome.
Books and movies and other such entertainment comfort us because we have security of outcome. Things get twisty and turny in ways that would never happen in real life, but things work out anyway.
But Chekov’s gun doesn’t apply to real life. Balls get dropped, projects remain unfinished. That’s a bit frightening, actually. I’m the one who offers words of comfort along the lines of, ‘things have a way of working out. Everything is totally manageable.’ It’s mostly true. But then, there’s a difference between things just working out (you don’t die, you don’t go homeless, you don’t starve) and things working out well.
This is the part where it takes volition and perseverance. This is where you tell yourself that this is the only way things can go, that anything else is just not an option.
But then, writing software is different from finishing a college paper. Words on a page I can do; anybody can do. Talking to a computer to make it listen properly, that’s something different. Here I’m betrayed by my inexperience. What goes here? Pressure? Relaxation and trust? How do I figure out what to read to help my brain make the connections it’s missing right now? Is going to tumblr to process thoughts like this useful, or another mode of procrastination?
