Expelled from slumber into the waking world...

An ominous feeling woke me out of my sleep @ 5am this morning.  Nothing life threatening or anything, but I’d rather not get into it one way or the other.  Rather than trying to fight my way back into dreamland, I decided to go ahead and get ready for the morning grind.  Naturally, I got out of the house in good time, but for some reason it took me more than twice as long to commute to the subway…traffic.  Traffic to the beltway, traffic getting off.  More traffic on the subway, as trains were on the platform ahead of us, or whatever.  My day is plodding along at a snail’s pace.  I was ready to go home the minute I got through the door this morning.  Just one of those days you’d rather be at home, you know?

 

On another note, I think I’ve grown quite a bit in the way I choose to handle social interaction.  I recently made a quiet decision to greatly scale back my crass sense of humor…mainly because I’m grown now, I guess.  I mean, it might have been boyishly cute, maybe even charming when I was ten years younger, but probably not to many.  Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t utilize that aspect of my sense of humor at every waking moment, but it did occur to me recently that there are people I’ve known for years who really think that’s pretty much all I am.  People I’ve known for over a decade, and they’ve never had an in-depth conversation about anything of any significance…and that bothered me,

 

I have made an effort to be more open to people, to not close myself off every time I feel un(der)appreciated or betrayed.  It has been an uneasy process, but I feel better for it.  I do find it funny that when I’m being direct, though (which I haven’t really had a problem with), that I can still be accused of trying to be slick with my words.  Eh, can’t please everybody, though.  My largest goal at this point, other than to offset this constant state of brokenness, is to get back to me on a creative level.  I feel disjointed in that regard.  It feels weird when people ask if I’ve written anything new, and I can’t really account for the last couple of years.  I mean, I’ve done some writing here and there, but much of it has nothing to do with poetry.

 

I have been writing a short story or novel…or whatever, though.  Hopefully I’ll stick with it…longer stories and I usually don’t mix.  I lose focus, and eventually, somebody comes out with a story like mine, but not nearly as cool…kinda like when Mario Van Peeples did “Soldier”.  Yeah, I had a much better concept in high school that I never finished up.  Underworld & Constantine, I have something better, but never frickin’ write enough to lock myself in…to make myself feel committed to finishing.  Poetry is like a quick fling, a novel is like a long term commitment…but seeing as though I’m actually confident I can do the long term commitment thing on a relationship level now, maybe that won’t be so…wow, can’t think of a good adjective.  It’s not intimidating, just sobering I guess. Working on it, though…