This is an actual picture of me from this morning. I'm not
kidding. Well, okay - it's not actually me but I felt like that
guy. Today started with an early rise (after a very short sleep
and watching Back To The Future III while being wide awake
at 4 am) and the driving of a friend to work. He works out by
Albion and Hunt Club. It took me about 25 minutes to get there
and I dropped him off at about 7:52 am. I arrived back at my
house at 9:45. A drive that took 25 minutes one way took 2
hours the other way.
What the hell is going on with this city and these...people?
THEY'RE EVERYWHERE!
After arriving home and having coffee with Sarah, I walked
to work. After getting to work, I basically toppled inside
into warmer, temperature-controlled air. Somehow, there
was more snow on the inside of my hood and on the inside of
my glasses than there was on the whole exterior of my
body. It's as if the heaven-rejected sleet was being
concentrated into a small tornado, encompassing my entire
facial region.
It was great to have Dan and my bro over last night and
to swill a few brews.
On the way to work, I had this sort-of short story narrative
going on inside my head. It was from the perspective of
a man talking to a woman (presumably his wife) after
they had just moved to South Dakota. The narrative
consisted of the man communicating with his wife in
the form of a letter from another part of the world.
The wife had become clinically depressed after moving
and had done little more with herself than sit under
a blanket on a couch while consuming pills. She mostly
just read Farley Mowat books or watched game shows.
The man felt confused about his wife and wanted
everything to be okay and was trying hard to
understand her. By the middle of the letter, though, his
frustration comes out and he is berating her and
blaming her for her own condition. The reader learns
that the wife has done many attention-seeking things
and has tried to leave the man a few times, however
unsuccessfully. At the very end of the letter, though,
the man reveals that he is on his way home and is
pleading for her to give their love another shot as
he writes:
'I know I haven't been around. I am a shell of a man.
I live in shadows and hotel rooms. I want to be better.
I know that you are the way you are mostly because
of me. I need to work on accepting you and not wanting
you to change. No matter what drugs you consume, you
are still you. The you I chose to be with. The you
who chose to be with me. I'm coming home to you
now. I will never leave you again.'
I don't know what the narrative signifies but it just
came upon me. I felt I needed to share it.
