I'm going through my list of drafts that I've saved and not published. Some of them are kind of good and it's a pity I never got around to finishing them. I guess that's the price to pay in this busy life nowdays. Anyway, here's one I wrote back in 2010 sometime.
It's hot. It's humid. My room is a mess. I have no place to put everything. I need to get a reliable car soon, but that's looking like an impossibility. Did I mention it's humid? I feel like a mist of soda pop has been sprayed on me and dried. I stick to everything. The clutter in my room is driving me mad. There is so much I want to get rid of--need to get rid of. I want to get a camera so I can take pictures of stuff and put it on eBay and Craigslist, but I am preparing to go on a trip and have drained my checking account on equipment.
I need to get away. Thank the Lord I'm leaving in two days. For the first 13 years of my life I lived in the country. It was home. But we moved to the city 7 years ago. As of late I am realizing more and more that I was never meant to live in the city. The constant and unrelenting hustle and bustle is hard on this simple guy. I can look in all directions and see people, and houses, and cars. Even on the quietest of mornings I can hear the road noise--cars, buses, trucks, sirens. Some days I'm not sure I can take it any more. But I'll get through it. I'll survive.
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