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dandelions subside from lifting fog

It’s often times that I am left ponderous on my stoop.  Often times, I hear my inner thoughts questioning many things- from the most trivial to the most philosophical.  But as far as obtaining these answers, I can’t be as blunt or prude as I wish I could be with you.  I rarely obtain the answers I’m looking for, and I suppose most never find what it is that defines their journey- the missing link, the purpose, the way, they right option, frankly put, the answer- but that’s what makes life worth living.  I’ve been reflecting lately…keeping silent, not speaking to those who have no impact on me or my life, but yes, I’ve been reflecting, I’ve been trying to feel around for some little gem of hope, some little sign that says, Answers are on their way, it’s almost as if I am abandoning my pragmatist roots.  Why would I do that? My pragmatism is the driving force behind most of my decisions in life.  It’s almost a sense of who I am.  A small piece to the entire pie, yes, but also, a piece of who I am nonetheless.  I find myself, wandering back to reality, and I see the people who surround me.  The very folks that encompass the majority of my daily life, and the truth of the matter when regarding these people is that I have absolutely nothing in common with any of them, and I’m more than thankful for that.  Relationships expire at some point for everyone, and I’ve always seen High School relationships- be them romantic, friendships, acquaintances, or enemies as easily disposable as the trash that lines the can in my kitchen.  I’ve never been interested in maintaining any of them, with any of these people.  These people… I say it almost disgracefully, but I don’t mean to.  I’m not trying to play the self-pity card here, but it’s just all dawned on me.  The very fact that relationships of all types have an expiration date at some point.  And I know most would be afraid to come to terms with this- but I am not, in some ways, I’m relieved.  There are a few of course, that I would not want my relationships to expire, but through pragmatic roots, I see how easily they could expire- thus I will try and prevent them from doing so.  (A, Mere, Annie, and fam) Everyone else is so fickle.  Not to mention, I have many family members who are fickle, and I think , without sounding redundant, I can rightfully say, that my relationships with the fickle members are nowhere as close to as strong as those that I have with, for example, my mother, my aunts Patty, Mary, or Kate, or my Grandfather Buddy.  I guess to the average person that I haven’t relayed my life story to, might be confused about why I never discuss my father’s family.  That in itself is such a complicated story, and it’s not one to write about, but in short, dysfunctionalism and death runs on that side.  My father passed away back in June 09, and as far as his family goes- I see myself slowly losing touch with them.  I don’t know what to make of it, and I don’t know whether or not I’m upset.  They’ve always been nomadic and translucent- more like apparitions then real people.  That I don’t care about.  I never have, but I think, over time, it’ll get to me, and gnaw at who I am, and I’ll have to make a decision at that point.

But that’s in the future, and right now, the future, no matter how appealing, is something I don’t have a desire to discuss.  Lately, the only thing I’ve been connecting to is Bob Dylan… through Highway 61 Revisited and Planet Waves I feel like my life is successfully depicted.  I’m currently day dreaming- I’m in a tavern-like brunch joint, where the air is thick and musky, the lights are dimmed, and the sunshine is creeping through the cracks of the thatched roof, there’s a folk singer covering Bob Dylan’s Everybody Must Get Stoned, and there is a comfortable, yet intellectual looking crowd enjoying thick cut white toast with jam, sides of smoked bacon imported from Canada, with fresh squeezed Orange juice in glass pitchers, and the smell of roasting coffee beans are overwhelming.  The breeze of the summer wind fills the interior of this haven, warms and cools our souls to the perfect temperature, linen sundresses clad the women, who all have either sun-hats or Wayfarer eye protection, the men, in madras shorts, with ironic tees and straw fedoras, it’s a utopia of sorts- the crowd of men and women, are all enthusiastic to hear this cover, conversations regarding the food as well as regarding the plot of the song arise, and laughter spreads like a yawn spreads at night.  It’s almost starting to resemble a Western Tavern…which is borderline terrfiying, because who knows, a cowboy might walk in at any point.  I presume, that’s where I wish I were right about now….tis why I’m day dreaming about it afterall yeah? It’s lunch and I’m headed to Arabica for cocoa. Then History then home or work, i don’t know yet!

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