October 18, 2003
Coming in Threes
I love the bed of my truck littered with leaves. To think that a year ago I could not enjoy this simple Autumnal pleasure.
As soon as I hit Ronald Reagan Highway and a solid 60 miles per hour they come flying up, a distracting sight in my rear view mirror. I've become fond of Spartacus. He's seen me through ineptitude.
I absolutely live for the weekend. It matters not to me that we spend our few hours together in the wee hours of the morn, playing video games and swilling coffee. How difficult I find Sunday afternoon, when a few hours patience could give me just one more short night with him, and a nagging conscience beckons me home.
I am homeless, jobless, listless. This is my favourite time of year and yet it eludes me in the tangles of worry and frustration, mid-terms and research papers and employment applications. I've developed an all encompassing hatred of school. I love to learn, but I cannot bear the yoke of being taught.
I'm sitting here waiting for my father so that he can change the brakes on my truck, and wishing I could make something worthwhile of this day. I wish Michael didn't have to work, I wish that maybe I did, I wish for occupation of body and mind and I wish to stop whining.
So.
astera at 2:07 p.m.