t's August today, the final month before the fall, in amongst the jungle of green dancing leaves on the tree outside some have already faded to orange. It reminds me that all things must pass. At first glance this thought brings a sinking feeling to my stomach, but it is not a sad thought it is a reality. The winter will pass and new leaves will sway in the spring sun again next year.
I cant help but wonder how long the tree has been there, how many generations of people have passed it and probably never realised it was there. I doubt I would have noticed it's existence if it wasn't situated outside my window.
It's actually A strange place for A tree to have grown. There is the modest garden of the house I live in-which doesn't have much to please the eye: An ivory covered shed, A half painted fence, some red roses and A small plum tree. Each adds to it's character I guess. The garden is almost a perfect square, probably about 8 metres per side. Outside the garden there is about another 8 metres until you reach a still gray house which faces directly into the one I live in. On the 8 metres in between the two houses there is a patch of grass and a narrow path, it's on this grass the tree stands.
The sun's getting ready to go down, it's a particularly nice night for this part of the world, the sky's that kind of misty blue, with a tint of red fading into the background. The seagulls seem to be enjoying it. I smile because I remember reading a story from the Scottish news last week about a seagull in Aberdeen. In the city centre the same seagull would go into a newsagent shop daily and steal a packet of cheese doritoe crisps. There was a video of it stealing them, it would waddle in, pinch the packet with it's beak, make a squeaking noise and the half-fly outside to go and eat them. The locals named it Sam which reminds me of A girl I know called Sam which leads me to reminisce. It's not often A story begins with A smile and ends with A smile.
Time has went past slowly for me today, which should be a reason to fill the day with as much as possible, but I find the temptation of laziness difficult to resist. I'm tempted to read over what I wrote yesterday, but I notice how much I wrote and decide there must be better things you can do in four hours. I'm constantly distracted by big brother on the T.V while trying to work out a direction to take with this post.
All did not go to plan,there was no mention of todays story in yesterday's plans. I sit here at almost 1:30AM on a Friday morning.The music echoes warmly against the floor and sails it's way up to ears which are preoccupied by thoughts of the stresses of everyday life , but I have not a care in the world. I'm not sober- Ten beers and several joints later I make A half-hearted to attempt and explain to myself what happened.
My head rests in my hand, it's difficult to keep A straight line of thoughts, my memories are lost in a trunk as the two substances strolling through my blood cloud reality in their own way. I feel like I write to A silent jury, dashing eyes of judgment onlook as A pounding hammer drowns out the screams of "Guilty... Guilty". The easiest solution is to reach for the can of beer apparantly, unaware that it's in my stomach until after it's released back onto the desk in front of me.
I picture the rugged,bearded man who stands hunched accross the bar, alone, spitting stories of how different things could of been . I picture my father. I picture myself. I see the unmistakable confusion of a loners paranoia in a fleeting glimpse of a fading reflection. In my mind my father gives me A knowing look that says some things cannot be communicated or expressed. I selfishly wish to share the isolation with A fantasised woman, but she turns her back on me knowing she's looking up at heights that belong below her and I'm alone again on the chair where I began and where I will finish.
There is no escaping from the rain clouds tonight, they will not sink with the beer they will not glide with the smoke. Things are blue. Reality seems like A far off option, something lost in the ruins of yesterday's events. I think about how far away the house I'm in is from home. Home is also lost in yesterday's ruins. 'Home is where the heart is'...
I am entangled in a paradox: I feel a euphoric tingle up my spine while onlooking the surrounding depression. I momentarilly don't understand anything. I take a bow and arrow to aim for the jealousy that casts a shadow in my head and remember I've not to fight such thoughts. So without choice I sit jealous of the people who walk the tightrope of life with perfect balance, the people who don't stumble.
My eyes are heavy, the grinning duvet will wrap tightly around my cradled body and with any luck suffocate me to sleep. A burst of energy creates a foolish urdge to crawl downstairs to the room where my mother and sister sleep, in the hope for company. An overgrown infant. I can feel myself scratching underneath layers of pain trying to escape the burden of depression.
My mind is empty now and the time is over, thought I'd something more to say...