iRuff

I’m more ridiculous than anyone knows.  I keep to myself more than it sounds like I do.  For as much as I talk I’m actually quieter than I could be.

Anyone who thinks there are no surprises left, isn’t paying enough attention.

The world is more generous than it lets on.

People are genuinely better than imagined.

That is all.

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Damn itchy feet.  Don’t get me wrong.  I like Johnstown well enough.  I love being from Somerset.  I like everything I can about the place that I grew up and the place I live.  But that doesn’t mean I don’t spend eighty percent of my day dreaming about where else I could go.   I want to go wandering around the Redwoods again, I want to see L.A., I want to see Big Sur, I want to wander back to Yellowstone.  And I’d do it all tomorrow, I’d run around working whatever work I could get and just checking things out.  Maybe I’d take a pooch with me.  Otherwise it’s just me, and the people along the road.   A car payment that someone else is responsible for stops me, because I don’t want to leave him covering my ass indefinitely.   I would save up enough before I left to cancel my cell phone, and I’d probably just let my credit card default and deal with it when I decided to rejoin the rest of the world more permanently.  The other thing stopping me is the three people that I share a house with.  But this time next year, that won’t be a concern, so if I can figure out the car, next time this all comes to me in early summer, I can just do it.  In fact, by then, my cell phone contract might be up, so I won’t even have to save to cancel it.

I’ve got this way about me, that I can’t shake.  It’s this itch that I don’t actually belong in my life.  I don’t always feel that way, but I know it’s not just the snow that makes me so happy all god damn winter.  It’s deeper than that, everything fits.  I think it’s just the simplicity of my existence there.  I’m someone and no one.   I walk through the lodge and get stopped to BS briefly with no less than four, sometimes as many as fifteen people.  Fellow employees, weekend warriors, and once in awhile a return visitor or two that just happens to remember me.  But at the same time, that’s only a quarter of the people I walk past, I’m just another peon in the grind to the bulk of the people I pass.   It’s a tight knit feel and anonymity all at once.  Plus no matter how I can make it sound when I need to, living in one’s car, and on other’s couches, and tiny shared apartments, that life, feels good.   It feels right.  The shoe fits.  I feel good about myself, my life, and I make money doing it.   I’m noticeably happy.  I know I am, because people who know me year round tell me how good I look, how content I look, how I seem to be in the most genuine good mood they’ve ever seen me in.  It’s not an illusion, it’s because I am.

Is it the stability that I don’t belong in?

Is it just the fear of the droning lifestyle?

Is there a factor I’m missing entirely?

I don’t seek isolation.  I love people, I really do.  I find that’s kind of rare in this day and age, but I really am social-able, forgiving, and give everyone a fair plethora of chances to right any wrongs they may have done me.   I hold myself to a fairly loose moral code, but it’s one that suits me.  I hold the rest of the world to very few standards, and even the ones I do have are pretty open for modification.

A lot of the people I spend my days with are not necessarily good people, don’t get me wrong, some of them are superb people, but the ones that aren’t, well they’re still good friends.  And you can be a horrible person, but be a good friend, and the latter is worth more, a lot more, to me anyway.

Well my time here must come to an end, as I’m out of liquid and the coffee shop from where I type this, is closed up, so a refill shall not be in order until tomorrow afternoon, of course.

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