Random Play

I woke up this morning with some strange urge to write which would not be a problem if I had something to write about, so with my run-on sentences in overstock, I made a decision, conscious or unconscious (you be my judge) to write about absolutely nothing. Once upon a long time far away ago, I used to be fairly adequately barely mediocre at writing about nothing, babbling or rambling or bambling as I used to call it. Damn, I thought I was so clever, and so funny, and so inspiring (even if it was to nobody but myself and a handful of people that I was lucky enough to have grasped their attention) lucky, I say, because I could have just as easily been spouting off my nonsense to 4 blog walls, whatever that means, and I've never been really fond of an echo, which you wouldn't know by talking to me in real life because, hell, you'd think I love nothing more than to hear the sound of my own voice. I talk and I talk and I talk and I talk and I talk and I don't need a reason. I sing out loud. I laugh out loud. I live out loud. (Yeah, right, all except the living part, which doesn't mean that I'm dying, but I guess we all are, right?) Well....that's deep, but you didn't really expect to read this without me being just a little bit or a lot of, well, me? I haven't written or even attempted to write (not that I haven't thought about it or had dreams of coming up with some sort of brilliance-yahhh right!) for months now. Okay, maybe that's not so true, which makes it be----ummm...false? Sentences, fragments really, mostly, only. Like that. Let me find my little notebook that I used to (religiously) take with me everywhere. Let's see what I scribbled in there just for kicks and giggles. Hold on....

Haaaaaaaah! I'm flipping through...and I find too many fucking Wal-Mart receipts (they give you back your check now and I just shove it in my purse) and a note that starts out like this:

"(insert ex boyfriend name here), Is this wh...."

What the hell?

Let me find my other notebook.

Hold on....

Hmmmm...blank pages, blank pages, an address, a title, this title:

Simplicity (Complex)ity

'twas sure to be a blog all about how I can take the simplest of things and make them completely complicated. Well, duh, you say, I got that much from the title. Did you really? And again, I thought I was being so clever. True enough, I do get bogged down in the details sometimes, I might not notice the color of your eyes, but yeah, I saw the thread hanging from your shirt. I might not remember your name, but I'll remember the sound of your voice, the smell of your cologne and how you almost tripped when you walked away. Moth balls. Head scratching. The sigh and the breath at the end of your sentence. I know that you are lonely before you are even left alone to think about it. I know because I fuck the obvious and disregard it. I know because I see the things I want to see when I don't want to see anything else, when there is nothing left to focus on, but that tiny fucking thread on your shirt, that gets bigger and longer and more knotted every time I see you, when I see you, when I see you, when I see you. When will I see you again?

It would have been a good title though, right?

I find my Tropic Thunder movie ticket and my pass card to Epcot. Good fucking times.

I have those, lots of em...good fucking times, probably more than my fair share. In fact, I have a really great life, really great. There, I said it. My life is awesome, and I'm happy, emo yeah, but happy. I laugh way more than I cry, I sing way more than I shout, I dance way more than I pout, and I sleep way more than I don't sleep (couldn't think of anything cool to put there).

I'm figuring out shit which means I'm figuring out that there wasn't shit to figure out in the first place. Everything you need, you'll find within yourself. Of course it never hurts to have family and friends around when you have those moments where you decide to go full retard and you forget everything that's important, and it really is all about the little things. Right fucking now. Not dwelling on what I did last year or wondering where the hell I'll be at next year, but right this minute. And yeah, I'm good.

Are there people I miss? Every fucking day.

Are there things I'm sad about? Sure.

Do I sound like someone who has eaten up a whole bottle of anti-depressants? (here it comes, here it comes, wait for it, wait for it, wait for it...) FUCK YEAH, I DO! But nope, this is just me, another year older, another year older, another year older, another year.....older. And you thought I was going to say wiser.

Music still excites me.
The sunrise and sunset still move me.
My friends and family still sustain me.
Life still amazes me.

Still.
Still.
Still, yeah, I guess I'm still pretty good at this bambling thing after all.

So....I caught a glance in my direction.
Or....maybe nothing more than a reflection.

But....

I'll see you.
I'll see you.
I'll see you when I see you.
When will I see you again?