Everything is happening
I was walking to work this morning. The street I walk down to get to
the Metro is a bit “dodgy”, i suppose. a speckling of prostitutes just
getting off work or heading to whatever place they call home, junkies at
the bus stop. Kids walking to the charter school, old grannies with
head coverings and prescription bottles in their bags.
It’s not dangerous. It’s broad daylight and everyone has yet to make any huge mistakes, so no one is pissed off yet. We are walking on a blank canvas, brush in hand but haven’t gotten to the palette yet.
On this particular morning, i was doing what I always do on my morning walks – reevaluating my entire life. ha! totally counter-productive, but not always. It’s full of typical questions, like:
Am I living my purpose? I don’t like my job. I should apply for a new one. But what would that be? What would make me happy? I should be a full time writer. But that wouldn’t pay my bills. I wish i was a teacher. But that’s not what I truly am. I want to live in an Italian villa and write. I am going to save up my money and move to Italy. Why should I wait, I should move to Italy RIGHT NOW.
I want to work in a surf shop in Costa Rica.
*huge sigh, thoughts pause*
it’s tiring isn’t it?
I am walking to the street corner, to cross. The other side is the metro. As I approach there is a junkie. He is wearing all black, sweat shirt and black jeans, even though the swampy DC summer has arrived. His face displays Vitiligo, as if someone has thrown glass into his face and the shards have stuck, taking away the black pigmentation, leaving peach, tan blotches. It is painfully striking.
As i get closer to the street corner, I sigh and end my morning ritual of anxiety and self doubt. I will come back to that tomorrow. I mutter out loud to myself to close this contemplation:
“Ugh, I have no idea what is happening.”
the junkie turns around, looks up at me suddenly, fiercely, as if he had heard my mutter. I did not think i was that loud, and his back had been turned to me.
He opens his hands, spraying them out like tentacles in the air, shakes them around. He is electric. He speaks to me above a normal voice, an aggressive yell:
“EVERYTHING is happening!!!”
He immediately turns around and keeps looking at the street’s red traffic light.
I cross the street and choose to hear his words echo in my head.
Everything is happening.
Everything is happening.
Everything is happening.
It’s not dangerous. It’s broad daylight and everyone has yet to make any huge mistakes, so no one is pissed off yet. We are walking on a blank canvas, brush in hand but haven’t gotten to the palette yet.
On this particular morning, i was doing what I always do on my morning walks – reevaluating my entire life. ha! totally counter-productive, but not always. It’s full of typical questions, like:
Am I living my purpose? I don’t like my job. I should apply for a new one. But what would that be? What would make me happy? I should be a full time writer. But that wouldn’t pay my bills. I wish i was a teacher. But that’s not what I truly am. I want to live in an Italian villa and write. I am going to save up my money and move to Italy. Why should I wait, I should move to Italy RIGHT NOW.
I want to work in a surf shop in Costa Rica.
*huge sigh, thoughts pause*
it’s tiring isn’t it?
I am walking to the street corner, to cross. The other side is the metro. As I approach there is a junkie. He is wearing all black, sweat shirt and black jeans, even though the swampy DC summer has arrived. His face displays Vitiligo, as if someone has thrown glass into his face and the shards have stuck, taking away the black pigmentation, leaving peach, tan blotches. It is painfully striking.
As i get closer to the street corner, I sigh and end my morning ritual of anxiety and self doubt. I will come back to that tomorrow. I mutter out loud to myself to close this contemplation:
“Ugh, I have no idea what is happening.”
the junkie turns around, looks up at me suddenly, fiercely, as if he had heard my mutter. I did not think i was that loud, and his back had been turned to me.
He opens his hands, spraying them out like tentacles in the air, shakes them around. He is electric. He speaks to me above a normal voice, an aggressive yell:
“EVERYTHING is happening!!!”
He immediately turns around and keeps looking at the street’s red traffic light.
I cross the street and choose to hear his words echo in my head.
Everything is happening.
Everything is happening.
Everything is happening.
