Pure Fiction - not my life, just an exercise in imagination
The golden eye of morning glared at me as I trudged up the steps onto the main thoroughfare of town. The day was just cool enough to warrant a jacket over the short sleeves, but I could have cared less. It could have been -30C for all I knew or cared. I was as oblivious to the temperature as I was to the sunlight or the traffic. The wind blew lightly, twisting the steam from my coffee into what I once thought of as captivating twirls and dances of steam - wonderful sights, but not today. Not for many todays.
The entire world seemed gray and dreary in my eyes, no matter the environment. It had for months now, and I had no hope of finding joy in sunlight or temperature or much else around me. This town had become suddenly lonely and foreign to me, despite spending over 40 years exploring every part of it with my camera or my bike or my running shoes. I knew all the back alleyways, quiet coffee shops, quaint artists' shops and all shortcuts to avoid traffic, desipite not getting behind the wheel lately.
I moved into the downtown condo almost three years earlier and settled into a routine of walking around downtown every morning despite the weather. I had nothing else to do with my time and no energy or desire to do much of anything whether it be photograph, cycle, run or work. It all seemed pointless, inane.
I didn't need the income from a normal J-O-B so I had just up and walked away from my wonderful little boring finance job, thinking I would just sell stock photography for fun and a little play money. I put the camera down one day and hadn't picked it up is months, maybe closer to two years by now.
The morning routine had just happened. I woke up one morning and found myself doing the exact same thing. It crept up on me gradually, but with authority. Roll over to look at the clock and it always said 4:57 - I could sleep until 10 as a kid; but had been getting up before the sun for what seemed like forever. Go to the kitchen. Start coffee. Go back to the bedroom and dig out some clothes; jump in the shower; shave, dress and pour my morning ritual into the mug.
That mug. The one that I cherished and yet despised. It reminded me of far too much of what was no longer present in my life. I didn't want to use it for fear of breaking it, but I couldn't not use it because it was so precious. It was one of the few things that reminded me of my past. Of my shattered life and the reason I fled my bucolic countryside home for the urbanity again. The quiet had gotten to me quickly out there. I always thought I could just listen to the birds and the wind and the crackling of the fireplace forever; but I quickly turned it all off and just sat staring at the trees with a glass that kept emptying itself into my bloodstream. I thought about going hiking on the Sierra Nevada trail or up in Alaska for a few months, but I simply never got around to it.
So, here I was, walking down the street of my own hometown with my precious, despised, handmade coffee mug full of twirls and dances and I have no desire to follow my normal routine. I need something new.
I needed to get away and DO SOMETHING!!!!
The question was, "What?"
The entire world seemed gray and dreary in my eyes, no matter the environment. It had for months now, and I had no hope of finding joy in sunlight or temperature or much else around me. This town had become suddenly lonely and foreign to me, despite spending over 40 years exploring every part of it with my camera or my bike or my running shoes. I knew all the back alleyways, quiet coffee shops, quaint artists' shops and all shortcuts to avoid traffic, desipite not getting behind the wheel lately.
I moved into the downtown condo almost three years earlier and settled into a routine of walking around downtown every morning despite the weather. I had nothing else to do with my time and no energy or desire to do much of anything whether it be photograph, cycle, run or work. It all seemed pointless, inane.
I didn't need the income from a normal J-O-B so I had just up and walked away from my wonderful little boring finance job, thinking I would just sell stock photography for fun and a little play money. I put the camera down one day and hadn't picked it up is months, maybe closer to two years by now.
The morning routine had just happened. I woke up one morning and found myself doing the exact same thing. It crept up on me gradually, but with authority. Roll over to look at the clock and it always said 4:57 - I could sleep until 10 as a kid; but had been getting up before the sun for what seemed like forever. Go to the kitchen. Start coffee. Go back to the bedroom and dig out some clothes; jump in the shower; shave, dress and pour my morning ritual into the mug.
That mug. The one that I cherished and yet despised. It reminded me of far too much of what was no longer present in my life. I didn't want to use it for fear of breaking it, but I couldn't not use it because it was so precious. It was one of the few things that reminded me of my past. Of my shattered life and the reason I fled my bucolic countryside home for the urbanity again. The quiet had gotten to me quickly out there. I always thought I could just listen to the birds and the wind and the crackling of the fireplace forever; but I quickly turned it all off and just sat staring at the trees with a glass that kept emptying itself into my bloodstream. I thought about going hiking on the Sierra Nevada trail or up in Alaska for a few months, but I simply never got around to it.
So, here I was, walking down the street of my own hometown with my precious, despised, handmade coffee mug full of twirls and dances and I have no desire to follow my normal routine. I need something new.
I needed to get away and DO SOMETHING!!!!
The question was, "What?"
posted by Raymond at Wednesday, January 14, 2009
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