Tuesday, March 20, 2007

"Do you think this is all of it?" she asked, but my mind was too caught up in an old answer to put together an answer that might stop her. All I could think about was how words would bend far more willingly to me back then. Not that this one understood. Or even if she could, it wouldn't have stopped her voice from continuing.

"We've lived pretty exciting lives up to this point." I stared at the line in her chin trying to bring myself back. "Maybe now we just have to accept this. Like," (and I cringe every time she uses the L word), "like nothing seems exciting but maybe that's O.K. Work is work and we do it to get by."

It was exactly at this point I thought about you and this place. Yes you, reading right now. Not because I've felt bad about not being here. It was because in a flash of a moment I almost gave in and agreed. But if I had been here you would have told me to keep fighting.

Right now there's no fancy magazines or newspapers or sports training to wake up for. Instead it's the bare white wall of my old room. Even the posters and collages that used to coax me up are gone. Every morning all I think about is how unrelentingly fast this real life moves.

There's five tables in a restaurant where soon people will sit, waiting for me to wait for them. It's a place full of new friends who ask me questions about my past, to which I comfortably lie, telling myself that they wouldn't believe the truth anyways.

But you know. You know where I've been, whether I have what it takes, what words will be necessary to get me started and the attention span to see me at least halfway there.

I didn't tell her this time. Not because I didn't know, but because I could think of little worse than becoming my very own cliche. This isn't all of it. Really I think this is just the beginning. It's not a question.

After all, if a waiter can have the best written blog on the web than there's still plenty of places to go. Just gotta pick one.


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