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It’s nice outside. There’s been quite a bit of rain and it’s quite cool. In an odd twist of weather, my apartment door is actually catching so it won’t blow open when the wind cuts across the patio. And that’s why I’m sitting outside at the bistro table, gazing out at the ugly colored apartment buildings and the industrial warehouse looking thing down the way.

I’m supposed to be working on a short story for a friend of mine. I told him that I could whip one up for him if he gave me a starting point. I’m having some trouble with it, though. The mind, the imagination, isn’t what it used to be. I’d feel like I was copping out if I said that I’m tired beyond words; that’s there’s too much work to do with too little rest, and I have things that weight heavily on my mind. I’d feel like I’m copping out but, really, that’s the truth of it.

This week has not been easy. It’s actually been an emotional roller coaster. Some of that can be blamed on September 11th being in it. That was not an easy day and some memories just won’t fade away.

Here I sit, watching the world go on without me. People in dozens of apartments living their lives that I know nothing about. Cars fly by on the highway, yet I don’t know what they are, where they came from, where they’re going, or who is driving. Somebody is singing, probably, a couple is probably arguing. Surely there’s a minivan with tired kids in the back nodding off and just wanting to get into their own beds. Probably there’s another couple holding hands on their way to or from dinner. None of this is part of me as I sit on my perch and watch it pieces of it all fly by in time around me.

Life starts off slow. A summer can take years to go by, and winters are full of snow that take an eternity to melt. As life goes on, though, it speeds up. Homework assignments are handed out and then the due date mysteriously springs up right in front you. Reports are due. Deadlines aren’t getting met. The relationship that should have lasted forever explodes and ends in shattered fragments of pain. The bills were just paid, yet more are piling up on the counter to take their place. We’ll do this next weekend! Or the weekend after, I promise. We’ll have fun when we get around to it next month. Next year is looking pretty good, we can go then. By then it’s too late, something is gone — missing from the world, missing from your life. You look back full of knowledge that life was too full to fit it in. Retrospection betrays you, though; there was plenty of time, plenty of room, it just wasn’t visible at the time.

The daisies bob in the wind with their full shiny faces pointed to the sun. We could learn something from them as long as we don’t let too much science get in the way.

If there wasn’t so much stuff to do, work would be the best place in the world. Meetings are full of jokes, smiles, laughs, and groans at bad puns. Music lyrics get woven into conversations. A small group of people discussing a product can be confused with three movie scripts being read out loud and yet it all makes sense. Obscure game and computer references fly like sparrows.

And that — that is my Friday night, before I head off to bed.

I write like
Chuck Palahniuk

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