What is that? I’ve strayed into a dream world because there’s a swimming pool in front of my apartment.
The last of the images of my former home are just that, images and memories, and I feel fine about this. I believe there’s an energy indeed that comes with being surrounded by homelessness and violence that can seep into the fabric of a person’s psychology, or maybe I’m just sensitive. Actually, there’s no maybe about it, I am a sensitive type, but that doesn’t change the fact that since I’ve left, I feel a different energy that induces a will to live. I’m so glad about this, because my will was straining for a loooong time there.
For the day I was Little Sammy the mover, and I learned a few rough lessons about having to move alone in conjunction with the aspect of college living: lose everything you own and pack books in smaller boxes. I sense the advent of compiling every last drop of everything I own into a series of a few duffle bags, everything else can go in the trash.
Though I was elated that the grand and magnificent day had finally arrived where I knew I’d be one step closer to the realm of the employed and thus, one step closer to becoming a member of the human race, this didn’t alter the extreme discomfort of having to carry boxes of not-wholly-necessary items of immense, godforsaken weight up stairs with no one to help. But are any friends ever really around when they learn a friend needs help moving? I must have looked odd because at one point, the Comcast guy helped me in mid-flight during one of my groaning stairwell trips; how thankful I was even for that little boost. This doesn’t, however, change the fact that my back is still killing me. Moving sucks.
I completed this testy chore with the complete understanding that I have too much crap in my life for the time being:
A dishwasher? Maybe I bumped my head along the way.
The sundown upon the scene before I left signified the sundown on a chapter in my life. Here the waterway conveyed a warm breeze into my driver’s side window as I took the last picture and drank a Gatorade, blowing the warm thoughts of a new beginning into the essence of my restless flight. I felt like pressure was being relieved and I embraced the spirit of the challenge, and though I was alone, I felt at one with the earth for some reason, like I was a part of some larger working of life of whose endeavor was in the process of undergoing some cataclysmic shift.
When the day ended, I slept hard but short, still reeling from the intensive move the day before, and I nearly flipped when I awoke to discover the view from my balcony. (My balcony? Sounds a little strange to me.)
The move incurred a change in scenery along my commute, my dreadful commute of which the length is the same: way too long. But at least this lets me know the game is not over. No rest for the wicked.
Hopefully, with the correct financial implements in place, I will be able to conduct my way to a better life. It’s been a strange road, one filled with sadness and struggle, depression and emotional strain, perseverance and determination, bitterness entwined with a glimmer of hope, but to the dogs with all those minions of psychological turmoil, now I’m drawing the sword on the next challenger. One thing that’s hard to do is stopping a man who’s got nothing to lose.