Life is constant.It’s constant in a way that it is ever-changing. A year ago, I was working a waitressing job in charlotte. A year before that I was relaxing at the beach every day of summer. A year before that I had just quit my full-time job as a telemarketer. It’s not just jobs and lifestyles that change. It’s the way we think, talk, act, and associate with others. It’s tough to find a rhythm in this ever changing world.
That is going to be my excuse for not writing for the past week and some change. I’m trying to find my rhythm. I’ve started going to the gym again. We’ll see how long that lasts this time. I’m also trying to wake up by 10am every day. Again, we’ll see how that goes. I work best at night, as I find most creative minds do. I’m also, going to once again, continue to write every day because let’s face it, If I’m going to be a successful author/editor, I’ve got to practice.
I’ve decided that tonight, I’ll just start writing whatever comes to mind. I’ll go for fiction. It probably won’t be much. It might not even be a full story. Maybe not even the beginning. Introductions are so long and boring that I’d rather skip it for now. I’ll just write whatever comes to me. No edits. Maybe later, I’ll work on expanding it:
I drove through the town; mindlessly. Turning and stopping without so much as thinking about what I was doing. It’s just second nature at this point. My muscle memory has taken control of my actions. ‘Did I run a red light? Did I cut someone off? How long have I been driving? How did I get here?’ are common questions that run through my head. I don’t even remember taking that turn but I must have.
Everything I do, I do without thinking. I’m just going through the motions. Wake up. Turn off alarm. Get dressed. Brush teeth. Eat. Work. Make sure alarm is set. Repeat. It’s a wonder any one finds enjoyment in this routine. Every second that passes eats away at my soul. It diminishes the very heart of my being. My once optimistic youth has been wiped away by capitalistic reality.
‘It could all be over soon though. One swift muscle jerk and I can end it all,’ I think as I grip the steering wheel tighter. My knuckles turning white as my muscles resist the urge to drive into oncoming traffic. If only….