Shit Circumstances.

"Journal Pages 7-8"  ......................................................2010

Yeah, sometimes things aren't great. But they could be worse.

With no means of transportation on this fine Summer day, I'm cooped up and slowly losing my mind to nothing, just that sacred boredom that I'll probably wish for during the school year. I'm so used to my adventures into the wood, that my bedroom has no current comfort, not until the end of the day when I'm too tired to give a fuck.

Is that weird? To feel more at home outside than in your own room? Sometimes I do feel that way- in fact, often I do. It's something about the smell in the air. When I'm in my bedroom, there's nothing. It smells like nothing. When I'm outside, there's everything. There's wet grass and soil, sunflowers, the fishy river...There is just everything. But would I want to sleep out there? For more than just a camping trip? Probably not. I'm normal in the sense that I don't tend to like bugs crawling on me. 

I did when I was young, though. I was the one trying to keep spiders and ants as pets in shoe boxes. I would take a cotton ball, soak it with water, and place that and some grass into a shoe box, and then the bug I caught. Next morning, without fail, they were always gone. But I never felt that sad about it. It was as if I somehow knew it would be temporary, even if my family never said a thing about it. I was okay with the idea of gaining and losing a friend, all in the matter of a day. 

This has derailed completely.