Excerpts from Visual interactions.
You know, I think I know why I've been so depressed lately.
I mean, other than missing CA, all my friends and family there. But also, I like getting nober a lot. And I like doing art, writing, painting, making shit, adventures, etc.
When I was in CA I had a job. Two jobs, actually. And I'd spend a lot of time working.
Part of my off time was spent with friends at home doing all of the above or playing video games.
Back then, with having two jobs, I didn't quite have a lot of it. So when it happened, it was special. Off days were some sort of magical.
But now, everyday is an off day. Nothing to do. No 'special' about it. And much less magic when I'm getting prodded half the time at Dr's appointment.
It's no longer my gift from being at work. It wasn't a prize I deserved.
It's just another day, same old shit. Nothing to do but watch TV or do Art.
Everyday is exactly the same.
It's so boring it's depressing.
I'm gonna go do some art now. And smoke a cig. Maybe Txt someone.
And, tomorrow, from around ten am to 3am will be exactly the same.
(Unless Maria calls.)
----------------------------------------
I watch him play guitar while I smoke, write, and paint. I multi-task well.
His back is turned to the room. He's facing the dresser. It's been a while since he's picked up his guitar.
Today, while cleaning the bedroom, I put it away. After a while he noticed I had moved it.
I told him that, before, he'd leave his guitar out all the time. But he'd play it all the time. The placement of the instrument would change every few hours. Sometimes in a day or two. I saw the practicality of it and I loved watching and listening to him play. We'd sit around and he'd sing and make up songs.
It was nice, so a guitar just lying around the house didn't bother me at all. He'd put it away to take with us if we were going on a drive, on a walk, camping, or adventuring.
Now it just sits at the same spot all the time. For weeks. So I put it in its case today.
His eyes slightly watered. He looked at the guitar.
'That's sad...'
I nodded.
Told him I missed it.
Now he's beating at the strings, his fingers only the slightest of clumsy, stringing different sounds to make a myriad of tunes.
Practice.
In every twang you can feel his sadness. In his reflection in the mirror, where I can only see his face, he looks determined.
I think he's depressed too and he's trying to play his joy back.
Court his muse with a tune and ask her to whisper joy into his ears as he plays once more.
I mean, other than missing CA, all my friends and family there. But also, I like getting nober a lot. And I like doing art, writing, painting, making shit, adventures, etc.
When I was in CA I had a job. Two jobs, actually. And I'd spend a lot of time working.
Part of my off time was spent with friends at home doing all of the above or playing video games.
Back then, with having two jobs, I didn't quite have a lot of it. So when it happened, it was special. Off days were some sort of magical.
But now, everyday is an off day. Nothing to do. No 'special' about it. And much less magic when I'm getting prodded half the time at Dr's appointment.
It's no longer my gift from being at work. It wasn't a prize I deserved.
It's just another day, same old shit. Nothing to do but watch TV or do Art.
Everyday is exactly the same.
It's so boring it's depressing.
I'm gonna go do some art now. And smoke a cig. Maybe Txt someone.
And, tomorrow, from around ten am to 3am will be exactly the same.
(Unless Maria calls.)
----------------------------------------
I watch him play guitar while I smoke, write, and paint. I multi-task well.
His back is turned to the room. He's facing the dresser. It's been a while since he's picked up his guitar.
Today, while cleaning the bedroom, I put it away. After a while he noticed I had moved it.
I told him that, before, he'd leave his guitar out all the time. But he'd play it all the time. The placement of the instrument would change every few hours. Sometimes in a day or two. I saw the practicality of it and I loved watching and listening to him play. We'd sit around and he'd sing and make up songs.
It was nice, so a guitar just lying around the house didn't bother me at all. He'd put it away to take with us if we were going on a drive, on a walk, camping, or adventuring.
Now it just sits at the same spot all the time. For weeks. So I put it in its case today.
His eyes slightly watered. He looked at the guitar.
'That's sad...'
I nodded.
Told him I missed it.
Now he's beating at the strings, his fingers only the slightest of clumsy, stringing different sounds to make a myriad of tunes.
Practice.
In every twang you can feel his sadness. In his reflection in the mirror, where I can only see his face, he looks determined.
I think he's depressed too and he's trying to play his joy back.
Court his muse with a tune and ask her to whisper joy into his ears as he plays once more.
No comments:
Post a Comment