now and later (only minus later)

It is hard to think of the future when you are already wrapped up in the present. I’m sick of worrying about life post graduation and I am over trying to pin point what it is that I want to do.  All that I want to focus on is right now. I have no big plans to roam the earth or to dive back into debt with grad school. I have nothing set in stone.

Here in school I have one year left. One final great year; that is what I will call it. And while I love school, I believe in a year it will be time to get out. A new chapter in my book. And even if I end up working full-time here in Chicago, I’m OK with that. I’m not about to set plans for my life a year from now. I have so many options (being full of youth) that I don’t want to force them into a plan. I’m not waiting for it all to happen; I am living in my current situation and letting whatever may happen happen. I’m done freaking out; I’m too young and too equipt to allow nerves to get the best of me.

Maybe I’ll be here or maybe I’ll be there. I could end up being a teacher or a grave digger. Right now I don’t know and frankly for my own mental state, I don’t fucking care.

That is until I actually need to.

he can draw, we can draw

It is so easy for me to travel back in time to when I was a child watching my dad draw. He’s always had an excellent imagination; one that could come up with the strangest ideas no one else had.  I recall a sturdy file cabinet in our garage that held his messy collection of sketch books.  Being a curious kid, I’d wander into the garage, tug open the drawer and flip through his drawings.  One page would have a bizarre swamp monster melting and the next would be an architectural drawing of a house on stilts.  Needless to say, I usually left the garage speechless.

My father is a strange man. An amazing man, really. When I was young and living at home, he’d never be far from an ink pen and a sketchpad. Additionally, he’d always encourage my brother and I to draw. Even today, he’s still drawing.

I’ve really got to get back into drawing. I’m just in a funk.

breasts, etc.

On my way home after work I spotted an elderly, massive breasted woman hovering over a young, male 9-5er.  Her breasts were the largest I have ever seen. 

The form-fitting green sweater she sported attempted to keep her breasts under control.  They appeared incredibly fierce and bulbous.  Almost missile-like. The combined weight would have topped that of a fourteen year old. The owner’s back couldn’t help but hunch with that much luggage.  Her exhaustion and continual pain was clearly expressed in her posture.  While she stood, they shook and swayed with her body. 

The young professional, on the other hand, appeared extremely uncomfortable.  He tried so hard to lean away from the twins but with the bumping train, he had no luck.  Her breast valley nearly swallowed his neck with the screech of the brakes. 

Upon reaching his stop he politely motioned to move past her.  She maneuvered her chest creating a sliver of space for him to exit.  Fearful, he pressed through and grazed the tips of her breasts.  As he passes, he let out a tiresome sigh of relief.  I did too.  

temperature rising

A women sitting near me plucked her eye brows during our morning commute. While I peered at her in disbelief I glanced behind me and noticed a man sound asleep with his hands resting on his genitals inside his jeans. 

Once at work, a notice was posted on a case of indecent exposure on campus. 

must be the heat.

 

worrysome wort

Stress is something I know all too well. I’m a nail bitter, I fidget and I’m an over-thinker.  Worry is my middle name.  And while I am still young, I seemed to have mellowed a bit with age.  I still recall that day in 6th grade when I threw up behind my desk while in class due to pre-test nerves.  Immediately after, I panicked and cleaned it up with paper towels; I was extremely nervous that someone may find out.  In high school I remember having my mind drift to the thought of college.  Whenever that happened, I trip to the restroom always followed.  While I’ve had Irritable Bowel Syndrome for several years now, my worrying only contributes to the ailment.

Right now I am nervous. I’m way ahead of myself; I’ve already got graduation on the mind–a year early.  

memories

Today I caught the scent of diaper. It wasn’t fecal; it was just straight up powder and sweat. The scent came from a young woman in front of me. This reminded me of my affection for Gold Bond powder. 

i walk at night

Last night I walked a little over two miles home.  It is funny walking long distances alone; you think a lot.  You also see everything differently than you would from a bus or a train.  Roughly three months ago, I walked home from Lincoln park.  After a long night of concocting candles and rocking out to The Cars, I found that the Fullerton bus is even more unreliable after 2a.m.  I stood waiting and then abandoned my post.  Walking alone and at night is somehow incredibly liberating.  Most people would argue that it is unsafe and probably should be avoided.  And while I understand that, I still find it to be surprisingly therapeutic.

OK, so walking alone at night in Chicago is probably not the best hobby to take up.  Riding my bike would most likly make for a better nighttime activity; but there is just something so liberating and dare I say, empowering, about strolling afterhours. The long distance portion makes it that much more taboo.  I walk the dog every night–and that doesn’t do it for me.  Walking several city blocks, crossing neighborhoods and alone–now that does the trick.

I guess it’s just my thing.

rapid transit diamond show

Whenever on the blue line I cannot help but notice the abundant number of massive diamonds buckled to lady fingers. Young professionals getting on and off at the Damen stop are apparently really into sealing the deal.  And, I’ve decided that their gentlemen counterparts must have been feeding savings accounts titled: Money for Huge Engagement Ring for quite some time. 

This all really blows my mind. While I would not say I am against diamonds(unless it involves some form of ethical argument), I just can’t wrap my head around dropping thousands of dollars on a piece of symbolic ornamentation. And some of these rings are just plain rude.  How else could you demonstrate your wealth and relationship status so clearly? OK, I get it, you’re married and living quite a bit more than just comfortably.

Even if the diamond engagement ring is specifically symbolic for you and your partner’s love, how come it has become more of an off-putting popularity contest of whose finger can hold up the most weight in precious stone? Is it really necessary to have a boulder wrapped in baby boulders rested on a platinum band encrusted with mini boulders? Is that what love is?

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am attracted to shiny objects and I am a fan of well designed jewelry.  But, I don’t see myself subscribing to the type of show where I display massive diamonds on the blue line to demonstrate my social status.     

what everybody says

I am not about to list everything I plan to do over summer break.  I don’t have any goals to commit to and I’m not culminating a list of outdoorsy events to organize.  Don’t get me wrong, these all sound great.  But, for me, this summer is more about taking a step back.  With the anxiety of last summer’s two jobs and cockroach infestation not far from reach, I just need to do my thing and enjoy it before it’s over.

Just a few more days.

 

trying too hard is ugly

Some tough guys wear embellished jeans. Quite often, those are complimented with a long silver necklaces featuring jazzy charms.  Usually painfully sculpted hair and pointy boots follow.  Their muscles protrude from the metallic accents painted on their t-shirts.  I see these people and I have to ask myself, “Why? Why would you do that?”.

I suppose it could go with both genders.  Those individuals always leave me dumbfounded.  Why is so much time and money spent on appearance?  Is it all really worth it?  More importantly, do those who take that ‘extra mile’ really look that good? 

They don’t.