jail

I spent some time in jail this past semester. I don't want to go back, really.

Remember that unpaid ticket I wrote about? I never paid it. A warrant was issued and then I got pulled over because one of my breaklights was shining white. (It was broken. Still is, but red duct tape does wonders.) So I'm sitting there in the car and the cop walks up to my window and says, "License and registration, please."
"Why was I pulled over," I asked. He told me. "Well, man, I'm gonna be honest: Even if I had my license and registration on me, it wouldn't do a lot of good."
And he said, "License suspended or something?"
"Something like that."
Then he finds out via radio that there's a warrant out, so he cautiously steps back and asks me to get out of the car. I comply and he cuffs me and searches the car.
Long story short, I spent that night in jail. My sister bailed me out the following morning.

It was an intense experience. No one was roughing me up or any weird shit like that - they were all asleep by the time I got in - but you never know how wonderful the freedom of simply going into another room is until that's taken away and you're in a cell with six other guys and nothing to do. About thirty minutes in, I was ready for it to be over. Very surreal. I mean, it was a pretty trivial situation, and anyone who's done any amount of time would laugh at this, but it sucked really bad. If you can avoid jail, do so.

I hate having nothing to do. Well, I suppose there are always things to do, but I hate having nothing to do that makes me feel productive. I only spent one night in jail physically, but my mind has been keeping me captive for years.

Bleh. Words are folly.

tell my son: or, zeus! we're coming after you!

I spend a good portion of my day thinking about what I'm going to tell my son and how. Yesterday, as I was driving to dinner, I thought of something else.

I want to tell him to go through life slowly.

Why? Because I admire those people, the people who take their time as they walk through life.
And when I tell him, I'm going to show the severity of my conviction on my face and my son will turn his head up toward me and listen in tranquil silence. And he will respect and listen to me because I'm going to - I must - be the man I want to be when I have him.

And this is how I spend my days.

As my dad and I were shoveling mulch around the trees a couple of days ago, my imagination started running away. At the base of the maple trees, there are little baby trees that you must cut away before they start stealing a lot of energy from the one you care about. In reality, these saplings die anyway - but what if they didn't? What if maple trees had a constant war with these offspring and what if these offspring kept coming back bigger and stronger and they started growing faster than their parents and it became a king of a mountain struggle into the highest of heights, by which time there are at least thirty trees growing in one spot?

And what kind of scene would that be? Imagine a tree fifty yards in diameter at its base, which is twisted and gnarled. Had a community of strange creatures evolved up there?

What sustains God from eon to eon? He is completely shrouded in mystery to me.

Yes, this is how I spend my days.

psh

You know, I tend to start blog pages with the premise "This is going to be an attempt to (insert what the attempt is)," or something to that effect. I've started journals this way, too. Thing is, it don't work. I never end up doing said thing. So, just as an introductory note to this blog, I'm not going to set standards for myself any more. With anything.
Just kidding.

Dana had a good point when she commented on my blog. It's been a hell of a long time, folks, and a hell of a long semester.

That being said, I don't feel like writing.
But somethin's a'welling up.

I can feel it.