Nice day. The sun is out and the snow is melting. I have fifty-two
cents in nickels, dimes, and pennies sleeping in my pockets, and this
is the first I've been to the beach in quite some time. The
gray-and-white-speckled bricks lining the sidewalk remind me of the
chocolate-chip-and-vanilla ice cream my mom used to get me when I was
a boy. I haven't seen my mom or the rest of my family in two years,
let alone had ice cream any time in the recent past. Many of my
friends have come and gone, yet my family's always been there for me,
even though they've been there and I've been here. I'm so alone here.
While I was living with my family, I wanted out, and now that I have
it, I just want to see them again. It's always my fault somehow. I
just never have the patience. I feel like I've never made a right
desicion. Still find it hard to concentrate with all these seagulls
squabbling everywhere. Maybe that's a good thing.

Just south of here is the juice place where I used to work. About
five miles east of here is where I went to school for a semester and
then a semester after that. Studied German for four months. Don't
think I've used it quite yet. Probably won't anytime soon.

It's just been a loop of work and school. I don't know how much
longer I can take this. Kinda like the waves off this beach. First one
lick of water, then it falls, then another one comes in like a player
in a bad tag-team match to replace it. Work. School. Work. School.
Sitting on these bricks on the sidewalk, I find it hard to think about
anything else, with so few distractions now that night has fallen. I
always have had a tendency to lose track of time. Never lose track of
my cigarettes, though. Three more, plus the one lit between my fingers
now. Escape? Maybe. I feel like a failure. I was supposed to do
something with my life, and in my time here, I've accomplished
nothing. It's time I move on. Don't know where, though.

04/08/2005

Author's Note: Written while in Vancouver. I had a lot of creativity bursts there.

Posted on 04/08/2005
Copyright © 2024 Kourosh Taheri-Golvarzi