So when an era of flash media and snapshot advertising was blamed for making the youth suffer from ADD and ADHD, its hyperactive cousin, I managed to slip through the cracks.
However, when I try and write, I look for my outlets first instead of writing first, and I have began to see that as a great flaw. I long to divorce the ideas of Reading and Writing and live my life for that if for no other purpose. I am a writer, yet I do not read. There are many reasons. I don’t want to read something that is terrible, but I won’t find out until it is too late. I don’t want to subconsciously emulate the author I just read (happens to me far too much). I can’t concentrate without making plans to do so, so reading is a big task for me.
I’ve decided instead to find out how I live my life as a writer, and expand upon those discoveries. The things that I want to write about are usually bits of wisdom mixed with a personal reflection about some sort of past, present, and future self. I used to write poems that tried to embody individual emotions, and collected them in an anthology. Writing for me is just thoughts that I want to hold on to for a bit longer, and then release them in a very large unexplored fishery where they tend to sink to the floor.
The environ I wish to explore is the social media/networking site “Facebook.” I found that I use my status updates not because I want everyone on my friends list to know what I’m thinking, but merely to embody a thought that I’m having. It is a very safe outlet. If I come across someone else’s status and it speaks well, I’ll tend to comment or like upon it.
So my example is utmost recent occurring. I was returning from the store with one bag of groceries in each hand just shy of 10 at night. I have not showered, brushed my teeth, given much regard to anything outside my own hunger. I have donned a long-sleeve black hoody that reads “stay the fuck away from me” it not so many words, pulled the hood over my brow line, fixed an expression of complete apathy on my face. I survived the supermarket and got all my goods with minimal human interaction. (Trying not to assimilate Dexter, mind you, tho it is on my mind). So it is late and I’m walking alongside the harbor where the boats are parked and there are couples (blech…) walking together on a pleasant cool eve. Some with kids, some without. The see me and clear the walkway so their whispers won’t be overheard. I respond by decompressing the abundant pressure in my bowels.
Ahead I hear the whimperings of a baby and I can see the stroller in the distance. Much closer there is an adorable 2-3 year old with curly hair standing less than 2 feet high smiling at me. It was dark out, but the port lights and cityscape cast enough to reflect off of her toothy grin. She says “Hi.” It was that voice that indicates a clear command of the word’s meaning and the beginning of vowel-sound acknowledgment. My cover is blown. My smile comes back right away, and I am now Bruce Wayne dressed as Batman. It’s awkward, but no one knows who I am but her. She can’t see my presentation, but she sees the truth. Her parents have no idea how far away she has strayed yet, and in this moment I’m ready. I know innately within what are the great truths for me, and I don’t need nature to mock me. How long do I have to wait to have some daughters?
So I say “Hiiiii.” And she says “Hi.” And I smile and never break stride. My lingering thought is “I hope she’s not following me home/I hope she’s following me.”
Dammit.
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