…Now, where was I going with this?

Yeah, no shit you're late, Bunny. Sucks to be in the fast lane.

I’m giving up marijuana. Not just that either. I leave in four days. Eight weeks in the cold. I might as well let myself go. But NOT where mary’s concerned. No sir. I’ve given her up. Never again. That’s what tweeds are for.

Tweeds. Invention of the century. No doubt I’ll have brain damage by 30. That’s some years off however. Nine years actually.

This is what my life has become. Will become. Four days. Eight weeks. Nine years. Just numbers. And we’re always counting down, people. Don’t let anyone tell you different. And eye to the future, not the past. We count down the new year for Christ sakes, we count down the days till Christmas, hours till 5 o’clock, and minutes till schools out for summer. American’s are a culture of counting down. I mean who wants to count up anything anyway? Well…except maybe money. But then we’re just counting down to the next rent payment, and then the next pay check, and so the cycle resumes.

My ex told me many stories about waiting. “Counting the minutes” kind of waiting. While in the military I will have more than enough time to wait. To count. All the reading I haven’t done for two years I’ll make up for in a month. But hell, I don’t really know yet, do I? I need to shut up and keep counting.

The only problem is, I can see myself getting lost in the count. Mindless numbering downwards. Always. Caught in the figures and the up keep. Whether the “next thing” will be worth the wait. Whether maybe this time I’ll start to enjoy life, instead of always counting down to it. The perpetual fall down the rabbit hole. Perhaps you run into something different daily, a piano instead of a writing desk, and floor lamp instead of yesterday’s cigar tin. A traffic ticket instead of last afternoon’s migraine. But the route is relatively direct. Predictable. What if that’s all there is? We’re counting down. But we never actually arrive at anything.

If it’s true then whoever Mr. Anonymous is would be incorrect. Life ISN’T what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans. More like; Life is what happens while you’re literally counting down. Waiting. How wretched is your existence if what and who you are is walking right in front of you everyday, all the damn time in fact, and yet you wait for it to arrive like some marionette to it’s master.

FUCK THAT.

I wanna live my life, not wait for it. And fuck you if “that’s what everyone wants too.” because I know that’s what they fucking say, but the truth is if they really wanted it, they’d find that awesome in the everyday, and THEN they’d be living. No one does that. They just eat chicken after work, like they do every night, and wonder why they’re so bored.

HOW BOUT STOP BEING BORED.

I don’t know. Everyday I wake up for work at the same time. And I drive to work at the same time. Listen to the same stations. Drive the same route. Smoke one cigarette and contemplate the cold. Maybe say it aloud. “God, it’s fucking cold!” I do this everyday. But yesterday I saw a deer cross the street then stop so close I could’ve touched him. And then the toilet overflowed, but the baby slept. Hard up for cash but determined to suck it up till Friday, I was walking out the door when my boss asks me “Do you need any money? How are you on gas?” These things. These are what make me feel alive. Because I’m living it. Right now. Had been a solid week since the kid slept, but he did. I lived in fear over toilets overflowing, but it did, and I fixed it. The last thing I ever thought I’d hear my boss say emerged from her lips to me only. AND I saw a deer today. He crossed the street, then stood and watched me drive away. All of this shit happened. How could I possibly believe I’m not blessed? Huh?

So yeah I’m gonna be in the bitter cold, at boot camp for eight weeks. I’ll be living. And so what, I’m giving up marijuana. I lived with her before, I can live without her too. Life itself is every single fucking day. And it’s one helluva miracle.