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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: A Usual Day in Vancouver Starts with Raindots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: KeeperOfLight
    ASL Info:    23, Vancouver BC
    Elite Ratio:    2.55 - 41/64/76
    Words: 1272
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 540
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 6628



    Description:
       


    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsA Usual Day in Vancouver Starts with Raindots
    -------------------------------------------


    Usually a day in Vancouver starts with rain, and as usual this is one of those days. Recently I acquired a job at the petstore, at first I thought it was quite boring, but its growing on me. Sure I’d love to be making more money elsewhere, but it seems that I don’t have the drive to search for that right now. I have been feeling really tired lately, the full moon will be rising on Saturday, with 42% more force put into it, yay. All these female on the menstrual cycle will be enjoying themselves in wallops of pain, and converging moods from happy, sad, to angry beasts. Watch out.

    I haven’t been feeling the writing lately, it seems I want all my thoughts to become cohesive and understandable, but they are just minor in the world of me right now. The ones I am typing here are not really the ones I want to type about, and when I ask myself what do I really want to type about, my hands stop on the keyboard, and I stare at the screen thinking of a subject to write about – but then I think if I need to stop and think about a subject to write about, do I really want to write about it? I feel that in me, and decide I don’t really need to write, and then find something else to do. When I am doing that something else, like reading or watching an anime, or taking a moldy piece of cricket out of one my tarantula enclosure, and even taking a walk outside I wonder if I really should have taken the time to keep trying to write something, that maybe those thoughts will really help someone and connect them to me, and maybe even connect them to someone else. After thinking up all that, I kind of feel like a fool, like my thoughts are worthless, they won’t change anything – This is what my end result feels like.

    However inside my bones, I feel very strongly that is totally wrong – My thoughts do mean something to someone, somewhere, maybe not here – but somewhere that can describe the now, and future, and the future of someone looking to the past of my writing. That is why I am writing this right now, in hopes that someone, in the future, can look back upon the past and think of my writing as something that’s helped him or her.

    Isn’t that nice to think about?

    That’s the hope I give myself to continue punching these keys on the keyboard in a forever-algorithmic sequence of thoughts, and words, and letters. Who knows what is going to be typed out next except for me – except for these fingers, which connect those thoughts to my mind. Sometimes I think these fingers are way too slow to record such intricacies, because sometimes I often lose those thoughts I wanted to type because I was thinking of how to spell a word, or to shape a sentence, those fleeting thoughts are lost till I think of them again or even more lost because they won’t be coming back, due to being the thoughts of only that moment. So really this person in the future is only grasping 10% of what I mean to say because already most of it is forgotten. This makes me a little sad inside, I am lying, it really makes me sad.

    The human body only uses about 10% of what its capable of at any given time. I wonder to myself what would happen to me if I can reach 25% or even 100%. Would I be a robot of remembrance? Would the things that matter now, matter to the 100% me? Those are weird thoughts to this 10% brain, full of futures and hopes and aspirations of what I could be. Other then thinking of what I could be, shouldn’t I think, what I am and work from there? How do I really know what I am? I am this person sitting upon a laptop and making many words, and sprawls, while listening to the voices of my landlord downstairs, and the birds singing about my window, while my eyelids tire from a long day, and my stomach growls with gas, and leaks my period blood into my pad.

    When I look outside to my window the day is ending with the sun is setting, and its light rests on my dehydrated catnip plant that is reviving itself from the water I recently gave it. I felt sad for the catnip plant when I came home from work, seeing it limp in the sun. I had forgotten to water her before I left for work this morning, as I was too concerned of what I am going to look like before I left the house, and tried to remember everything I wanted to bring to work with me.

    As I mentioned earlier I work at a petshop – its quaint and boring, and services a lot of regular customers that I see often – almost daily, and some of them weekly, or bi-weekly. It’s a nice feeling when I can remember a name of a person, or the name of their dog that they bring in for a treat in the morning. There is fulfillment in that. But what other kinds of fulfillment can I bring about the world, when I can experience a small margin of it daily at a petshop that requires no greater knowledge. I feel there’s something more I should accomplish, and by accomplishing I don’t mean stock the shelves with cat food and dog food, and face them so the back of the product is not forward. I mean making a connection with people, so that they can form a greater understanding of the word around them. Can I really accomplish that right now?

    This job seemed like an economical way of doing things, I can get money, and money I can use to by a new camera, yeah that’s great. I can use that camera to connect people with the images it takes. Although there is one fault in this… I am not that great at saving money, and I find silly things to spend my minimum wage earnings on. I probably should learn some self-control. It’s a slave system this work for cash, and use the hard earned cash to pay bills…Life based on the $. This “systematic” life not based on living for yourself, but for these small earnings, ahh it makes me sad. My hypocritical self is living in distain with each moment I think of this.

    My eyelids are closing, and feeling quite tired, and the sun is showing the dust on my computer screen so I am going to take a small break and maybe not continue to write about these moments. I never know what I will end up doing, so we shall see what happens, before going to change my jeans into pajamas, I will read over this, and probably brush my hair, and snuggle with a book. Well, not really a book but a playbook device which I can read words on.

    Happily, the catnip plant has revived itself, and is no longer the limp sad thing it was. I can almost say the same thing for myself, and the thoughts of a hopeful dream that will allow me to see a little more then I did yesterday or today.




    Submitted on 2012-05-03 21:40:26     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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