I'm home now for the summer. I want to write, but I have nothing to write about at this time. Coming home means work. That's all I can do this summer. I have to get my driver's license by the end of the summer which basically means I can't spend any money at all. I've been taking pictures here and there, but nothing too formal or focused. Instead I've been painting, reading, and daydreaming. I've been using our local public library. I've been struggling at keeping myself calm with some of the nasty customers at work. Many people tend to misbehave, lacking any manners. It upsets me to see people behave so poorly, but it also upsets me to find my happiness affected by this uncontrollable idea. I am fragile in this state of mind, longing for the companionship of people who smile when they see me, or who hold the desire to listen to one of my poems. I find refuge in the clouds and the sound of the wind blowing through the grass.
A friend from High School came into the store the other day with her baby who is only a few months old. The sight of him placed joy in my heart. I wanted to take him from her arms and hold him as though he was my own, offering gentle kisses to his soft head over and over again. The child, the clouds, the sound of the wind; these things do not argue with nor suppress other beings; they show up each day longing to embrace us with their presence. I think it is communities like this that forced Thoreau into the woods for two years. I am currently focusing on going back into myself; for a while, leaving behind the man of academia and all other titles.
