I did it again. I cannot even say I have been busy, nor that I do not have topics to write on. I have even put reminders in Google Calendar to post. —
I just have not had anything worth saying.
The past week or so, we have been preparing for a first couple’s trip back to my hometown of North Miami. It should prove to be a proper, jarring change from Brazil. (At least, I can hope.) The temperature is getting colder, and I am looking forward to a warmer climate. I would also like to get some time in with my family, and let K. finally meet everyone besides my parents.
Time and finances are keeping us from making the Grand Tour of the state. She has never been up to see the Mouse, and I would like to see Cape Canaveral again before the Tea Party mothballs the whole damn thing as being too expensive. There is also a bunch of people I doubt I will get to see this time out, but there will be other trips. Hopefully, more once I am employed again.
Recently, a long drawn out argument with someone has prompted me to start thinking about the past, and how I’ve grown in the past decade. She thought that a man approaching thirty should still behave and hold the same attitudes that I did when I was a boy approaching twenty.
Once the hurt and the anger had passed, some of it started to simmer in the back of my head.
When I was twenty, I was a die-hard Pink Floyd fan. There was a lot I did not know about the band and their music, and I sought to learn everything I could with the fervor of a born again Christian. I was constantly quoting without truly understanding the meaning. Hell, I was constantly quoting without truly comprehending the context, or without fully grasping what it meant to me.
It finally hit me as K and I were watching “Pink Floyd’s The Wall” a couple nights ago, and instead of getting into it like a psycho, I was giving what I now call “The Patrick Commentary Track.” It turned the whole experience into a lot of fun for us both since K. had only previously seen the movie in a theater (LUCKY!), and it scared her after seeing Rocky Horror.
I used to live The Wall, and in hindsight, and I cannot understand why. Was I just being needlessly dramatic because I was simply filled with ennui in high school? Either way, I look back and just think I was being stupid. i should never have let something I enjoyed dominate my thinking so thoroughly because I needed something to occupy me. Really, I was just biding my time.
Because of the now former friend, I fell emotionally and out of college. I woke up to find myself working in a music store. (Funny, it would take me a few more years before reading High Fidelity.) I do not even remember too much of the experience before 2004.
Working in retail opened my eyes and ears. Working hard among the People forced me to learn a lot about myself. The friend complained that I had lost my old optimism that I could RULE THE WORLD!
No, I only grew up and found an optimistic realism where I seek to carve out a nice piece of the world of my own and find happiness in it. It is the old American Dream, I guess. I do not need to be a great politician, or work for the Central Intelligence Agency, or be a great Hollywood writer. I do not even need to be The Mad Terran.
I found I need to be Patrick Anderson. I am not quite as afraid of it anymore. I am more interested in telling his stories now rather than the stories an stupid alter ego wanted to tell.
If my father and his parents are any indication, Andersons get a late start anyway.
I’ve finished one more short story during this enforced, seemingly permanent vacation, and I am starting something for a contest.
I’ve settled on the plot. The theme is “Dead and Deader” where something is dead and must be killed again. The horror writers think they’ve got an edge, but I am going to pull a little something out of the gamer realm. I probably have just seen “Scott Pilgrim” one too many times, but I think it could work.
I just need to settle on the details for the setting and the characters.