I’m here ruminating over what I have become, writing a piece whose end I can’t guess. It’s my way of escape from the tension that has been surging through my being lately: the tension to just write. About what? You don’t just write because you have itchy hands and well, some twitchy thoughts. Yet on second thoughts, what else does one really need to write, or should I say to scribble? And here I am, obeying the urge to merge my thoughts with a virgin sheet.
I have become rather unaware of what people lightly regard as enjoyment. When they say they had fun over the weekend, my graced mind finds it difficult to assemble these possibilities for me. Not that I’m averse to fun or enjoyment-phobic; I would rather love to think that my version is completely parallel to what they call fun.
The height of fun for me just would sound chokingly boring to a lot of these quasi friends of mine. Sorry about the quasi title but what else am I supposed to call someone whose company appeals as much to me as oil to that of water. Yet am proud to say that I seem to prefer the pictures that I behold as my eyes race through the lines of a book than that which I would derive if I had to watch a movie (and God help my company if that movie was so flawed in thoughts). I cherish to indescribable heights, the company of my family of six (me inclusive). The source and length of our laughter and the often dwarf existence of our anger is more appealing to me than Swiss chocolate (well, it would not be a bad idea to have both).
The beach is great scenery. Just the sight of the union of the sea and the skies leaves my mind agape. I gape at the beauty and splendor while yawning at the possibilities of ever finding that point where this bed of endless ripples marries the beautiful hue of blue skies. Some say it is horizon, I call it verizon. However, in spite of my admiration of this sight, I would rather drift with my lust for solitude to the confines of my not-so-large room and just be by me. I can’t deny that every once in a while, sleep interjects but I seem to prefer this to the ‘fun’ my friend guesstimates of his planned trip to the beach. I have for about 10 years now! Hmmm, that is a synonym of a decade. Quite a shock even as I write!
What makes me what I am, is what I wish I could find out. What leaves me the funny yet reclusive Joe is what I wish I could spell and I can spell temperament but I don’t think that’s it.
I hope very well that I would one day- very soon- make of this desire for solitude what would be so rewarding, enough to get a larger and better furnished room for this version of my enjoyment.
