It is strange how a person can have a repeating connection to another person without the second person realizing it. Example:
This guy used to play onstage at a church I went to for a short time. I took a moderate notice because he had some defining features of an under-bite and 1 inch wide plugs in his ears. With a fleeting affinity, I left and didn't think too much more about him.
About a year or two later, I was touring this house on the market in order to pass time with my parents. Their friend had just listed it and had called to see what they thought of the place. When we walked in, the belongings of the owners were still there, pictures and couches littering every available square foot. In the hallway, there was picture after picture of that same guy with his, assumed to be, wife. This house was his parent's house, and now I had leaked into his personal side a bit without intention.
Now, 5 or 6 years later, my flight from Seattle to San Diego had landed earlier than expected. I had parked myself next to the carts to the left of the baggage claim in order to wait until my parents came to pick me up. Down the escalator he came, except this time his hair was a bit thinner, donning a suit, and his plugs had been pinned up as if he was coming from a long day of working for the man. He was there to pick someone up. Strange I'll never know his name nor will he know mine, and it makes me curious about similar connections that I may never know about.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Friday, October 15, 2010
Creep.
I went for a walk tonight.
A long walk towards the tail end of dusk. It was one of those days where the fog from the ocean lurks in behind your back and sort of reaches its soggy fingers into every corner of outside. This type of weather ignites my contemplative moods, and since I had a strange day, it was perfect. Going into my room, I put on a few layers to combat when the temperature would punch me in the face outside.
Move along, Cold, nothing to see here, just a pile of faux fur and knit material. My reflection on the way out the door caught my attention because what had once been a usual, everyday outfit suddenly looked like a Yamanba had forced her earth toned musings onto a 35 year old. I guess my maturity had also sneaked past me in between job interviews and credit bills because I could tell I had grown out of my adolescent clothing. Fashion sense aside, I felt like a young hoodlum tromping through the neighborhood.I didn't take it too much to heart and stepped outside into the fog.
My weekly jogs cover most of the streets near my house, but this was the first proper stroll I had ever taken. Walking along the reverse route I usually take, my perspective had been altered. It felt like completely new territory. I was the Napoleon of the pseudo-retirement-people-who-want-to-live-on-a-golf-course neighborhood.
Conqueror of All
Deceptively Intelligent Swindler
Pirate of the Pavement
What fueled the growing power fire in my head was that various people who were on their lawns were clearly frightened of me. I mean, it was dark, and I was walking alone with no dog, and I am about 1/4 the age of 98% of the neighborhood residents, but really? This one lady actually turned towards me, looked, scooped up her white puff of a dog on a leash, and briskly walked inside probably on a straight path to her phone in order to call the Lake Police which is the equivalent to the inept chaperon of the neighborhood watch prom.
All in all, it was awesome.
A long walk towards the tail end of dusk. It was one of those days where the fog from the ocean lurks in behind your back and sort of reaches its soggy fingers into every corner of outside. This type of weather ignites my contemplative moods, and since I had a strange day, it was perfect. Going into my room, I put on a few layers to combat when the temperature would punch me in the face outside.
Move along, Cold, nothing to see here, just a pile of faux fur and knit material. My reflection on the way out the door caught my attention because what had once been a usual, everyday outfit suddenly looked like a Yamanba had forced her earth toned musings onto a 35 year old. I guess my maturity had also sneaked past me in between job interviews and credit bills because I could tell I had grown out of my adolescent clothing. Fashion sense aside, I felt like a young hoodlum tromping through the neighborhood.I didn't take it too much to heart and stepped outside into the fog.
My weekly jogs cover most of the streets near my house, but this was the first proper stroll I had ever taken. Walking along the reverse route I usually take, my perspective had been altered. It felt like completely new territory. I was the Napoleon of the pseudo-retirement-people-who-want-to-live-on-a-golf-course neighborhood.
Conqueror of All
Deceptively Intelligent Swindler
Pirate of the Pavement
What fueled the growing power fire in my head was that various people who were on their lawns were clearly frightened of me. I mean, it was dark, and I was walking alone with no dog, and I am about 1/4 the age of 98% of the neighborhood residents, but really? This one lady actually turned towards me, looked, scooped up her white puff of a dog on a leash, and briskly walked inside probably on a straight path to her phone in order to call the Lake Police which is the equivalent to the inept chaperon of the neighborhood watch prom.
All in all, it was awesome.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
