Reading a book

I'm sitting in the nicest park in the world. I'm sitting on a bench by Ashland Creek which is gurgling pleasantly. It's a scene of perfection. Someone with an expensive microphone should be here recording the creek for use in a movie that needs the sound of a creek gurgling perfectly. I've been thinking about sitting down in the creek on and off for about an hour. Right now, my head is resting on my right hand. The heel of my hand is pressed deep into my cheek, and I'm engrossed in a book. My watch screamed right in my ear and made me jump. I'm guessing that this is the first time at 7:21 that I've had the heel of my hand so mushed into my face skin. I don't remember my watch ever startling me like that.

It's not normal yet. Far from. Somehow I forgot that things remain less than normal for a long time after moving to a new place. I could have relied on myself to tell myself this. I could have reviewed my own heavily self-documented past. Today I remembered a moment in Key West when I was talking to Eddie, and things were still surreal, and I was still a cowboy. He found me while I was drinking a slew of beers by the ocean. I was just beginning to get used to existing on the island - it was already a great and nearly magical place in my mind, but I was only then starting to feel comfortable. That was after almost two months. Trying to locate a link to that post, I found a topical one from another forgotten moment. New years day 2008. HA! Well, here I am! I'm obviously going to be insane for the remainder of my life. I don't say that as a call for help. Nay! I say that as and excuse to say "Nay!" I will continue further with other related thoughts: I've been going crazy for awhile now. I still believe I'm better off feeling crazy while seeing new things than feeling crazy and trapped. If you're going to be out of your mind and question everything until your thoughts become splinters and then dust: you might as well do it while running around. You might as well flop around smiling and trying to get some laughs. You might as well eat sandwiches and look at mountains rather than eating sandwiches and looking at sandwiches because your house has begun to look boring.

You might wonder: or I might wonder if you wonder: or I might wonder who is wondering anything about any of this: but for clarity: this following fact does not escape my attention: I know I'm only 25, and nothing matters at all, and life is easy, and I have plenty of time (ALL of it) to figure out what I'm doing next, and in all likelihood everything will end up supernaturally normal for me, and all in good time. What are the odds that life won't ever get normal again? Dismal odds. My money's on future normality. Everything is bound to end up incredibly normal. When all the dust settles, I just hope I'm satisfied. While the dust is still settling I'm going to be wrapping myself up in an enormous fluffy blanket. Before I get there, I'm probably going to be wide awake for a long chunk of time.

What are the odds that winter won't chase me out of Ashland (if I remain here that long)? I only have a slight passing interest in that thought. That is a question for Later.