The Next Unwritten Chapter

February 10, 2003

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Bay Area Blvd. traffic lets up at around seven, but the yellow street lights shed a continuous glare through my venetian blinds. My view consists of a McDonald’s set next to a Denny’s that sports a fabulously overpriced hotel in the backdrop. I am still having dreams about Geyser country, but as time pulls me further and further away from my short-lived residency in the mountains, I question my authenticity and dedication to an inspirational obsession. I question many things these days. I have voluntarily cut and poisoned a portion of my roots that I no longer wished to grow. My allies are dropping like swatted flies, but I am not yet rendered completely alone, and I am holding fast to my remaining essentials. This is surely not how I imagined things to be, but why is that even worth mentioning when the future has never been correctly predicted? I am going where the day takes me, but as night settles in, an early arriver for two more months, I take hold of my dwindling time and relax into my own world. Come morning, I awake to the sound of a familiar signal, and as my eyes adjust, and open and close for the last repetitive time, I reluctantly rise and then realize my fear of the outside world. Such alarming tendencies wear thin. I psyche myself up to face the day and to put away my premature antics. When do we really grow up?

Author: Lindsay Niemann

Writer | Graphic Artist