The morning started out as usual, helping out Sarah to prepare for work, making sure she wasn’t snowed in, and getting odds and ends done. I ate breakfast–coffee and toast, simple is satisfying–and watched the news. I brought up the Christmas decorations to her attic: an act that’s never really fun. However, the rush of the holidays are finally over. We have Halloween; November first, the beginning of playing Christmas music and stores decorating for said holiday; Thanksgiving; Christmas Eve and Day; and finally New Year’s Eve and Day. The last couple months are similar to the last 100 meters of a sprint; one has to push themselves to finish the race and place.
However, the first week of the new year is inconsistent; it begins with relief, followed by uncertain fatigue, and culminates with aggravated exhaustion: relapse. The second week is dedicated to feeling better, finally.
I watched/listened to Death at a Funeral (2010), the remake (argh!) of the English film three years its senior. There is no beating English humor. The Monty Python troupe cannot be beat. However, I cannot complain about the film, too much. When first hearing about the remake, I was angry and defensive: denial. The realization of Chris Rock producing it, I was bit relieved. It’s known he is a fan of Woody Allen and no one can disregard that. I gradually learned to accept this and waited to see what happened. The film wasn’t bad; it took a carbon copy of the original and where the ink was smudged, it was tweaked. James Marsden trying to copy Alan Tudyk doesn’t really fit.
It played in the background as job searching went underway. I needed something to laugh at aside the not-yet-fixed-but-hey-it’s-only-gettin’-better economy. This is why I am considering school again, aside not having a stable income. I had a great conversation with Sarah the other night and I’m not going to pursue education. Writing is what I’m most comfortable with and believe I could be successful. Although, writing the novels have come to a halt, primarily due to the fact I am very happy.
Getting a quick minute to catch up with Zach was a good bout. It was a sparking conversation of how we were, how our girlfriends were, how our families were, and how everything revolved around the holidays. We chatted about movies and, most importantly, writing. We kept each other going in college and do our best lately to keep the fire going. He is often referred to as the poet and he compliments me on my fluidity and stream of consciousness with prose.
Anyways, I digress. It happens.
I shoveled and daydreamed; as used to the chore as we Syracuse and upstate New Yorkers are, we need to keep our mind off of it. I had The Black Keys playing through the iPod and let my thoughts flow. I recollected upon winters growing up, how playing in the snow and shoveling was never really a chore, but something that had to be done in order for the fun to begin. Most of the aspects of winter’s past flew through my mind: sledding, the Glinden snow hills, the woods, hot cocoa, and 007 with the guys. Those only describe the tip of the iceberg, as the cliche reads.
There was a regression of thought from present to past, complimenting and segueing off of Zach’s conversation to college, to writing. I had written a paper my sophomore year, I would like to say. It reflected upon growing up in Syracuse, in the neighborhood I still call my home. The crappy part is, the essay cannot be found in its entirety. Bits and pieces have been salvaged, but it’s obviously not the same.
This is the first time writing in this blog thing two consecutive days in a row. There was no resolution to write more often. It’s more spur of the moment and spontaneity is a love of mine. Feeling immediate gratification is priceless.
I’m not going to keep going on this entry for too much longer, because it’s more of a promise to touch on everything from the past to the present. It’s a foreword, a prelude, a preface to what is ahead. I need to use what’s in front of me as inspiration, as small as something may be.
That’s all for now.