A Window with a New View.

Walter, isn’t it a shame the way our little world has changed? Do you remember, Walter, how we said we’d fight the world so we’d be free. We’d save up all our money and we’d buy a boat and sail away to sea. But it was not to be.

Such italicized inscriptions I often preface my entries with are simply meant as identifications to time and topic, not indicative to view or tone of personal reflection. Noted explanation concerning this selected mode of introduction cared for, I must further disclose to the reader that this particular entry serves as a personal reminder of two specific incidents with occurance in the past week. The first occurance is more an incident surrounding ill-timed happenstance, whereas the second is a surprising and delightful occurance that happened at a time of least expectance. When events like the latter occur, I am always alarmed because of that pecismistic ‘too good to be true’ ideology I possess.

Incident One: 1985 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme Violated
My venue of employment is located across the river, but more importantly on the only street of poor noteriety within the metropolitan area. Burnside. The arterial separates the north and south hemispheres of this city and the river creates the natural distinction of east and west, so one can rightfully assume that near this crosshair in proximity to my venue of employment also lies the action or trouble. I enter the heart of the city every evening in which I dreadfully clock-in while sailing driverside of the epitome of American eloquence and/or global distaste. I should ride my bike, I am in adequate shape, but I have a car, so I drive. I should also peddle since I scrape by on a meager income that is supplemented by this venue that subsequently forces me to park my car in one of the limited sidestreets providing me free-of-charge parking spaces. It is in such a parking space that I craftily navigate the boat in guise of an automobile into, as I mentally prepare myself for an evening of identifcation observance and mopping. In typical fashion, my driverside door is left unlatched for a returned entry to the door locks stripped from the use of an ill-fitting set of keys over the past couple of years. After a logged shift running an hour over projected length, I return to the vehicle colored in a champagne tint with light rust branching out from the undercarriage to notice it now possesses a shattered rear quarter window on the passengerside. And of greater importance to my ears, it no longer possesses the Pioneer compact disc player I had installed when I bought this ride from an elderly women, who had deceased six years past. Contents of my glove box are scattered across the front bench, speckled with writeable discs friends had made over the years. I scan the dispersed papers and nothing of importance seems to be missing. Then, FUCK, my five discs with album work are taken along with the player. All of these albums are backed-up on my iPod, but these were the five albums I have bought this past calendar year. Car insurance companies don’t replace personal items like this, and who in my demographic has homeowners or renter’s insurance. So you can now buy my two kinks, grizzly bear, girl talk, and menomena albums at your local used record shop. SON OF A BITCH.

Occurance Two: Reconnection with a Past Infatuation

A year ago I was locked into an entirely different employment circumstance, engrossed by an environment and interaction that was sterile and monotonous. The cash flow was far better than present circumstance, but the labor left me with an empty feeling comparable to the human interaction it offered. And that was just it, you see, I was a single man who could not find any commonality with the three women I worked in close proximity with except for a superficial enjoyment of their physical appearance that matched their own narcissistic infatuation. This interaction, in addition to an unbelievable amount of downtime in the fractured setting, led me to the seemingly often inanimate world of internet dating. What began as a half-hearted effort to meet a new someone with similar interests, became a two date plunge into this recent phenomena. Date one was a miss, but the second and final effort was a seemingly short-lived success that faired far better than I could have ever imagined. The young lady was attractive, intelligent, and a bit of a cynic – a seemingly perfect fit. Unfortunately, my ideology was simulated as we spent a great deal of time together over a relatively short period of time, because of an internship she had landed across the country. Relationships are difficult and a few thousand miles thrown into the equation makes one near impossible, but the two of us did our best to keep in contact until late summer when she accepted a furthering position out east and I endured a polar summer. So, as much as I desired this relationship to work out, it appeared to be finished. However, this now seems to no longer be the case as she recently returned for a visit to meet up with friends and family, including a grandmother that premature to her visit succombed to a terminal cancer. We spent a couple of evenings together while she was in town and seemed to effortlessly pick up where we were about a year ago. During this shared time, much like our first couple of months, I savored the pleasant moments as I feared once again becoming attached to her as she readies for departure. Not only was she recently accepted to a two-year graduate program back east, but I also sense some sort of intimate relationship awaiting her return. During the second evening together, I decided to inquire about the latter and received a verifying answer, but was surprised to hear of a pending finish to it and flattering remarks concerning our reconnection. It is a few days later when I next speak to her, hoping to maybe see her once more before she departs, but we decide its too late and the distance to convene is a bit too far. Oh well, I think, hopefully we will see one another sooner than later. As she said to me the morning following our second night, “the third time’s a charm.” But then she opens into a tangent during our phone conversation nights later, in which she explains to me she has been persuaded by her mother to spend her months prior to graduate studies, here, in the northwest. Which brings me to present thoughts. What if she does listen to this advice, and we wish to continue the past week’s intimacy? This is where my current hopes are, but furtherly: With my own graduate studies concluding in a couple of months, do I discuss with her a future entailing a personal move, if the relationship evolves? Definitely don’t wish to jump the gun, but this is a thought that will surely cross my mind several times over the coming months. That is if she takes her mother’s advice.