Simplicity

Something comes over me (a feeling maybe? An idea?) as I uncork my second bottle of white zinfandel tonight. This life I lead, this incongruous arrangement that I never saw in any card reading or horoscope that ever crossed my path...

-God won't waste his simplicity on possibility.

I've never asked for much. I've never expected much. I grew up with the notion that I take care of myself. I never reached out for my mother and received a genuine hug, and I never asked my father for advice that for any portion of a second I thought I would take.

And of course it's becoming increasingly clear why my parents were so against my wanting to be a writer. At least, I think so.

I'm thumbing through pages and pages of my writing, my most current masterpieces that I desperately threw together in an attempt at an autobiography. Not even really that-more so a collection of short stories. I don't remember much as a child, maybe not up until the age of late middle school to early high school. But when I arrange them, they form a sort of glue to hold who I am together. I read my scattered thoughts, over and over. And they are scattered, but that's me. If I put them in proper order, I can honestly say that the stories are no longer mine. But I try.

And here is the reason: Awhile back I met a girl who since I have befriended. Every so often she'll ask for a story, something about me or she'll want to hear about my adventures. Admitting that a lot of things I do encounter are at random, wild, and completely beyond my control, I sit at my desk at work and hurridly recount that nights thoughts, happenings, and outcomes. She seems to like them.

I could sit and reiterate stories beginning with my fifteen minutes of fame (a couple times) or the sort of people that I meet, but then who would buy my book?

Receiving a couple months ago a request from her, an important request at which I wasn't sure I was ready for. I wasn't done finding myself. One thing about me that most people don't know? I'm okay with just BEING. I'm most happy when I can just sit, i'm happy to tend to my thoughts by myself. I wasn't sure I was ready to share them with just anyone. She wants me to meet with one of her friends in LA. A writer. He wants to help me, enjoys my writing.

So now I think back to my parents and why they thought it so important to be a doctor or a lawyer. After so many years of not seeing them and arguing with them. Of course. I struggle with my thoughts. They each weigh a hundred pounds in my head, and sometimes it's hard to move. Sometimes I don't want to move.

I never doubted my own intelligence. Never did I think I couldn't accomplish whatever it is I wanted to do. And this, this is what I want.

-God won't waste his simplicity on possibility.

I think about that time and again. I gather up my papers and put them neatly into my folder. So wish me luck, I think I am ready.

And if i'm not? I can always take the simple way out. I hear there is a shortage of doctors here in nevada.