fide

I had a "restlessness errand day" which as they usually do involved wandering to some far end of town to a store I would never normally go to and walking the aisles in a state of calm. The best aisles to do this in are rows of light fixtures in the home depot. It is a magical place. WalMart is less magical and generally terrifying; when you walk in there's produce and a vertigo-inducing row of checkouts and everything seems on the up-and-up but the further back you venture into the store, the more it feels like descending* into a warehouse of mothers tiredly barking for their children to come on and endlessly shuffling employees. I got the impression that if I got a job at that WalMart I could just shuffle around the store for hours and hours with a product in my hand until my shift was over. When I buy the 40lb. bag of birdseed I like to carry it on my shoulder like a lumber-jack instead of using a cart so that people will think I am quite brave and strong.

*It is actually more like the the fugue-state atmosphere at the back of the store is a mold steadily creeping toward the front.

These trips are fun because when I make a foolish driving mistake like missing a turn, or turning too soon into the lot of a strip mall, it doesn't matter.

The north side of town has bizarre bill-boards everywhere. "Pet Waste Pollutes Our Water" (said by cartoon fish); "Addicted to Opiates?". There are diners and ethnic restaurants I want to visit but not alone.

I am gathering the pieces for a project of some kind, but so far no medium feels right. Words, yeah, but just words? So inappropriate. I can craft beyond words with colors and shapes, with feathers and hair and string and jewels, but the effort would feel like "not enough." I want something that makes noise and flies.

BUT I have become aware with increasing lucidity that the reason I am often reluctant to undertake and embark and endeavor is a persistent attitude of self-defeatism.

Hello, I am qualified for this position. Or I mean, I will be. No, I mean, I am.