This is my blog that I'm writing for national novel writing month. Basically, I have to bust my ass to have a semi-coherent novel done by November 30th. Feel free to leave comments, anything helps really.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

FOUR

Am I really crying again? No, it’s just sweat. You must have the heat turned way up in here. I mean, I get that it’s snowing outside and all, but this is ridiculous. A man could die in here.

I’ve always been fond of this time of year. These late November times when the cold weather settles into place and the first snow touches the earth. My favorite part used to be sitting out on my deck, late at night, and just watching the snow come down. It’s best when there’s a good solid inch on the ground and there is no traffic. The street lights are perfectly lit with the falling snow and there is complete and utter silence. I would light up a cigarette and enjoy the tranquility of the moment. For those five minutes, the world would slow down and I would be at peace. That feeling is nearly impossible to capture here at home with my parents. There’s never any traffic anyhow so it’s not quite the same when the first snow does hit. I guess that’s just a downside of living in a small town that I have to deal with.

There’s a lot more than that, but I’m coping. Coming home again was definitely an adjustment. I mean honestly, what grown man returns home to live with his parents? Besides a computer loving geek that never leaves the basement in the first place, that is. I consider them lucky for at least getting a basement to stay in. I don’t even get my old room back. My mom hopped into the whole exercise craze a few years back and converted my room to her gym. Now, I’m stuck in the small room that I had when I was seven years old while my old room is used as the dust collection room. The entire exercise fad lasted four months for her and she moved onto Oprah. I’d be mad, but that Oprah really helps me. She gave all of those people cars. And then made them pay taxes. She’s the best!

My ex-wife loved Oprah. She’d TiVo it every damn day. What’s that? Yeah, I talk about my loves a lot, so sue me. I can’t help it if I’m a sensitive man. I was raised by the television. It taught me how to love in a half hour time block, so I carried it over to my life. If Mike Seaver could find love with a Playboy model and then discover God, I can do anything I like. If I want to slip down to the whore house later and fall for the first forty year old cow that I see, I will. This is America damn it.

I’m sorry. This whole idea of approaching 30 is messing with my head. Things have not gone according to plan; either mine or society’s. Here I am, a man that was raised in a two parent household with two very loving parents. The fed me well, clothed me well, and gave me a good upbringing. Yet I took everything they supplied me, tools to survive, and I threw it out the window. They gave me the basic blueprints to enjoy an average middle class life and I pissed it away to live my life. Yet here they are again, opening me back home with open arms. They are once again giving me the building blocks to re-establish any sanctity of life that I may have left.

I am not well. My life goals have always been off the wall. Some people want to e married by a certain age. I wanted to learn to write left-handed. You may ask where that comes from. Well, I’ll tell you. In high school, I wrote out a list of 100 things I wanted to do in my life. One of them was learning to write with my left hand. Another one was to become vice-president. Even more so, I wanted to meet Eric Lindros. And I didn’t even like hockey. I just wanted to meet an up and coming sports star. For someone that wanted to revolt against all things popular, I sure did a lot in the vein of popularity. I mean, most people have a plan of college, job, house, marriage, kids, et cetera. I had no real ambition to check those things off of my list, even with how easily I fell in love.

Thus, my downfall was cemented. I would fall in love five times a day. Or lust, whatever you want to call it. Love is a fairly silly concept as it is. I used to be a man that believed in fate. I believed that the stars would one day align and that perfect woman would fall from the heavens. Everything else would be laid out and paradise would be mine. As the deck was played, I continued to draw the wrong cards, and fate reared her ugly beast of a head. In the wrong direction. So now I look back and figure all that lust I felt was love. In a way, I did love those girls. No fate appeared. No divine intervention. Just me, a girl, and a bottle of wine. That’s all it was.

This town, though, makes it hard to fall in love. Which is a good thing, don’t get me wrong. The last thing that I need is to lock eyes with some hot cocktail waitress somewhere and take her home to her trailer. Plus, I know half of the girls in this town. I don’t even like to leave the house most of the time. I trek out once in awhile, but I’d rather stare out my window at the sagebrush all day than deal with the people I knew in high school. This town is a black hole and I don’t need to be sucked in with them. You fall in love here, you don’t get out. I’m different. I’m here to regroup and put this dust bowl behind me.

I’ve seen what this town can do to people. I’ve been places and this town is no good. It’s like some Vincent Price version of Stepford. They are not cheery and happy, only depressing and punching the clock. Day in and day out it’s the same thing over and over again. That’s why I fought so hard to get away from here and never come back. Don’t get me wrong, most people are nice. They are pleasurable, but I need something more than the everyday habits of your average American, let alone the habits of this town.

That’s all on that. You see these people around, so you know what I’m talking about. They’re all sheep, and they follow each other around and don’t think for themselves. I wish that I could say that I’m completely different, but I’m not. I’m not your everyday Unabomber and I’m not an Average Joe. I’d say that I’m teetering slightly above the average line, at least in the regard of seeing things and going places. I’m not a man made of money, I never was, but I’m a man that’s rich because of the friends that I’ve made and the experiences that I’ve had. In the end, I truly believe that’s the measurement of a man’s life. It’s the people you’ve touched and the idea of knowing you did everything possible with what’s given to you. Even more so, it’s going above and beyond to find the moments of ecstasy in life. Believe it or not, I found that place once in my life. It was brief, but my carpe diem moments were there. And they will be again. Cheers to the future.

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Boise, Idaho, United States
I am a playwright, screenwriter, novelist. My novels "Of Snow Forts and Santa," "The Dragon Princess", "The Blue Gem" and "The Dragon Slayer" are all available in paperback and as e-books. To learn more, visit jason-haskins.com or follow me on Twitter, Instagram, or Threads