Thoughts on Good Morning, Gravity, and Pain killers

I walk to the warehouse from where my car is parked; roughly only 5 minutes, but it feels longer. Generally there are other cars passing by, heading to their assigned spots and joining the other carpoolers, along with filling up the nearby business park.

We share our warehouse with another company. Sure, we take up about 90% of it, but they receive their own deliveries in bay doors on the opposite side of the building. They supply car parts for various garages and dealerships, their drivers coming in every morning to pick up the order for their assigned routes and then leaving once they snag some coffee and chat it up with fellow drivers.

There's this one guy that wishes me "Good morning," every day. His cheeks are adorned with muttonchops, and he always has a baseball cap and a red plaid jacket. Not only does he do this without fail, but he could be in the middle of a conversation, and he'll stop and greet me. I smile, wave and respond with a "Good morning."

A part of me is curious about his friendliness, and if there's any rhyme or reason to why he greets me, but at the same time.... I don't want to know. I like the mystery in it all and the thought that we're just friendly strangers, who routinely see each other.

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Thoughts on Writing, Forming Bonds, & the Apocalypse

Today at work, I had this unnatural urge to just put pen to paper and write.  It was the perfect setting - a chilly pool deck, empty save for one woman reading what I think was The Help, and me, with my writing tablet and my favorite pen from the high school newspaper awards last year.  I had some characters in my head, a few ideas, some plots.  The problem was, most of them are for larger projects I either have work done on or I have yet to begin, and none of them were going to become short stories I could knock out in the four hours I had left in my shift.  Nothing seemed right.

I hate that.  I love that drive to write, but I hate how it never seems to match up with the right ideas, the right words, the right remembering.  I would have continued a story I've already started, if I could remember specific details and where I'd left off.  But I had nothing - just myself, a pen and paper, and creativity taking me nowhere.

Of course, with one hour left in my shift at the pool, I remembered a brilliant idea I'd had and meant to work on, but I was already invested in my book and I was hoping to leave a little early since no one was swimming, and it didn't seem worth it.

That's what nighttime is for though, right?

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