Quiet Time

It's close to 10:00 pm while I'm sitting at this desk spitting this out like some sort mindless routine. It's almost become customary for me to sit here alone, typing out my thoughts and ideas to the few who happen to grace this "forum". I'm quiet here sitting in this chair. Sometimes I think I do this to get some sort of relief getting these thoughts off my chest as if you "the audience" actually takes this speel as some sort of testament to.....something. As I sit here listening to myself clicking away at the keyboard, a moment that should be giving me some sort of peace or zen like state of mind is not working. What happened? Oh........not yet. You don't get that resolution just yet. My mind is sort of working around this memory, working by putting others in front of it. There are pauses and a little bit of reflections trying to drown out the sad truth. You want to hear about the girl that did the standard brush off with a calculated efficiency? How about the friend that is desperately so far away that it aches? I could run your fucking ear off about the drunks at the beach from Minnesota or the bitch at the Circle K who wouldn't sell me the beer for no apparent reason. Do you want to hear those stories, these little adventures that make you chuckle with joy or disappointment? I wish I could tell you more about these little things, but I can't. I saw a little girl get run over on the beach by a guy on a motorcycle. Some guy was careless, floored it, and hit a little girl. I wish there was some sort of punchline after this. Come to think of it, I do believe there is; just nobody is fucking laughing.