I realize that I don’t have many friends. The occasional friend 100 miles away sure, but nobody that I see on a regular basis. I’ve disconnected myself from just about everything since the road trip ended, and I’m not quite sure why.
I get up at 4:30 every morning to go to work, I spend eight hours sweating in 100 degree desert heat, then come home to hurt myself with the weights or with the jogging shoes. My knees haven’t stopped aching since I started working, and yet I don’t give myself a rest.
I tell myself that I need to do these things, even though I know better. I tell myself that I don’t have time to do social things in this new place in which I live, no time to go meet people, no time to go grab a drink with co-workers, no time to think. No time, because I keep giving it all away to nothing.
I live with my sister, but we are totally independent of one another, randomly existing in the same domicile for a few moments before one or the other of us drifts away again. Sometimes going out to grab a bite to eat when we are both too exhausted to cook.
Fridays find me rushing to Prescott to spend my weekends with Courtney. Saturdays we play around on the boulders near Prescott – wincing, grabbing, falling, and screaming as we learn a new sport. Sundays are the only day on which I try to rest. Generally an hour or two of walking the dog, possibly a lunch with mom where we both try to talk through our problems and end up hitting the same blocks every time.
My camera hasn’t seen the sunlight in weeks, I try to connect to facebook, but I realize all the posts I make just reflect the terribly repetitive nature of my current life.
I’m not unhappy though, which is the odd part. Perhaps a bit discontent, but mostly I’m just… nothing. I’ve disconnected from being anything for a while.