Distractions

Laying here in the living room of my new apartment in Denver, my feet and half of my calves, covered in the red/blue flannel pajamas my mother bought me for Christmas last year, I'm finding I've got a lot drawing my attention these days. Oh, the pajamas are very comfortable, by the way, seeing as it's 50 degrees outside. Denver is finally catching up to the rest of the world that it's spring. Gray clouds stretch out as far to the horizon as I can see from my seat, which might drive me to depression if I didn't have the modicum of elementary school knowledge I can recall, and that's this: rain brings the birth of new things. That and spunk. But, that's besides the point and draws attention from the point, and that is...the pajamas are warm, the apartment is cool and a bit damp from all the rain, my cat, Sabin Rene Figaro [Ex's last name removed] Moore, is sitting on the couches back, looking at me and waiting for a chance to rub his head against any appendage I might stretch at any given moment, and I have far too many distractions in my life these days.

This is not to say that it is a bad thing. These distractions, that is. I have a new set of Skull Candy headphones in my ears blasting an unplugged version of Alex Clare's Too Close, Landslide by Feetwood Mac and, for some odd reason, Karmin's Brokenhearted. I have the background of a Grey's Anatomy episode on the screen while I wait for my PS4 controller to charge so I can delve into the world of Final Fantasy 14, and I have so much that needs to be done.

The boyfriend started his new job today. This is the first time in over a month that we've been apart while I've been home and while I'm excited that he started work, I can't wait for him to get home with plump, juicy oranges that fill your mouth with citrus with every satisfying bite.I have any number of things I could do in the meantime, but all I can think of is fresh oranges, warm pajamas, and maybe an Angry Orchard while I lay back on the couch, my feet extended out into the aether on the other side of my couch and listening to Raging Fire by Philip Philips, when what I should be reading 15 pages, at least, of the four new books that I bought since I started working at the airport bookstore, writing two new essays, possibly rewriting my piece on, "Why Christopher Paolini can Kiss My Ass", (can you believe that little prick is considering writing another book after what he did to ruin the Inheritance Trilogy/Saga...*Deep Breath*,) and looking up new books to order for the bookstore. So much to do, so many distractions to draw my attention from it, and I think it brings my crooked, and I think, charming smile come to my face because I don't believe I've ever had so many pleasant distractions to keep me from doing anything.

When I think of distractions, I think of the negative, the things that detracted from my life. A desire to go out and get laid because I was unhappy with my life and needed something to fill it up. An ex who was chaining me to his life with words like, "I love you" and "I need you" when what he meant was, "I'm scared of being alone and I know what you want to hear most." Friends who were not friends but claimed to be to retain their spot on their high horses when they claim you don't have it as-bad-as-you-think-you-do with the faintest residue of condescension on every vowel and consonant...Glee...

All of this makes having positive distractions in my life confusing by comparison. Listening to I Heard Your Voice in a Dream from Smash, rest in peace, and chatting with someone that actually searched me out and took time out of their life to bring a little joy to my day taking time out of my day isn't as bad as it could be, and I can always write some more in fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. Going out and having a beer, just one, at 4 in the afternoon because someone wants to get to know me better than they could on Growlr, doing that rather than reading a new book, I think I can suffer for that.

The point is, I could be driven and successful by now. I could have a book out, my heart out on my sleeve and breath caught in my throat waiting to see if I can have that best selling title by 30 like I always wanted...which I do, and that's only 5 months away. But, I wont let that thought hold me down with chains of my own making that I look on at and think, "where did these come from and who put them there when I wasn't looking?" I did not make the changes in my life so that I could be successful. I made them so that I could be happy, and so far it's working. If I don't get that book out till I'm 50, well then I guess I can GRRM it out if I need to. I'd rather live my life with a tattoo I regret than a smooth canvas, if that makes sense. I can be distracted by a few slices of pizza from a local slicery, some Wild Cherry Pepsi, Maps by Maroon 5, (honestly, nobody sounds like Adam Levine, and thank Tiny Odin on high for that,) and staring off into space for five minutes thinking about little else other than that I have some very warm pajamas and a cat that likes headbutting his owners elbow as he stretches out to yawn between synapses and adverbs...me, not the cat...and think to myself...

It's a good life to have.