I'm Eating a Cookie While Writing About My Day

What is it about people?  Darn, this milk is delicious.  I mean, I feel like lately at work, I have become the Red Foreman while at work while also working too hard on myself to get everything done .  This chocolate chip cookie is filled with caramel?! Thank you, Dee!  At the end of the shift, I can tie that to the rest of my day and balance it all.  However, I finished work thinking what a rough day.  I need to refill my milk. 
Why am I letting this rough time affect my entire feeling of the day?  It's natural to blame an event for ruining the day.  However, I liked how the rain was the most comforting part of today.  It was relaxing.  Peaceful.  So, emotionally balanced that I decided to read outside on the porch while the rain poured down. 
I went where I needed to go when I was reading.  While at work, I was not where I needed to be in my mindset.  It's tough.  No doubt about it.  Easier for some because they don't have to think about the details.  It can be easier for those who think about everything and overthink it, yet they found a system that works for them. 
Now the headache comes.  I want to keep writing, but nothing really comes to mind. It's amazing how I can be so gung ho right after the rough day and plan on staying up.  Then, within an hour of being home and eating one cookie with milk...BAM!  Headache hits, possibly about being tired.  Even though I am not really that tired. 
So, I might keep writing.  People reading this must be annoyed or upset because now they are reading about me writing every detail and thought coming out of my mind right now.  Are you tired of this yet? 
I'm not.
Anyone watch good shows or movies?  If so, would you like me to review them.  I'm not sure why no one really cares too much about these mediums when they are pulling the emotions and connectivity of people everywhere.  Obviously, there are incredible amounts of bad or terrible shows for the mind or just for the art, but we all accept that we have a show we like. 
Why do we have a favorite show?  Is it relaxing to the brain?  Does a show actually drive all emotions or just clear your mind?  For me, I obviously watch for the story and acting.  Great stories, screenwriting and acting can lead to a tremendous output and strong delivery of a message.
Well, I had 21 page views on 9/4 of 2016.  That's pretty cool!  You might not think so because you just want me to write about something.  So, let it be for a few seconds.

I left the light on.  I'm running away, and I think about leaving the light on.  Oh, hold on, I'm giving up on all of my life right now, but I need to turn around and turn off the light because whoever tracks me down is going to bill me so hard with that electricity bill.  Maybe that's a good thing though.
Focusing on something so normal can be the vacation in my mind I need right now.  In the words of the historically inaccurate, this ships going down!
My friends, the ones who know, are waiting for me.  Well, they should be.  They don't know anything about this situation.   Why does it matter to tell them about it?  It doesn't.  In fact, the less they know, the better.  I might accidentally get stuck with them for a while though if they find out.  Not because they want to help, but because they will be drawn to it as well.
My family will think I ran away because of my problems I've been having at school and work. My friends, if they never find out about the truth, will think I am running away from my massive debt.  It can be crushing, but chip it away slightly it can be therapeutic.  No.  This is not it.
Those classmates and workers who know who I am slightly might think I might be evading taxes or a crime I committed.  They might even have false ideas of who I am already and want to play out their own fantasy.  Luckily, I know the majority know me, but could care less what's going on with me.  I don't blame them.  It's going to save them in the end.
I need to let one other person know what I am escaping from, but that's my first stop.  He knows what's going on.  He warned me about this thing.  Of course, the hard part is finding this man.  Supposedly, this guy knows me better than I know myself.
Two weeks ago (yes a freaking fortnight - cliche), I was walking up the stairwell of the apartment and saw a note lying on the ground.  Looked like a scrap of paper.  I never really focus on trash lying around, but this one sparkled.  No, not like glittery wrapping paper.  Actually a sparkling shine to it.  When I picked it up, it felt like silk.  I flipped it over and on the paper was an asterisk.
The asterisk was in blue and red ink.
If it was not for the misleading look and feel of this piece of paper, I would have thrown it as soon as I picked it up.  There, at the top of the stairwell, I met the man.  More like my face met his fist.  I do not know what he looked like other than he had a very long red beard and red hair. Could have been a disguise because I was seeing stars through an opaque shield covering my eyes.  My grip on that paper was loose enough to let that strange man take it.
Once again, I easily could have just chalked it up to being a random attack over a strange piece of paper.  Why chase after him?  Why go after the mysterious blue/red asterisk on a mysterious paper scrap?
Simple, two weeks pure torture. 

To be continued....

I'm Writing About Me Today

I hope you don't mind, but I would like to write a little about my own thoughts today. Although, basically all of my writing comes my very own nerve center, I still like to be a little transparent if I can. Like the character in the first part of the story, I think too much. Sitting here typing this up, I understand little of my own writing style and technique.

Sure, I could sit down and research. I could even take some time to read grammar/language arts textbooks, websites, etc. just to maybe, if any, improve on my own writing. I have these positive thoughts that I could write everyday. Improve by doing. Explore different themes in every blog. Understand my style of writing. Obviously, I would have to dedicate my time to this. Not only this, but a far greater majority than I have been. Do not get me wrong. I could do it.

Work and the non-profit group I help with are not really getting in the way in the slightest. If anything, it is my own understanding of relaxation and rewarding it to myself. When it comes to work and the non-profit group, I work hard and do everything I can to help with it when they do not conflict with each other anymore. That usually brings me to try to relax when I have free time.

My relaxation time has become more of a burden of waste. Some watch Netflix, movies,and tv shows. Some read. Some play video games. Some just sit and listen to music. I, myself, try to cram all of these things into my relaxation time. If anything is stressing me out, it might just be too much relaxation. Or in the best sense of what's wrong, the negative associations and types of relaxation that I indulge myself are what is stressing me out.

 I know I should not watch all these shows, movies, playing video games, and reading all these books at once. They are not always the healthiest of stress relievers. I would like to exercise more and get into that routine. I would like to write more, create videos, edit videos, etc. However, this pulls me out of my routine of trying to do my relaxation routine for the past few years. I need to break this old routine and start something fresh, new and exciting. It will pump me up and boost my mood tremendously. I know that much.

When I see that what I love to do is create, I think to myself why I am not doing that on every free minute that I have outside of the non-profit org and work. My mindset needs to get better. I might be giving up viewing some shows and movies. I might be giving up on some classic video game play.  I will continue to read and start to exercise for sure. But for the long run, I can only see something more positive and rewarding from myself writing more, even if it might be a little note everyday, or reading more within the craft. Plus, from this can come ideas that others might see and want to share with myself and others.

Maybe, I might even get noticed for my writing or at least my ideas. Then, the video creations could come as long as I have partners in crime that want to make funny, wacky, maybe dry or serious videos. I need more than friends, but a group of people who are interested in just collaborating and creating videos for the sake of creation and not strictly any financial or reputation gain. I know there are groups, but sometimes it seems like I could do more if I share these posts. These blogs with others. Sharing my interests, my thoughts, stories, ideas, and unlimited potential of imagination, I feel like that is how I need to start this journey.

I will not be displeased if this leads to me writing part time even. I would love to receive compensation, no matter how little (okay, not a penny per post), to continue something that I find joy and relaxation in doing. This might be a confessional. This could definitely be a way to have others that actually do read my posts to give me honest feedback on how I should write, where I should be posting or ideas of how to consistently stay on the positive side of this argument I have with myself everyday.

I want to write. I want to share. Let me know what your thoughts are on it and above all, share.

My Letter Came with a Symbol - A Symbol Depicting Some Snake

The apartments that I currently live in were supposedly built only five years ago, but it seems like this complex has been around for much longer. The residents and neighbors are definitely some interesting individuals. Sometimes, it seems they can be more eccentric than first perceived. I moved in only a few years ago, so they easily could be lying about the history of this place. Now that I think about it though, the "they" that told me the history, I have no recollection of who "they" were. They may have been landlords or maybe just people who had recently stayed there or even current residents. Actually, thinking back to when I signed my lease for this apartment, I don't remember going to anyone's office. I remember someone. A person, non-distinguishable from a mere shadow who gave me one sheet. If I remember right, the print was almost too tiny to read and the lighting seemed dimmer than usual. All I remember was seeing the person tapping their pen along the line where I was supposed to sign. I may have well been signing away all my legal obligations towards even being able to rent from this complex. However, renting is a part of being an adult. So I signed. I may be in my late 20's now, but sometimes, adults make mistakes with their lives too. Now that I think even through the past few years, I noticed my neighbors less and less. I have noticed people less and less. I almost feel like I don't need to bother with anyone but myself. When I saw that weird cardboard letter with saying the "The End is Never", I knew that my life was about to get more confusing and complicated very soon and then become very clear because of my dependence on not others, but this complex. However, this complex involves all my neighbors and all the tenants and all the landlords...if they are supposedly that. They knocked on my door. I did not want to answer yet my hands led me to the lock and handle. I opened it and saw the person. The same one who had me sign my contract, except something was different. It was wearing those fancy clothes that the homeless person had worn during my trip to the big city. It was not just a person. This was my landlord. My landlord was the one holding that sign. They were not even my landlord yet or at least I don't think. Why could I not remember or connect the two? "You are ready," said the landlord. "I am ready for nothing," I strongly pronounced each word. "The training is complete!" exclaimed the landlord to no one but myself. "You are ready to un-sign." "Will everyone know the transition?" I asked. "No one ever knows the full transition," stated the landlord. The landlord laid down the statement I had signed those few years ago on that same counter. The same sheet with tiny print and my John Hancock sitting on the bold line stared into my eyes. Sometimes you barely notice you did something till after it was already done moments before, like un-signing my own name. If anyone normal had been there, they would clearly told you that the ink from my signature miraculously went back into that pen. Once that ink returned, I owned that pen. "It is complete," I said to no one other than myself. It all makes sense now why this all happened to me, especially recently. My life was dull and pulling away from what makes life exciting. I can barely remember the people I meet outside of this complex. I barely know my own name. It's probably because they never learned their name either. They never learned who they were until they signed and unsigned. They were like me. They are me. They will always be. I am the landlord.

Let's Be Honest, I Want to Know How to Write

The End is Nigh. The End is Near. When you see this statement, where is the most commonly thought place anyone has seen it in popular media or in real life? Understandably it is in many books and there is mention of the end times in the Bible. However, I am talking about humanity using this term. You hear others say it out loud in rallies or protests. Some even chant it at political leaders. However, whenever I see that phrase, my thought goes to a cardboard sign being held by a homeless person. It seems cruel to think that image is what pops in my head first but think of all the movies and photos on the internet that used this method. I have seen countless actors portraying homeless people holding the sign with those exact phrases written on them. My only feasible correlation between homeless people and them knowing about the end of the world is they have seen the worst of it and there is not anything else they can do but to warn others. Very pessimistic. But, how many of you can say you saw someone who may be a high profile business person holding that sign up with as much vigor or resonance as some of those people? Why do I think about this? It's because I over analyze things. Weird how a person who thinks too much about trivial and small ideas can over analyze the purpose of a simple phrase. One hot summer month during my first year of college, I took my own personal trip to a big city. Big city may be an overstatement as I grew up in a small town but being surrounded by hundreds of others on a sidewalk can make anybody use to personal space a little sensitive. Walking down the big city sidewalks can be maddening or enlightening. People watching or feet watching or the rare stare in the sky. All of it is interesting to me. I should have known walking down the sidewalk would be dangerous. I only had a simple drawstring bag with me for a trip around the big city. My wits were about me at first. However, I always gave up interest in being aware in exchange for the fascination of others and environment. Soon, I was lost and nearing a slip alley between two toppling giants. Once I passed that section, I had the unfortunate chance to see a sign. It was the cardboard signage being held by a homeless person. I couldn't tell if they were a man or woman. Covered head to toe in more clothes than I was daring to wear on a hot day, this individual was smiling and not even breaking a sweat. As this person stepped closer to me, I noticed more details about the clothes. They were not ragged items. If anything, they were more like riches to rags type clothing. This person was wearing a button up suit with black trousers. They stepped closer into a section of light and in it, their face was gleaming as I noticed them as a man with scraggly hair. However, I noticed the hair was not scraggly anymore, but styled up and gelled together in a wavy cut. He was even clean shaven and no smears of dirt or grime anywhere on this well groomed male. The only thing that had not dramatically changed was the sign. On the piece of cardboard, written was "The End is Never" in dark red marker. I had only thought it in my mind, but the high fashion man who easily could have been a class act gentleman nodded in agreement as though he knew I had read it. Then the man stepped out of the light and back into the darkness. While transforming back into the many clothed homeless person that had been standing there earlier, thousands of thoughts raced through my mind. However, before I could regather all my thoughts and recollect any information to safely organize what this possible meeting meant, a simple hit from a passerby distracted me. I looked around to notice someone had tripped and stumbled right into me and while falling to the ground, had yanked on my drawstring bag. These bags are not bullet-proof let alone spill-proof. Everything in my bag fell out of the opening up top and started rolling around in different directions. People kicking them left to right while I think one person actually played hacky sack with one of my mementos from the city. After several minutes collecting my things on the street, I quickly put my bag back together and tried to return my attention to the alley behind me. Behind me was no gap between buildings. It was just another concrete wall with big flashy windows expertly placed to give the building personality that meshed and flowed with the other seemingly identical structures. Even checking to make sure there was nothing remotely similar to an alley through the window did not ease my mind that day. However, I could not stick on the subject all day could I? Perhaps it was my imagination. It may as well have been an alley at the end of the block and through collecting my items from the sidewalk, I had traveled just enough distance away from said alley. Even though these realizations should have been comforting or in the least bit satisfactory, I did find it slightly disturbing that the next closest alley from where I was standing seemed to be yards away. Till the day I had found the envelope with my name properly addressed on the front within the mysterious mailbox, I had never really looked back on that day as anything remotely appealing other than a slip of the mind. When I saw that envelope already opened, I felt like I already knew what was going to be inside it. This whole interaction I had near that city's remarkably disappearing alley came rushing back. Sure, it was more than five years ago, but it rushed straight back into my main focus when I reached for that envelope and pulled a tiny sliver of cardboard out that had the phrase "The End is Never" written in blue marker. To be continued...

Let's Be Honest, I Want to Know How to Write

The End is Nigh. The End is Near. When you see this statement, where is the most commonly thought place anyone has seen it in popular media or in real life? Understandably it is in many books and there is mention of the end times in the Bible. However, I am talking about humanity using this term. You hear others say it out loud in rallies or protests. Some even chant it at political leaders. However, whenever I see that phrase, my thought goes to a cardboard sign being held by a homeless person. It seems cruel to think that image is what pops in my head first but think of all the movies and photos on the internet that used this method. I have seen countless actors portraying homeless people holding the sign with those exact phrases written on them. My only feasible correlation between homeless people and them knowing about the end of the world is they have seen the worst of it and there is not anything else they can do but to warn others. Very pessimistic. But, how many of you can say you saw someone who may be a high profile business person holding that sign up with as much vigor or resonance as some of those people? Why do I think about this? It's because I over analyze things. Weird how a person who thinks too much about trivial and small ideas can over analyze the purpose of a simple phrase. One hot summer month during my first year of college, I took my own personal trip to a big city. Big city may be an overstatement as I grew up in a small town but being surrounded by hundreds of others on a sidewalk can make anybody use to personal space a little sensitive. Walking down the big city sidewalks can be maddening or enlightening. People watching or feet watching or the rare stare in the sky. All of it is interesting to me. I should have known walking down the sidewalk would be dangerous. I only had a simple drawstring bag with me for a trip around the big city. My wits were about me at first. However, I always gave up interest in being aware in exchange for the fascination of others and environment. Soon, I was lost and nearing a slip alley between two toppling giants. Once I passed that section, I had the unfortunate chance to see a sign. It was the cardboard signage being held by a homeless person. I couldn't tell if they were a man or woman. Covered head to toe in more clothes than I was daring to wear on a hot day, this individual was smiling and not even breaking a sweat. As this person stepped closer to me, I noticed more details about the clothes. They were not ragged items. If anything, they were more like riches to rags type clothing. This person was wearing a button up suit with black trousers. They stepped closer into a section of light and in it, their face was gleaming as I noticed them as a man with scraggly hair. However, I noticed the hair was not scraggly anymore, but styled up and gelled together in a wavy cut. He was even clean shaven and no smears of dirt or grime anywhere on this well groomed male. The only thing that had not dramatically changed was the sign. On the piece of cardboard, written was "The End is Never" in dark red marker. I had only thought it in my mind, but the high fashion man who easily could have been a class act gentleman nodded in agreement as though he knew I had read it. Then the man stepped out of the light and back into the darkness. While transforming back into the many clothed homeless person that had been standing there earlier, thousands of thoughts raced through my mind. However, before I could regather all my thoughts and recollect any information to safely organize what this possible meeting meant, a simple hit from a passerby distracted me. I looked around to notice someone had tripped and stumbled right into me and while falling to the ground, had yanked on my drawstring bag. These bags are not bullet-proof let alone spill-proof. Everything in my bag fell out of the opening up top and started rolling around in different directions. People kicking them left to right while I think one person actually played hacky sack with one of my mementos from the city. After several minutes collecting my things on the street, I quickly put my bag back together and tried to return my attention to the alley behind me. Behind me was no gap between buildings. It was just another concrete wall with big flashy windows expertly placed to give the building personality that meshed and flowed with the other seemingly identical structures. Even checking to make sure there was nothing remotely similar to an alley through the window did not ease my mind that day. However, I could not stick on the subject all day could I? Perhaps it was my imagination. It may as well have been an alley at the end of the block and through collecting my items from the sidewalk, I had traveled just enough distance away from said alley. Even though these realizations should have been comforting or in the least bit satisfactory, I did find it slightly disturbing that the next closest alley from where I was standing seemed to be yards away. Till the day I had found the envelope with my name properly addressed on the front within the mysterious mailbox, I had never really looked back on that day as anything remotely appealing other than a slip of the mind. When I saw that envelope already opened, I felt like I already knew what was going to be inside it. This whole interaction I had near that city's remarkably disappearing alley came rushing back. Sure, it was more than five years ago, but it rushed straight back into my main focus when I reached for that envelope and pulled a tiny sliver of cardboard out that had the phrase "The End is Never" written in blue marker. To be continued...

The Story Continues Cliche is Suitable for Life

I think I am smart.  I worked hard for good grades in school.  I do great work at my job and with other opportunities in my life.  Many people tell me I am smart.  Of course, they mostly say this after I say that I am dumb.
Yes, this guy thinks he is smart but does not feel smart.  Many great examples can include me getting an A minus on a paper and breaking down, receiving a promotion and bonus and feeling more stressed, and another good example is this note. 
I found that envelope with my name on the outside of it in that dreadful mailbox.  Smart is just something I will still never feel because it seems more logical.  Already, the logical choice is completely gone as soon as I open the mailbox and see my own name.
I heard steps coming around the corner of the building.  Instead of just closing the mailbox door, I grabbed the envelope before closing and taking the key. 
The steps were getting louder.  My sense of time was messed up.  Clogged mind, clogged time.  Instead of running away, I just hid behind that corner.  Expecting some annnoyed person to arrive and start cursing that someone stole their mailbox key.   It appears my own thoughts were scurrying for negative events to happen.  The footsteps stopped right by where I was standing by the mailbox.
No one came around the corner. No one started to yell.  No one made any sounds.  My own heartbeat was in my throat.  The pounding of footsteps was now the veins on my temples pulsing deeply. 
It had to have been an hour before I moved.  My eyes bulging out of their sockets.  I wanted to see something move since my ears seemed to be failing at hearing anything other than my own bodily ticks.  To wait for even a short time expecting only one outcome of being caught, it seems like a trivial decision to move or stay.  I needed to breathe deeply to get past all this thought. 
Then, the logical thoughts came in after a few deep breaths.  Why was I even overreacting? Sure, I'm holding an envelope from a mysterious mailbox, but why would hearing footsteps of any nature make me want to hide?  I should just be causal.  That's who I am.
I walked away casually.  After I was a few feet from my building entrance, I decided to do the casual head turn.  Nothing fishy going on here.  Just going to crane my neck to take in my surroundings.  Sounds like a casual and boring thing. 
My head turned towards the mailboxes and eyes followed suit.  Standing there next to the mailboxes was a quick glimmer and then nothing else.  The glimmer was like those times you close your eyes real tight and start to see random colors flashing in the darkness.   This glimmer only lasted for a second. 
There was no one standing anywhere near the mailboxes.  Where did the steps come from or better yet, where did they go?  My mind might be creating situations.  This easily could be my imagination taking myself for a ride since something inconceivably rare just occurred. 
I ran into my building and up to my apartment.  I closed the door and should have enjoyed the silent darkness like I usually do.  It was all unnerving.
After getting in and trying to relax, I actually let go of the envelope.  Instead of opening it, I let it sit there on my counter.  Sometimes I need to shower to think.  No, I didn't smell.  I just believe better thinking comes from personal spaces. 
So, I put on my scuba suit (PG) and jumped in the shower. 
My mind went everywhere.  The only original thought was to open it since it was obviously addressed to me.  So, I got dressed and ran to open the letter, but the weird thing is, it was already open.  To be continued...

Sometimes a Quick Short Story Will Do

I don't know how many of you know this, but I really like to think of new things and ideas and creations through my imagination. Yes, it does get me into some dark spots and unseemingly(really? unseemingly is not a word? Irregardless...hah) sad times. However, I feel that if I really want to share my imaginative side or write a story without worrying about how it might get criticized,I just have to do it and live with the unknowing future. It will be bright if I start doing what I want to do and stop thinking of what I want to do and play out the long, unexpected outcomes that can eventually lead into a waste of time and life. Blah. So, without much further adieu...yes, I spel checked...a short story (fiction) by myself, titled: "I Don't Know What to Title This Because I Haven't Fully Written It Yet" Work can clog the mind which in fact clogs the time. Clog your mind, clog the time. Easy, peasy to understand. Harder to overcome. I just clocked out of work rushing to get home to workout because that is what a good little boy I am. Always trying to make a routine, so I don't forget something important that will affect my long-term outcome of being a fit and responsible adult in a world that terrifies me whenever I think about it. Let me pull this back a bit. I do a routine of work, come home, grab the mail(usually junk), work out, eat dinner and then sit...watch Netflix, HBOGo, Youtube, the necessities of moving pictures on my television set. I do have goals. These goals are to get a job I love and pays for all my expenses and helps me save. Do I have a clear direction where that is? No. Do I know how I will achieve this dream? No. Probably because this dream is too open and vague to be even considered a SMART goal. Anyways, I do what I am told. I ask for guidance. I run along like the well trained human I should be. Doesn't mean my mind doesn't wander. That's probably my only reason for sanity. Sure, it can drive me to think unnecessary things and blunder my night because I am not surrounding myself with other people in a fun social life. Whatever. This is not about my philosophical thoughts or choices in the world, whatever they may be. This is about only one slip up and choice. I did my routine. I woke up. I changed into work clothes. I opened the blinds to let the sun in while I was away from my apartment. I worked hard. I clocked out. I came home. I worked out. I made dinner (some pizza pockets sounded good). I ate and then sat to lose my mind in the expanse of TV shows and movies or as I sometimes call it, the pandering and boring background to my begrudging and pointless thoughts. Wait, I thought, did I forget to do something in my routine? What could I have missed? It's pretty straight forward and some might even say bland. Heck (PG-version), I call it bland. So, what could be so boring and very easy to forget? Right...getting the mail. I quickly put on some flip flop sandals, considering the distance to the mailbox from my door these shabby soles will do. I rushed to the mailbox, inserted my key, and opened it up to find....nothing. That's probably why I forgot about it entirely that day. Mail, mail go away. Come again some other time I do not necessarily need you. Doesn't rhyme but it fits the feeling of how opening an empty mailbox is. So, I decided to run back to the apartment. That is when one glint came within my peripheral vision. I had already turned around, but my eyes followed the signal back towards the sets of mailboxes. I'm sure some of you fellow apartment residents know that mailboxes for the whole building are stacked neatly together in one location. Every resident has a key to their specific apartment room number mailbox and if you lose the key, you pay an annoying fine. Well, that glint was nothing special. I figured it may as well could have been the set-in keys they use for packages. Nope. This was a random key that was clicked into it's specific mailbox for room number 0. Now, as if this is not odd enough, the apartment numbers usually have actual numbers in sequential order. This mailbox was dead center of the whole set, but labeled 0. My apartment number, 315 was only a couple boxes away. Yet, there it was. The mysterious mailbox compartment of apartment zero. My first instinct: open up the mailbox. My second instinct: Idiot, that is illegal. Take the key and turn it into the main office. Third instinct(because a thinker doesn't stop thinking when they want to): That tenant/resident could be coming back any moment, just a slight lapse of the moment or maybe they are moving out and thought it best to just leave their key in the box. As I have said before, I will think every possibility until I drudge it through the Earth's lower crust. I decided to go with the third option and head back to my apartment. However, making passive decisions usually leads to more thinking than before. I thought about that key for the next few hours. Should I go check back on it? Should I call the main office, even though it's after hours? Should I somehow find apartment 0 and hand the key to the resident? Should I just stop overthinking, go to bed and get over it? Well, I chose going to bed...restlessly. Why does the key freak me out this bad? Is it the key freaking me out or the apartment number mailbox that I am pretty sure has never been there before? So, instead of being well rested for work, I didn't sleep. I even woke up three hours earlier than I usually do. I took my time getting ready for work. The entire idea of this key was taking too much of my time. I should be focusing on how to get through my day and reach towards my long-term goals. I was all ready and heading out of my apartment and there it was. The key. The mailbox. All still there. That's it. I'm taking it to the main office. I reached for the key with my fingers. It seems dramatized thinking about it now, but I felt energy enveloping my hand as I started reaching for the key. I grabbed the key and instead of pulling it out of the lock, I turned it and opened it. I was expecting some crazy light or some overflowing mail to pour out or even a rodent to pop out. It opened with ease and inside was one envelope. There was no address, no stamp or any other writing except for a name. Mine. To be continued... Alright, well this is all I wanted to share with you because this is just what pops into my mind sometimes. Remember, this is a story that is just something that comes up when I start to overthink the simplest of things. If you want to read more or would like to see my write more or even just would like to edit/criticize/proofread/etc., please just let me know! Otherwise, the rest will be written soon. This story seems to want to be written.

You Won't Believe Who is Back

I am coming back to writing what I am thinking about. This time, it's personal-ish. If anything, it is a chance for me to talk in a way without making a video. I will write what I am thinking most of the time and maybe have a plan every time I want to write. I could write about books, movies, television or music, but I need to focus my writing somewhere. I need your help. Where should I start? Should I go for the movie scene and express my great gratitude that it lets for myself and others to escape in entertainment and mirth? Or is it television, music, or books you would like to hear more about or how about one of each every other time? How about me just talking random events, ideas, beliefs, understandings, etc.? I always seem to have ideas on all of these situations. One more specific area I can attack is my ideas for stories. Stories that can be used for whatever I guess, in positive ways? Let me know! I want to know what you would read about! Thanks for taking the time to read this already! My previous posts are when I was more random and very weird. I obviously have changed how I see many things, so it doesn't represent me fully, but delves into my past. Just my little section of a disclaimer! Please provide likes and comments! I would really like to see what you all have to say! See or hear from you soon! Alex Schuck