This past Thanksgiving weekend I had the wonderful opportunity to go home and visit with the honey's family. Such a good time. If you've ever been anywhere outside of Atlanta, GA you will know and realize that it is all country.
Sandersville, GA is a small town (more like community) about two hours south east of Atlanta. After driving down, we pulled up to this tiny little house that was packed full with so many memories... and so much love.
Friday night, Washington County High had a game against their arch-rivals and The Watts Brothers would have to be in attendance. We rolled in about six-deep (of course to meet others there) and casually strolled up and around the stands to find our seats on the Home side of the field. People shouted their hellos and exchanged glances as we walked by-- seeming in slow motion the entire time.
Sitting on the clad metal seat I looked out at the field, watching the black and gold boys of WaCo High plan out their next play. The hot steam from their breath hit the cold night hair with rhythmic pumps as they stood there, paced, strolled and spoke to each other in hushed voices.
As I looked out at them I thought back to what it was like for me when I was decked in black and gold, with HCHS emblazoned across my chest, down my leg and across my forehead. Forgetting and not knowing what lies outside these gates but everything in me focusing on what's happening right now. Watching your fellow classmates and the guy you have a crush on squat down into formation with the goal of making another mark on the turf where so many others had played before-- hoping, wanting and willing to make it.
Time slowed as the quarterback caught the ball and took two giant glides back, and I thought of the flourescent lights in the halls at HCHS. As the cracking sound of helments hitting pads and bodies thudding into one another, I thought of running to class after getting a note from a friend... waiting for that bell to go to lunch... and scrambling to get homework done on the bus before school.
The Touchdown Cannon blasted and the sound reverberated in my chilled bones. These boys just don't know what life has in store for them today, tomorrow or next week. All they know is now. And they dwell and cherish every single minute of it.
Maybe I need to take a note from these boys.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Double-Click
Sometimes when you get older in not necessarily age but more so maturity, its really weird to look back on something that just happened a few weeks or a few months back. Its kind of strange that we are so zealous in living in NOW that we oftentimes completely disregard the possibility of the future.
Forgive my vagueness, please, and consider this: the mind is a machine. A computer, to be more specific. See, if you look at your desktop on your PC or MAC, doesn't matter, there are files and directories that are the gateways to numerous other files and directories. Ever consider, that when you look up from your book and across the room you see a set of eyes and a smile you can't resist, or when you extend your hand in a fellow greeting, and right when your palms touch in magnetic desire that person creates a folder in your mind? Its almost as if by the time you complete the sentence "Nice to meet you," and looking at an object of desire through dilated pupils, your mind makes a directory of this person in your head that stores information, news, events, happenings and general misc. items about them.
So, say, you develop a genuine crush on this person. The file is marked red-hot and it gets more clicks than myspace in your mind. You think about them, constantly reviewing their information on why they are just so fucking wonderful. You scan documents of previous conversations, browse picture files of memories of what they were wearing and how great their smile was.
But what happens when you have to delete the file? When they've pissed you off for the last time, or finally reveal to you that they don't feel the same way you do? What then? As you hang up, storm off, slam the door or drive off, you clutch your fingers to white knuckles and try desperately to drag their file over to the trash can. "Are you sure you want to delete file?" flashes across your mind and depending on how angry you are determines how long you hesitate to click "HELL YEAH". You click and you sit in angst as you watch the files slowly melt away to the trash, trying to repeatedly convince yourself that you did the right thing.
The file is never deleted.
Its stored on your hard drive as long as your hard drive remains in tact. Even though its deleted from your immediate desktop, it still looms around in your system, creeping up on you in the recent documents menu and default settings. You try to dig and search to find the originals to erase them but you'll never find them. Your search gets prioritized with other hot jobs, of course, and more often than not, its forgotten, but not lost.
And sometimes a familiar smell, a random phone call or an over-heard conversation can double-click on the file and open it again. Thing is, its your decision whether you browse through it or not.
Forgive my vagueness, please, and consider this: the mind is a machine. A computer, to be more specific. See, if you look at your desktop on your PC or MAC, doesn't matter, there are files and directories that are the gateways to numerous other files and directories. Ever consider, that when you look up from your book and across the room you see a set of eyes and a smile you can't resist, or when you extend your hand in a fellow greeting, and right when your palms touch in magnetic desire that person creates a folder in your mind? Its almost as if by the time you complete the sentence "Nice to meet you," and looking at an object of desire through dilated pupils, your mind makes a directory of this person in your head that stores information, news, events, happenings and general misc. items about them.
So, say, you develop a genuine crush on this person. The file is marked red-hot and it gets more clicks than myspace in your mind. You think about them, constantly reviewing their information on why they are just so fucking wonderful. You scan documents of previous conversations, browse picture files of memories of what they were wearing and how great their smile was.
But what happens when you have to delete the file? When they've pissed you off for the last time, or finally reveal to you that they don't feel the same way you do? What then? As you hang up, storm off, slam the door or drive off, you clutch your fingers to white knuckles and try desperately to drag their file over to the trash can. "Are you sure you want to delete file?" flashes across your mind and depending on how angry you are determines how long you hesitate to click "HELL YEAH". You click and you sit in angst as you watch the files slowly melt away to the trash, trying to repeatedly convince yourself that you did the right thing.
The file is never deleted.
Its stored on your hard drive as long as your hard drive remains in tact. Even though its deleted from your immediate desktop, it still looms around in your system, creeping up on you in the recent documents menu and default settings. You try to dig and search to find the originals to erase them but you'll never find them. Your search gets prioritized with other hot jobs, of course, and more often than not, its forgotten, but not lost.
And sometimes a familiar smell, a random phone call or an over-heard conversation can double-click on the file and open it again. Thing is, its your decision whether you browse through it or not.
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