Unfinished

The weather's been getting cold lately; unseasonably cold, even. Its kind of at that apex of not-quite-autumn, not-quite-winter. I usually put on a sweater when I wake up. But by the time I walk out the door I don't want to wear it anymore. It isn't so much that I'm hot or cold, rather I just like doing something. Its about a quarter past eleven. I'm not a very interesting person.

            Weather is not very interesting either. It's obvious, concrete, noncontroversial. Anybody can talk about the weather. I like to talk about the weather. Its one of the few things that doesn't really ruffle any feathers, I suppose. I like to think that I'm the same way. You know,"Take me as I am", "What you see is what you get." I'm usually pretty open about my personal life- if you can call it that. I don't keep secrets. A lot of people sure seem to, but I don't. It's a problem that is distinctly human. I sincerely doubt that small animals are forced to deal with the same liars and general deceivers as we.

            I'm not totally sure what brand of satisfaction we enjoy through knowing things that others do not, but it's definitely there. I know that you can feel it all around you; the sheer pulse of an infinite number of things which you will never know, and still beyond that: a thousand more.

            No matter what I may have gone through, I am still a simple person. At points in the past, I led a normal life. I was a portrait of a then-was "American Dream." An American Dream characterized by the hopes of millions referring not to the dreams of Americans, but the the very dream that is America. This notion ran strong, but now, at least in my opinion, it is rapidly fading.

            My thought process on this matter may be skewed, however. Now, at this point, you are most definitely asking yourself, "Why? Why is his opinion skewed?" The answer is elementary: Because I no longer live this so-called "dream." Far from it, in fact. In truth... my life may not be as normal as it once was. It has devolved into a quite unenviable shell of memories and used-to-be.

Author's Note

I quit on this shortly after I began

Reviews

[Libby McKeown]

This reminds me of Holden Caulfield. I love it. I think this character, despite the assertion that he is "uninteresting," is actually very interesting as the anti-hero. I think you could really do so much with this story. You should definitely pick this one back up. I want to know what uninteresting nonadventure he experiences!