can't finish what you start

I have a bad habit, on my off days, I wake up around noon, and then sit at my computer and after maybe 30 minutes to an hour, go back to bed and sleep another one to two hours. Waking up around 2 or 3--somewhere in the middle--then shower and return back to the computer wondering what it was I just did with all that time.

But most of the time I lie in bed and stare out the window thinking about stuff. Lately its been about writing. Where I'm exactly going with it? How it has developed, if its improving, if I have even have a future at it. And I've been able to talk to Jake a lot about some ideas and its been good. Especially looking back and past pieces and just talking them out makes me see what they were meant to be, what sort of stuff I was trying to address and figure out. And especially, looking back, I need to finish some things because its like I left a bunch of arguments just standing and they should be closed and put to a finale.

Went wandering with Alex today. I was feeling as the sky looks. And it was still snowing. With it blowing straight in our faces as we walked. Not the kind of snow that falls straight down. All of it can be akin to rain; the same way rain works, snow, but frozen. Right. But it was half slicing the air, and we were in the way. But all it takes is to button up the coat, put up the large collar, and shield to walk out further. We just took a direction neither of us had been and saw some nice apartments, and a gate. And we wondered, why is this gate here?

Is it to keep us out, or keep those people in? And we walked by various groups of kids that made me think of gangs. But they seemed uninterested and didn't say much. There was graffiti all over. Oslo I think is a haven for graffiti. Though most of it seems unimpressive, sometimes I will stumble across a really pretty wall.

I'm not so sure what else to address about the day. It seems uneventful in the words written down. But most of the time I was trying to shake sad feelings off my shoulders from a short story. But I think rather, it was never much to begin with. Sometimes these things work themselves into better works. And the final scene is still powerful; regardless of the rest.

I was able to witness an old couple on the train. His face was bright red, matching his jacket. And him and his wife were funny trying to figure out how to stack their skies next to each other on the train. They were clean from the cold, and their faces tight even though wrinkly and old. They managed. And they smiled as I watched them; they were sitting across and facing us. But I was half shielded by a plastic partition.

And for a while I sat there, and her cheeks were sallow and she seemed more grounded. They had matching scarves in style. But the colors were different. His was red and hers was blue. And he would look out at nothing and seem completely lost. As if he was floating above the sky, on a red cloud, trying to find a place to land. And she would grab his hand and smile at him and he would return to this planet. Those two, they complimented each other in this strange way. And I thought that this is the best kind of woman and the best kind of man. Knowing full well that each of their intentions is good and ethical. He needed her to keep himself grounded and in this reality. And she was practical and functional, but needed the air of a dreamer to keep herself from falling into a pit of darkness. And together they were perfect; and they would smile back and forth at each other. As we disembarked and walked up the stairs and away from them and his floating cloud and her blue earth.

We found a local watering hole. The bartender tried to help us, but he didn't speak any English and I tried explaining to him that I wanted some food. But he smiled and went back into the kitchen looking for someone who spoke English. Though when the waitress appeared, her English was rather broken and I pointed to Alex and told her that she spoke some Norwegian, and got Alex to practice from what she had learned in her language class. It was really cool seeing her speak in their tongue.

I ordered a bacon, egg, toast, salad, potato meal and a large beer in one of those large glasses. The golden color and foam sitting on top. Alex ordered a beer and I wrote for a bit in one of my notebooks until the meal came. Alex watched downhill skiing from the booth and then a kids show. Where the kids were all trying to get sick because their friend was sick. It was funny hearing the kids over the television. The meal was good and cheap. And the beer was the cheapest that we have ever found. And every ten minutes a classic rock song from America's past way long ago would pipe through over the speakers.

We took the train back and managed to come back and I laid in bed in the dark listening to music and thinking about friends and all my family and In-N-Out hamburgers; the great bright sun and drinking a bottle of wine on the patio with the burning night sunset sky.

---
frances mckee took a gun,
and she pointed it at her man.
she let the bullet rip through his chest,
watching him fall to the ground.
then did the same to her own frozen little heart,
and that was the way that frances mckee died.