Sitting, in my car

I’m sitting in my car.  Not wanting to go home, but not sure where to go.  I have no desire to go anywhere as I sit here, burning dinosaurs (it does get hot just sitting in the car).  I’m typing this on my phone so apologies for any fat-finger words they may appear.  I don’t want to be here, but I don’t want to be there.  Here and there are both relative at this point and not to be taken as anything more than words on a page (screen).  I believe my status is “present”, but not in the good, mindfulness kind of way; just simply present.

I just left Barnes and Noble which is always a nice stop.  The smell of books and coffee are comforting. It’s the smell of what I believe intellectualism would smell like if it had a smell.

Regardless, I’m still sitting here, waiting for inspiration to direct me to my next destination.  I don’t actually believe it is coming, but sometimes it is nice to pretend.  I assume this would be somewhat like procrastination, but there is nothing for me to procrastinate about.  That would imply something pressing that I needed to attend to. I have no desire for that however.  I don’t want to sit here, but I don’t want to go either.  I’m a glitch in the code, neither a 0 or a 1; a defective bit.

Well, I must leave this parking space.  It’s a good space, close to the front, and now I’m feeling selfish taking this prime location when others are circling for spots.  I may not know what to do or where to go, but “in the way” is just rude.  I shall leave you now, allowing my spot to be used by someone who needs a book, or coffee, or a Breaking Bad bobble-head.  Yes, poor B&N has succommed to selling action figures to support the brick and mortar that houses those wonderful smells I love.  Good day to you I say, good day.

  

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