#SATurday: Scrabble without Friends
Writing has both benefited me and disrupted me. It has allowed me to live in the moment – to pay attention to every detail, to feel every breath, to notarize every scene – and it is because of this phenomenon* that I often stretch living in the moment by crumbling it into observing the moment. Like a journalist standing at a scene of a crime, I am note-taking while waiting for the opportune time to shine, but it often never comes.
I still wonder if it will.
Perhaps my lack of connection is a purposely-practiced motion – something I prefer. I believe psychologists claim, “Introvert!” when hearing such a thing, but I’m not one for labels. I find life much too complicated in density to sustain a label, even the complex ones, even the simple ones.
As I write this, I – ironically (and undeniably inaccurately) – have labeled this room my office. Perhaps it was designed to be an office. There’s a desk, a computer, a round meeting table, not one but two bookcases, and a plush couch that seems to have never been sat on. I’m not even sure if this place has been dusted. The lights are dim so it’s impossible to say, but since it’s supposedly an area for the community, I’m assuming it has been taken care of. I probably even have a camera on me, but I don’t care enough to check. I might come Tuesday. (Big Brother can wait.)
In all honesty, I have ended up in this plum-painted room by default. Someone else is in the 4×4 gym I use to prevent condensing into complete insanity, and I didn’t want to leave the building out of the sheer guilt I created by thinking he would believe I was avoiding the place because of his existence – which I am (sort of).
I don’t mind people. I generally enjoy company. But I come to this place for silence – and by “silence” I mean music blaring against my eardrums as I use the elliptical for two hours (or until I am contemplating whether or not I’m actually breathing anymore). But – apparently – this new neighbor of mine has the same idea. Little does he know that his exercise is on my blog now. But in this little world, I half-expect I might be on his. In fact, while peeking into the gym’s glass door, I saw he, too, is on his laptop. Even though he got back on the elliptical before I could finish writing that sentence, I’m sure he was note-taking. I should know. I can recognize these things in others. I’m insane, too. Sure, insane might be a strong word, but I’m a writer. Exaggeration is in my bones. And only insane people are up at the witching hour, jogging to the new Boys II Men album. Only people like us could be found in this dinky room wondering why I cannot overcome my social anxiety to go run next to a stranger who couldn’t care less. Only I refer to total strangers as “us.” Living on the road does that to a person. And that is why I sit in a room by myself, staring at the bookshelf until I see “Scrabble” on top of a pile of unwanted books. The conclusion comes faster to me than all of the other ones before it.
Yes. I can play alone.
It might even be fun.
~SAT on #SATurday
*Not in reference to the John Travolta movie. Maybe. I haven’t decided yet.
P.S.S. ARCS of Death Before Daylight are now available, but I will only have a PDF file. Please email me at email@example.com if you want one.