The same ole story, getting told again.

As I walked to the mailbox, putting my Netflix in for the morning mail, I had a moment where the tread of time seemed a smidge more visible to me that usual.
As it was, I was concluding a night where I had done the same thing I've been doing for the past decade, the span of time that I've known my current group of "friends that come over and geek out with me." It the first time that I contemplated just what it meant to be "home".
In my moment of transcendence, I became privy to the recent events in the lives of faceless and nameless forms that were in places in their own lives that I, myself, have occupied at 2 a.m. on the quiet aftermath of a friday night in Williamson. The guy who had "gotten lucky". The guy who had been shot down after pouring his heart to someone that wouldn't have him. The guy who had done nothing at all and felt acutely sorry for himself. I grinned a grin only random acts of shit and small triumph can bring and I uttered to myself, "They'll have to learn for themselves, just like me."

I can't believe I haven't wrote in so long, guess I've just been digesting all that's been going on.