A Moment of Reflection

Life sucks. Sometimes. Not all the time. And sometimes November hits you in the face so many times that you're sitting in your room at 1:30 AM looking at the calendar knowing that before you know it, it'll be November 1st and you'll be facing another November. That's me. Right now. Guys, it's almost November.

I'm so sick of social media. If I didn't use social media to promote my own writing, I'd turn it all off and not look at it ever again. Or not until after this election business is over.

Guys, I feel like I have a billion things to say, but every time I try to write them out, I hate the way that I'm saying something and erase the whole thing.

I found out that my favorite Spanish teacher from high school passed away yesterday. It was very sad because he was an amazing teacher. I still remember his class and all that I learned there. Teachers like that don't come around very often. I'm so glad I was able to learn from him. His impact is far reaching. I don't think he could have possibly known how much we all loved him. I hope his family can find comfort in knowing how great he was and how beloved he was of his students.

I wanted to give you guys an excerpt of something I'm working on because I feel like the last few posts have been a bit more me focused and less on my writing, so here you go, an excerpt from the last edit of LIGHTS. It's part of what I gave you last time with a little bit MORE bwa ha ha:

The morning air is crisp as I walk down the familiar streets. It's been years since I've actually looked around. The buildings all reaching high above, argent and black as far as the eye can see. The gray of the buildings almost washes out all colors around me. Reds seem faded, blues turn to gray, green to almost nothing. The yellow sign above the coffee shop door stands out. Perhaps it's the florescent lights indicating that the coffee is hot.

The employees are surprisingly lackluster. I walk in and look at the people. It's a sea of obsidian jackets to compliment their ivory blouses and button up shirts under charcoal blazers all around until someone catches my eye. He is wearing a button up shirt rolled up to his fore arm. A pearl white shirt with a cobalt pinstripe. Despite his relaxed expression, he still looks precise and sharp. Even his rolled up sleeves seem to be rolled to a precise measurement so as to not be too casual or too business like. He seems brighter than everyone else in the little shop. Or even the city. If that's even possible. Like he almost has a glow to him that no one else does. The pages on his book seem almost vibrant. He doesn't look up when I enter but continues reading while the rest of the world ignores him. He has an undefined preoccupation with his watch.

He is oblivious to the world, and yet I feel like he is watching more closely than the rest of us. He checks his watch, looks up briefly before returning to his book. How can he read?

I admit, my fascination is probably bordering on creepy, probably. No one else seems to notice him. It's almost like they can't see him. This morning is no exception. No one sees him, no one talks to him, it's like he's not even here. There is nothing threatening about him. Perhaps that is why no one notices. I thought about asking one of the workers if they know anything about him, but they seem even less personable than usual today. A little thought keeps pestering me to go talk to him. After all, I have time today. It's not even eight in the morning.

“Emma!” Bobby's voice booms around me and my cup comes flying across the counter. He doesn't even look as he throws my cup. I've become a coffee catching ninja as I skillfully snatch it without a drop getting on my scrubs. I check my phone again. 7:52. I walk over to the counter with napkins and grab a couple. I turn to leave and nearly run into the guy I can't stop staring at. He waits for me to notice I'm staring and I laugh awkwardly.

“Sorry about that.” I say and slip past him and head for the door. I feel the deep red of a very embarrassing blush crosses my cheeks. He smiles at me as I leave and in that last glance I notice how fiercely green his eyes are.

I walk quickly down the sidewalk when my phone rings. I glance down to see Marques, my coworker, calling me.

“Hey friend, what's up?” I ask him, surprised that he's beat me to work. I'm usually the first one there.

“Emma. Calahan is here to observe you. Where are you?” He asks in response.

“I'm headed in, I just stopped to get some coffee. I won't be late, promise.” I say.

“You're already 25 minutes late.” He states. There's no way that's possible. I left my house less than ten minutes ago. How can I be late at all? I look at my watch as the faceplate on my watch glaringly switches from 9:25 to 9:26.  

And now, I will be editing and writing some things. And watching the newest episode of Designated Survivor because I missed it when it aired because it was Hugh Jackman's birthday today and I was busy. You can check all that out HERE.