Passive Observation

I am not even sure which end to start from. It's 5:57 a.m. eastern, and I have already been up for over an hour. This must be what it is like to be a morning person, coming wide awake at ungodly hours of the morning, without the pain and the grogginess.

I pull off my ice packs and sigh deeply, which is code for " I hope I can type today, I hope my tendons don't give out before I even have time to form a thought and explain it."

You see, I've come to understand that if I speak, it must be with purpose, because the fool shouting in the dark does it very alone. But upon this new requirement of getting up on my soapbox, I begin to see I have a million question, about 400,000 suggestions, and only a handful of people that I could ever bounce these ideas off of.

What the blogging world doesn't need is another expose on the confused state of a twenty something who found his reality very upside down in this world. So maybe I'll just start by interpreting the life that I see.

I think I've been beat into submission from my tendinitis issues, like having the dross removed from the top, except the dross is very much needed, the element called passion. This tendinitis has robbed me of almost everything I truly loved, which isn't much, but two of those things are playing music and writing. When I mean play music, I mean practice my instrument for 6 to 8 hours a day, and when I mean writing, I mean consistently writing for almost two hours long hand on yellow legal pads.

I just began the art of making a pot of coffee.

I don't sleep heavily anymore, so I am familiar with waking up around 4 or 5, but I usually fall back asleep. I don't do mornings well. Often the noise of the birds in the stillness of the pre-dawn gray is astounding, the wall of sounds of nature and survival and evolution.
The morning choir was rather silent this morning, either the early spring is making for a lite attendance, or maybe it's Sunday and even the birds like to sleep in on the weekends.

The coffee is done dripping. I must go and partake of my eight 'o'clock brew.

oh k, back to where I was, bragging about my ability to isolate myself from people and practice art forms nobody cares to think about.

The long life of my 22 years, soon to be 23, I have been fortunate to find a few things that bring me serenity, full satisfaction. I don't believe most people find it, certainly many come close, but the vicious circle of our culture prevents many from fully grasping such an overall fulfillment.
At the precipice I was pulled back, in one swift morning I felt my left arm completely change, from agile and taught, to inflamed and fatigued, and then my right arm followed suit.

It was difficult, has been, difficult, rather. From being active in my life, I am left in splints, in a corner in a southern suburb of Cleveland simply observing the world go to hell on cnn, on the drudgereport, on the sidelines of bbc world report. It's is no less than maddening not being able to work, to drive, to open a jar, to use a pen, to play my guitar.

I live in a world of bored observation and I will be happy to go back to work and to school and go about my life and world without disability.

I'll go with saying this in my weeks of passive observation. If the news bothers you, it's time for a history lesson, a vison beyond your self conceived vision of nationality culture and time, a deep breath and the ability to let go. Everything that is happening has happened before, has turned out worse and humanity will go on, live your life and love the ones you hold dear and stand upon your true morals when man and government infringe upon your right to exist and so exist in a realm of reality. Turn on, tune in, drop out.