I think I need to come to terms with the fact that I’m no longer a movie guy. Looking at my media server, there are 130 movies out of the entire collection that are unwatched after years, despite my best intentions. I’m never home long enough to watch anything longer than 30 minutes before passing out.
My life isn’t as small and focused as it was when I was a young adult grabbing at every VHS and DVD to watch in my hovel, clamoring for a bite, a taste, of the big life out there. I wanted experiences and dreams and loves, and it was as easy as pressing Play.
I still have those desires. But the thing I desire the absolute least is to be in my hovel. I’ve seen the outside, and there are people and random dice rolls out there. I want to be somewhere else. So I’m out here, typing at a cafe and not watching movies.
Some days, I really need to rest, to recover, to find myself again, but there’s something underneath that’s unanswered, something still hungry, and so it’s Go Go Go. Home is just where I store my shit. Everything else is in the bindle over my shoulder.