Pause.

This morning i tossed all of my clothes and towel into my hiking pack and walked to the corner laundromat. This neighborhood, in the Mission, should be renamed for its many laundry options. It seems every other corner has a laundry; i've never seen anything like it. Further down toward Bernal Heights and Potrero, the corner laundromats are replaced by corner day-workers. Three to four Mexicans per corner, sitting on the curb, leaning against convenience store windows. Yesterday walking from the library, i counted twelve of them dispersed to each of the four corners at an intersection. They speak excitedly amongst themselves, smiling, and frenetically gesture at slow-moving vehicles. I walk by and nod...

I brought my book this morning, occasionally glancing up to watch the tumble cycle or to doodle on the steamed window pane. Besides the clothes on my back, every single sock and skibby and shirt was tumbling in that dryer. This simple existence i was thinking, and still i have no idea what i'm doing. For the past two weeks i've been signing my name, printing it, filling in the boxes, checking yes and no. Potential employers, strangers, and friends... they've been asking me, what do i want to do? And i've been answering them in complete sentences, begging decent grammar and syntax. I've been pretending that i know just what it is that i want. Do any of us truly have a clue?

Day to day i fill my time with trips to the park, grocery, library. I pore over books, read them and give them away, i search for good music and then attempt to turn others on to the same. Every now and again i stop, and looking around i wonder what i live for. Do i live for these activities i fill my day with? Am i waiting for something? Do our ambitions and motivations drive and sustain themselves, or must we only use our imagination...