Try Again.

Living as I am, aimlessly and well, I find myself often bothered by the incredible feeling of quiet satisfaction. "Yeah, you know, maybe I could keep doing this" Work here, or there, wander about. Build a life on the platform of simply not building a life. Be vagrant, if not just for a while. Take photographs, write stories, draw pictures, cook meals, clean up, sleep in. It seems this is all standard for me now. Then, perhaps, head "home-ward" (though that too is a place I consider debatable) and, say, run for office. Or find a listing in the classifieds-
"NEEDED: Semi-traveled man with little to no business experience, willing to offer strong opinions on various and sundries. Must have transportation. Benefits."  

However, as my mother would be quick to tell me, this isn't an option. There are things to do prior- people to see, debts to pay. But in reality, only the last is true, and scraping some pocket money to pay off the government for my college degree seems, well, easy enough. And it is these thoughts that keep me awake at night in my 19th century linens. That make me hyper aware of my surroundings. That make me process everything until it becomes a stream of images and little more. The country side and its inhabitants, moving a pace behind the drummer of the 1st world. Living in stone buildings that have withstood the overthrowing of a Monarchy, two World Wars, and the often unexplainable lashings of Mother Nature. People who's fore-fathers carved wooden beams to hold oven baked tiles over head. Who pounded iron into plows. Sowed leather into shoes.

And then there's me. With my American nose, my American English, my utter lack of distinct heritage. German? Italian? Croatian? Irish? French? Your guess, or mine. Either way. Dark hair with light skin, and an overwhelming amount of self-worth. American, to my rabbit thin bones.
And here, in a country older than the infantile empire I've left, old as Christ himself, are people-  filing into the Golden Arches for a slice of American Apple Pie. But, Ive had my pie. And now, after my coffee, I want someone to talk to.
And maybe, someone out there is willing to tear it all down too, and try again.