Ryan’s Place

So, I was bored today. I begun my epic adventure of today by getting up and getting breakfast at the omelettry on Granville, most excellent breakfast.

I visited the apple store and discovered their continuing lack of iPhone 4s. And then considered myself lucky I didn’t have to stand in line for hours.

I then decided to grab me my second coffee of the day at Starbucks, all while enjoying the literature of the adjacent chapters. In doing so I found that the quality of science fiction literature has sharply declined in variety. I remember days of looking at sci-fi titles with awkward names and somewhat interesting storylines. With the odd classic interspersed between current titles I wondered if anyone picked up things by Ian M. Banks anymore, or if anyone knew a thing about whales and flower pots, or dinners at the end of the universe.

If anyone missed those last two references, please for the love of everything holy, go wiki sregor beeblebrox.

Should this have been a realization for me now? Or should have I realized this a few years ago? I’m starting to wonder if all the sci-fi lit that is going to exist for the next few years is just going to be reiterations of existing properties? This both interests me and frightens me at the same time, and what brought me to the awkward title of this entry.

Writing a novel is going to be hard for someone who can’t both to update his blog on a regular basis….

Due to the massive amount of feedback I received for my last blog, I’ve decided to write a follow up.

I also wanted to spite Danny by including a photo of where I’m currently sitting.

Please see the attached.

On a more serious note, while I was sitting here and nearly accosted by 20 exercising momas with strollers, my piegion friends and I have been silently discussing the meaning of life and considering my options. As well as my use of run on sentences.

For the past month or so I’ve been thinking about my current situation, maybe a little too much. By now, most of you might already know that I made it to the second round of interviews for an apple genius position. Only to be bested by one of my senior co-workers. All in all, it was more of a learning experience than a disapointment, and I’m happy for my friend.

So what does this have to do with the current situation? Well my pigeon friends asked me the same question. I didn’t have an answer for them either. Maybe they were just hungry.

All in all, the opportunity I had could have been lucrative to the point of exceeding what any of us may have expected graduating from what we did. And now I’m not any further ahead of anywhere I’ve been, and hunting for opportunities regardless of field.

So what to do? Well that’s the thing, I don’t know yet, and some of it is fueled by plotting opportunities where I am now, and finding that there could be something there, something just as, if not more valuable than what I could had. The issue? Making it work.

So I will keep making the best out of what I’ve got, to such point that I will end up doing what I did best in school, make friends, work it out, and try my damnedest not to screw it all up.

I’m starting to find myself going insane.

So I’m going to say more about that.

Considering the latest episodes in my life, I think it’s going well enough, I guess.  There are some interesting times, some times I wish I could reverse, some times where I could make everything better, and some times where I could have just stopped time and thought.

I was downtown (when am I not), going down to the Starbucks on Duns and Seymour for a meeting.  I got my iced mocha, found there was nowhere to sit in the cramped little café, and decided to stand outside under the awning.  Standing, perched up against the wall, slowly sipping my coffee through a green straw I watched the street.  I found that watching the people go by on the street was oddly relaxing.  I realize that people watching sounds mildly voyeuristic, but it is oddly relaxing.

I found that I would watch people go by, all of them concerned with either their day, their lives, their work, their school, their personal lives, the stories that their friends spoke about on the phone.  The sound of the music from their headphones, the frightening sound of the bus going by to the small children, the angry drivers trying to make left hand turns, and the tourists confused by the angle of the city.  Watching them all progress through the intersection was interesting, and eventually they all melded together into the progressional mass of human individuality.

And then someone caught my eye.  This woman crossing the street looked like she didn’t belong.  She seemed young, and oddly aged at the same time.  She had bright light blue eyes, dark blond hair, fair skin, and she was wrapped in what looked like a thin, grey shall.  It covered her from the neck down to her waist.  Thin enough to see the fabric strech across her hands, where you could distinguish the detail from her fingers, her tendons, and skin as she held her hands together at her waist.  Thick enough to be opaque, and impenetrable to light and prying eyes.  She wore little jewelry, small pendant earrings moved as she stepped, but through the veil she wore no rings, no bracelets.  Minimal make up, only that which was natural, and simple.  I could still see her tiny freckles under her eyes.

Details persisted, she walked with purpose, taking each step in stride towards whatever goal she had.  Yet it looked as if something was troubling her, as if she was pained, as if some great weight was upon her.  She looked unsure, or somewhat bothered by the purpose she had in her step.

And all of this, in the 10 seconds it took her to pass me by, and disappear around the corner.  I wondered, why did she bother, or intrigue me so?  Should I be so bold, to say that this is an omen?  Something to forewarn me of things to come?  Of things to be done, or of things that will, or would have been to those I know?  Should I even know now?

And now as I write this, I find no answers to the questions I ask.  Maybe this is to be all that is, and all my questions will remain unanswered for eternity.  For now, I will take the time to sit, write, contemplate, reflect, and watch.

I see roses on the balcony across the street.