Another writer, another introduction: "ME"

Last semester I took a class that introduced me to the concept of "free-writing". What free-writing is and it's purpose is still eludes me, but it's fun. I'm told that the reason behind this activity is to get your ideas out of your head and onto paper, to essentially prime the canvas that will be your written piece. How effective it is...well, I like to think it's very effective.

That's what this article is. It's a free-write. The reason why I'm writing off the cuff at the moment is because I feel that anybody who reads this deserves a sort of introduction into who I am. I assure you I'm much more interesting in person, but you're going to have to make due until I become famous and you come to one of my many book signings.

I am Mitch. I am smart (I think), insightful (I think), and annoying (my professor thinks). I have my views about life, and some of them you might disagree with, but I think it's safe to say that I always like to have a good time. Having said that, I will now open myself up and let you all have a glimpes at the wonderful world of "ME".

"ME"

I made an observation today. An epiphany came to me. It's not anything amazing, or life changing, or important but it is, for lack of a better word, intriguing.

Coming to and from school I have to take a bus, a train, and a bus. The total trip time amounts to an hour and fifteen minutes with each vehicular ride lasting about 25 minutes each. When a person who has, through much training and physical exhaustion, become a morning person it's fun to look around with headphones on and no music playing. There's a certain degree of separation that this act creates which allows a person to observe the world rather than be a part of it. I am that person, and I create some dandy stories to entertain myself during those hour and fifteen minute long trips.

Look at the old man sitting across from me. Hunched with rheumatism, he's starring at the floor with eyes that are sunken and bulging, dull and alive. Wow is he old. But he doesn't seem defeated by life. I'm sure that this man fought. Was he an assassin? The way his eyes dart around...he could've been. Maybe he knew things and worlds that us normal humans can't see. After all, there seems to be a kind of magic running through his blue veins; they're not quite even blue.

Two seats ahead of me and across the isle to the right a person just sat down. A girl of about 25 who is absolutely beautiful. She's looking out the window, and her chin is trembling the same way mine did when someone near to me died, and now she's crying. Is that what happened to her? Was that person a friend? A parent? No, that can't be it. She is not crying tears of sadness, but something much more profound; nobody can know or understand what it is that makes this beautiful girl cry such beautiful tears.

I love watching people with headphones in my ear. My world is so much more interesting for it.