Outline V.S Meaning

$2.16... those were the numbers that displayed within the big red signs that hung so effortlessly on the sides of a roof built to hover 6 individual pumps filled with gas. The state of disarray. Shivering and muttering words of injustice, I walked toward the gas station, away from Walmart, taking a bite out of a lightly frosted blueberry nutrigran bar that i had bought only but a few minutes ago. The t-shirt that i had been wearing in an earlier autumn sun was now defenseless against the cool temps of 37 degrees which, by the way, enfolded it's arms around me as though i was a lost dog an owner had finally found. Only with such luck, i could see the air i breathed while i searched for a place to call home at 3:00 in the morning. What brought me to such a situation?? an oh so courteous room "mate" of course, who finds nothing wrong with locking the top lock that can't be unlocked with a key and not answering after 20 minutes of hammering on the door. So, after killing an hour by playing lego batman for ps3 at such an evil corporation (walmart), i realized i needed to find somewhere to rest.

Car? eh, it was freezing out.

amanda scott's? everyone was prob asleep by now and extremely too drunk to even let me in. And if i did get in, the bed that awaited me was the floor as couch was already taken up.

under the bridge by the greenway with possible hobos? eh, it was at least an hour and a half walk (i've done it before) to get there and i probably would only have a good hour and a half of sleep before sun arose again...plus it was freezing and all i had was a t shirt, a cape, and a top hat....day after halloween (i wasn't worried about blending in with the hobos.)

So the idea sprung upon me to go to my apartment complex computer lab. Between the hours of 3 am and 5 am you could find me here in a room full of lights and computers, lounging in a chair with legs propped up on another chair, struggling to catch any glimpse of a dream. It was a comfortable room temp here, but also lights were on everywhere. and the makeshift bed comfort level hadn't been so great.

So the story brings me to now. I sit here in the early morning with about a half an hours' worth of sleep under my belt writing a story in the computer lab (my temporary bedroom) that could only be described well enough in writing rather than me speaking it.

It's 5 am (technically 6 am, but daylight savings just happened) and i have no comfort zone. No place to rest in peace. When I encounter those whom i live with, will i shout? will i laugh? will i do devious things like hide their shoelaces? I don't know. I just don't know.

I think that's what ultimately makes a story so great...you don't know what happens next. I do know that as soon as i publish this note, i'm going to walk back out into the antarctic climate with my brand new box of blueberry nutrigran bars... but what happens from there is only foreshadowed by previous moments. previous tales. Details leading up to some climax regardless of whether it's good or bad, happy or sad. Details that fill our stories, that fill our lives with the meaning we cling onto so often and so much. Without details we'd have nothing. We'd be an outline of a story, missing everything inbetween.

So weighing what could have happened and what did happen i find it hard to decipher which was for the better.

I could have been stephen, who came home, unlocked his door, and went to bed in a similar routine that will continue with certainty throughout life. but does that contain as much depth or meaning as what actually happened? Blueberry bars? Lego batman video games? antarctic climate? hobos?

it's hard for me to say i'm entirely mad about this particular situation. I mean, who doesn't want details? Who doesn't want meaning?

3 gold stars to whomever reads this note through and comprehends it cause i don't feel like going back and proofreading it....

-Stephen with a ph