Ozarks Journal
22 August 2005
There have been very few occasions in my life when I've been compared to a flower. Though, as a portly man capable of sweating with uparalleled intensity, I have been compared to the amorphophallus titanum -- the world's largest flower which emits a rotting flesh odor.
But today, as the sweet smell of Speed Stick wafts from my armpits to God's nose, I will compare myself to a Black-eyed Susan. No, not that Courtney Love-esque stripper that you met at Stuckey's -- but the late-blooming flower.
It's just that so many 28-year-olds are already married with children, mortgages, and vegetables in crispers. Few are in college, sharing a rental, and holding the hope of unformed clay. Most have already seared the brand of finality into their boring flesh. They've molded their clay into something functional and completely forgettable.
But my clay remains unformed.
I'm leaving my options open.
I'm holding out and holding on to hope.
Everything is fine.
It has nothing to do with my fear of failure, fear of intimacy, or my social anxiety.
What I'm trying to say through this unintelligible phychosis-infested pile of words is this:
We know that there must be more to life.
Let's find it.
Contact Raymond: ozarksjournal@raymonddean.com
