A bit of babble...

The more I wonder through the freedom of schedule-flex the more time I have to wonder and thing. I wonder if I would think of the same things I do know if I was sitting in an office with slacks and a shirt with six-seven buttons. These things that I think, they are trival and mundane, non consequential and timely, but always prevalent it seems. I recognize the patterns as they happen, which is something new, and I believe comes with age. Whether it's listening to Jenny Lewis non-stop for days upon end, or falling asleep to the same forward thoughts of future and fond memories of the past, I have grown to enjoy my own patterns, and at least until this moment...have done so while weilding off the powerful attack of the mid-winter cold.
I've been fighting the sniffles for days now, ignoring the signs of fatigue brought on by bike riding in tempuraturs bellow that of ten, eating nothing but burritos and falafel....though I refuse to believe that the diet of kings has anything to do with my current physical disposition, as I believe it has everything to do with my emotional demeanor. Though at the conclusion of this little writing exerices I will partaking in what I hear, are some damn fine hamburgers at the Miracle of Science Pub. Local MIT hangout I hear, I'm looking to infultrate on behalf of the low brow working class. Welll...not to sure if I am low brow, or can be considered part of the working class? Huh...what young adult plight do I assosiate with? Definitly not young professional...and I'm not currently in school. It seems I lack a peer group at which to identify, not uncommon, in fact, I'd say its down right per usual.
Any stage of life you have yet to live through can only been seen as compartmentalized for convenience. With only so many outcomes, the future appears less scary. But as you get into a stage of life, the variences and x-factors present themselves, and it becomes obvious that no one, and I truly believe no one, does it the same as another. Nothing is as it seems until its over and you can look at it again, and then you realize it is, only what you remember it to be. It's an introspective time here on Watson Street.