A Walk Among the Antebellums
A brief exercise in letting my intrusive Thoughts™ run wild.
It’s Wednesday - typically the midpoint of the five business days - but this is a holiday week (yay), which means it’s a shortened stint at the hostage situation. Don’t get me wrong: I mostly enjoy my job (mostly), but some days you’re just done with before they’ve even really begun, even when nothing’s really gone awry.
Who knows why.
Maybe there really is something to that ancient waking up on the wrong side of the bed wisdom (despite the fact you always fall asleep/wake up on the exact same side). Maybe it’s something you’ve watched - or heard - that’s wormed its way into your subconscious, and is whispering bittersweet nothings into your gray matter. Maybe it’s the off-putting manner in which somebody somewhere said something that you just can’t shake.
Whatever the reason could possibly be, today happens to be one of those days for me.
I should be hard at work: focused on the grind. Instead, I’m fixated on Notes - marveling at the sheer, willful stupidity of the average keyboard warrior (insert latest hivemind approved buzzwords about dRuMpF and fAsCiSm and aUtHoRiTaRiAniSm here) - while the wheels in my head slowly wobble along on grinding gears, plumbing the dark and remote recesses of my imagination for anything that will inspire me to hack out at least one of the stories I’m so desperately keen to write.
These are the days when I like to escape the office for a few, fleeting moments to be alone with my Thoughts™.
You see, I live just outside of a quaint, historic city on the Intracoastal Waterway, and the scenery is second to none. Palatial, antebellum houses reside on one side of the road, while - opposite their grand facades - a glistening river courses along; interspersed with atolls of rippling marsh grass and stately live oaks that are older than the town itself.
It’s quite a panorama to immerse yourself in: provided you can ignore all the oblivious, self-involved natives.
Adding to the picturesque atmosphere is a charming café that lies just outside the hustle and bustle of the historic downtown, where one can take in the arresting view while chugging a halfway decent cup of coffee, or munching on a delectable pastry. It’s certainly not my favorite coffeehouse around, but it is probably my favorite place to retreat to when I need a few minutes away from office life for a reset.
Take it from me: Small-town Southern living ain’t always all it’s cracked up to be, but it’s hard to deny the pleasure of a refreshing breeze off the river that ruffles your hair while you watch boats glide along the sparkling surface of the water and sip on a luscious, caffeinated beverage.
If you enjoyed reading my Thoughts™, consider showing your appreciation by helping to make my dream of quitting my day job a reality.
This hit weirdly close. That "done with the day before it begins" fog has been rolling in heavy latel even when, like you said, nothing's actually wrong.
I love how you describe the walk: those antebellum homes and river scenes almost sound like something out of a book I’d pretend I didn’t want to live in. I always find it funny how some places are beautiful and unbearable at the same time. (Especially if you make the mistake of overhearing certain conversations on the way to your coffee...)
The South really is lovely though — stillness, pride, and old ghosts. There’s a grace to it you just don’t find anywhere else.
Anyway, thanks for this. It reads like the kind of breath you forget you need until after you’ve taken it.
I visited the South many, many times and it always a pleasant experience.