I got lost

I've been looking for this address for some time now. I hate it when I get lost. You set out with a destination, a purpose even, but then you can't find it. How frustrating is that? I use to get lost intentionally on my bike, but that was a little more fun. You've already accounted for the inevitable loss of time, so that isn't a concern, plus you always have the option of going faster to get nowhere. It's a fundamental diversion in that regard, you don't know what you're doing or where you're going, so you just do everything "faster." Based on the rationale that speed applies purpose, or something to that effect. Things have been good. Things have also been busy. We've had surge of fallen soldiers come in recently, some of them suicides. I don't have the same kind of sympathy for the suicides. I can't judge them, becuase I don't know what their motivations were, maybe they had good reasons for doing so, who knows? But it's hard to imagine a nineteen year old having good reasons to give up so soon, for example. One of the saddest parts of this job is finding a picture. I have a weird gift for perspective, or so I believe, but with that I think I'm easly capable of detaching myself, creating an understanding or adjusting to the circumstances of situations. That was a very disorganized sentence that doesn't really include a coherent thought, but I'm gonna leave it alone. Changing it would go against the grain of this post, which as I said earlier, has an emphasis on speed. My intention here is to blather as quickly as possible and then leave. Who knows when I'll be able to find this place again. But as I was saying, it's the pictures that I find to be the most sorrowing. Family pictures. Young familys. Young familys that don't even know, at that moment, that there family has changed. That's what I think about when I look at the pictures. Moments before this post, my volunteered purpose in life was to sweep and mop our work area. I wanted to do this. I wanted to put my headphones on and start rearranging things in locations that would be more agreeable to my mop. Then put the mop where the things use to be. Then move the things once more and follow them with the mop. Everyone has their own way. The majority of my thoughts while doing this actually had to do with girls and "things I need to do." I am not sure which of those subjects I should continue on with from this point. After a quick reflection, a quick pause of my fingers, I think I determined that neither topic is very interesting, especially since I didn't come to any conclusions. So will just move on from here. But where do I go? I guess you can't call that being lost if you don't have any idea of where you want to go, so I'll just fast forward several months ahead. I'm really looking forward to getting back. I want to start my life again. I've been wanting to move to Minneapolis, but lately my head has been shifting to Chicago. Either place will do, so I guess I'll just leave it up to whichever offers the best oppurtunities. Problem solved. On to the next. My dad has a habit of alerting me of small problems that typically present themselves in envelopes, however he doesn't send me the envelopes or give me a good idea of what the problem is. It's kind of frustrating. It's sort of like telling someone there is a small fire, not a big fire, but an undesirable one nonetheless. He'll tell me that much, and maybe where it is, but he won't say how it got started or where to find the extinguisher. Those are important peices to know. Why don't you tell me shit? My dog is doing really well. He just got his teeth cleaned and am very lucky to have such a good home for him. He's with my grandparents who are doing an excellent job of taking care of him. My sister told me he put on a few pounds, but that I'm not suppose to let my grandparents know that I know. They don't want me to know. It's fine, I know he's happy, and I'll just run it off him when I get back anyhow. Part of me wants to leave him with them, simply because I know they've become attacthed to him and I know that moving and changing environments causes stress in dogs. Especially my dog. He was a stray at the humane society when I got him, and his luck placed him with an owner that moves constantly. I hope to slow that process down, my habitual changing of address's, but so far I haven't had that chance. Anyway, I'm a little hesitent to take him back becuase of those reasons, but he's my dog. He's gonna have to come with me. Selfish? Maybe, but I miss him the most. So my plan is to present a new dog to the situation. I will show up with another dog, not a replacement dog, a new dog. At this point he'll be a free agent, meaning he can stay with my grandparents if they decide that they want their own dog, or he will come with me as well, and become my second dog. That should work. Even if they take the dog, I'll probably get another anyway. So one way or another I'll have two dogs. In either Chicago or Minianapolis.