I'm thinking of starting a new story. No worries, it won't be anywhere near as long as the last one! But it'd be a decent length. So please be patient if the next few posts are simply my rambling thoughts attempting to coalesce into something resembling a story.
I am unable to decide whether I've been blessed or cursed. The information could be interpreted both ways. I am from Appalachian folk on my father's side, and hardy Norwegian stock on my mother's side. Now, those of you who know only one culture or the other (or neither) may wonder why this could be taken as a curse. Well, the Appalachian side of me likes to take it easy, enjoy life as it goes by, and avoid hard work when convenient. The Norwegian blood, however, is a different story. You ever wonder what happened to the Vikings? I used to. The modern Norwegians are rather stolid and unemotional, especially when compared to their forebears. I finally got it figured out. When they stopped their rampaging, all that fire and anger got turned inwards. This festered for years and finally turned into the Scandinavian guilt that all of us Norskies are so familiar with today. So when the warm Southern blood in me gets sluggish and wants to take time to smell the roses, that cold Norwegian vein pumps in a good load of guilt, and I freeze, unsure of where to go and unable to enjoy the place I'm in.
But both bloodlines balance themselves out a little, and sometimes work together. I got a double dose of wanderlust from my Scotch-Irish Appalachian roots when they mixed with that Viking blood. I'm a decently hard worker, but I can never work a job for very long. Every so often, that road just looks so tempting, and even the inner guilt isn't enough to stop this Southern Viking from wandering down it, in search of something better, or worse, of just plain different.
I've done alright for myself. I work enough to keep soul and body together. I never was much good at anything in particular, but I was decent at lots of middling things. I work whatever temporary jobs I can find, and have done some strange things in my time. I guess it's a little bit of an exaggeration to say that I'm not good at anything. I am, in fact, excellent at wandering. I can sleep in any location, find food in the midst of a desert, and work any job that doesn't tie me down. I must have run away from home a hundred times when I was a kid. My mother was confused, since I tended to run away quite cheerfully, with no grudge against anyone. My dad never could quite see why I'd want to go to all that trouble. But I guess when it turned out that running was the only thing I was good at, I decided to make a lifestyle of it. After all, there aren't too many people who seen all the things I've seen. And who knows, maybe those things needed someone like me to come along, someone who would see and appreciate them.
Ok, so not the most interesting beginning, I grant you. But some of the things that come along are interesting...