Spencer Moseley

un. cer. tain. ty.  what a word. this encapsulates my whole life transition lately. i feel very much uncertain and anxious. i always have and i suppose i always will. i think on the positive side of this, i am very sensitive to others and myself. i can read people. i can see when i've taken a joke too far. i can tell when someone else has taken a joke too far. but the downside is a sickening anxious feeling in my stomach. i crave certainty. because to me certainty = safety. but safety also = boredom. so i've been trying to transition to seeing that sickening feeling as an opportunity for adventure. that sickening feeling is interesting for me. it can overwhelm my brain to where i can't process thoughts. it would be like driving and then all of a sudden a wall comes up in front of you on the highway and you crash. airbag deploys. driving halted abruptly. that's how waves of anxiety hit me. i can start to feel like taking my skin off. i pick at my nails to manage this fee...

I was in a sentimental place for my last post. and now i'm more somber. somber is a good word huh. feels like you're cuddling with that one bear from that movie with the kid and the bear. i remember he looked like a younger tarzan or something. wtf was that movie about anyway? had some remake with christopher waken? Walken? Walker? Johnnie Walker black on ice.  But anyway yeah i'm somber. how bout that weather huh? and them gas prices?  i put my hand to my heart now and that's my prayer. i imagine this cool jesus. partially the jesus from the bible. partially my imagination. and he's always chilled out and having a good time. how do some people always seem at peace and chillin', you know? like mannn there's shit out here to worry about how can you be all chillaxedddd.  i wanna go clubbing this weekend in a gandalf costume. and do some karaoke. and have those things that you crack and they light up neon green all over me. and wear light up shoes. that would b...

I'm feeling a lot of inner change lately. The kind that makes you think and rethink and come to grips. And loosen other grips. And then grip again. That gorilla grip grip gripping. I'm pretty sure this writing style is annoying. No actually — I’m gonna be confident in it and just roll with this. I've been practicing more confidence. Unleashing my inner self. That feels good. It feels aligned. I haven't trusted myself. Maybe ever. I've always felt a need to prove myself. And be something. To others. Someone people looked up to. Looked at. Admired. Loved. Needed. I want to be needed. Not really loved. I don't think I've ever craved a lot of love. Maybe that's ’cause I've always had love and taken it for granted — unlike some others less fortunate. I feel bad for them. But wanting to be needed perhaps comes from a deeper well of insecurity I'm uncovering lately. I feel like I'm digging things up. Unearthing things. And it's painfu...

There was an Indian man sitting at a 45 degree angle from me at the campfire. He wasn't handsome. He had those jowls that bulldogs have and a white scar that zig zagged from his nose to the corner of his lip. I didn't know his name. In fact I hadn't said a word to him. But he intrigued me. I also couldn't stop looking at him. He was mostly quiet, and people would say things to him, and his directness and lack of social skills eventually pushed them away. He just tended to the fire. I don't know if he liked doing it. But he never stopped. And he had this old fashioned lantern that he filled with some sort of bullshit from his knapsack. Yeah a knapsack—with those colorful leather strips hanging from it that I saw in Pocahontas or whatever. The fire crackled and burned and a part of me wondered if he was on this pilgrimage almost for some sort of revenge reasons. There was a slight anger in his expression underneath the stoic look. He also stayed awake long after every...

     We walked alone through the woods, and I listened to the crunch of autumn leaves beneath our boots. We wore frayed tunics with our cowls pulled over our necks and heads. With each breath, ice-cold oxygen stung my windpipe, and I could feel it all the way to my stomach. I hadn't eaten all day and half-wondered if the air itself was quenching my hunger.      "I'm depressed," I said suddenly, surprising myself. I felt shocked, as if the words had sprung from my mouth accidentally.       David said nothing, and his silence sent me into a panic. Had I infringed on his conversational comfort levels? Lord knows it wouldn't be the first time I'd done that to a friend.       Friend? Boyfriend? Friend? Boyfriend?      He pulled an apple from his satchel and handed it to me. Then he pulled another and started eating it. I tried to glean anything from his expression, but he looked like I hadn't said anything. ...

The parking lot was full, so I parked side street, hoping I was in a no-tow zone. It was in front of someone's house, not blocking the driveway, and I say this hoping my readers side with me.  Puebla's Mexican Kitchen, I read aloud in my car as I evaluated several spots on Google Maps. I saw they had chilaquiles and "jugos naturales," so I wanted to try them. My regular Mexican food spots were far (or further) from my work site, so I opted to try this new place.  I ensured I had my AirPods to rock out to my Ken Follett audiobook and walked through the entrance. A punk-rock-looking Mexican with gelled hair and a rough-shaven face motioned me to approach the front counter. I hoped I wasn't cutting other people in line since there was a small group crowding the front, but now that I think about it, this anxiety was not warranted—or else he wouldn't have called me.  He asked if I was alone, and I nodded quickly. Then he raised his eyebrows and pointed toward the e...

I craved a Colombian breakfast: two fried eggs, black refried beans, some protein, and a coffee.  I had been to Mi Pueblito before and knew I had to return. It was near the dumpy part of town (Gessner and Richmond). All the restaurants around here were good.  I parked in the strip mall. Mi Pueblito sat couched between some chicken restaurant and a nail salon. I panicked briefly since I had not reviewed the menu in my car with the AC. I hate making waiters wait after they ask me what I want—though their job title suggests this is what they do. As I reviewed the menu, I started to sweat. Houston is fucking hot, and Mi Pueblito has a large menu. Finally, I decided to order their iced coffee and the "Calentado con Carne". I walked through the entrance wearing my striped polo (untucked) and khakis. Maybe I imagined it, but the hostess and a waitress appeared to exchange a look that said, "he's cute." As my hostess walked me to my seat, I questioned if my perception w...