A young man's two best friends inexplicably disappear and his world comes crashing down around him as he tries to find them.
A rational and honest man alienates himself from friends and family after he experiences what he believes to be an alien abduction as he tries to convince them of what happened to him.
The comic story of how a "nice young man" makes an effort to be a bit of a jerk so her can get a girl.
How a man spends the last six months of his life with pancreatic cancer.
Something about someone going to see a psychic who turns out to actually have powers. A guy goes there on a dare? By chance? Life turned upside down somehow. The psychic is a gypsey woman from Czech republic.
Some friends move into an apartment that turns out to be haunted. The ghost is not malicious, his presence is a mystery that the roomates figure out.
A teenaged kid wakes up to find the world is deserted: everyone is gone.
A young, average, man becomes tries his luck at getting close to a minor celebrity.
The story of the atom bomb from its inception to the cold war proliferation efforts.
A slacker type of guy decides to fake having issues with depression and anxiety in order to participate in a clinical/psychological study at a university so he can make some extra cash by (in his mind) just showing up and acting sad, taking tests and coming back a week later to do it again. In the process he finds that he might be dealing with more complicated issues than he previously thought and begins to realize that he might need help after all. Throughout the story he begins to turn things around for himself through the help he recieves in the treatment (which turns out to be a placebo?).
Four good buddies are marooned on a deserted island and are forced to confront eachother's shortcomings as friends. (like the Breakfest Club meets Cast Away).
A conflicted young man begins to straighten out his life through the philosophies and practices of Zen Bhuddhism.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Master list of scene ideas to come back to
A teenager is caught sneaking out of the house by his grandfather to see a girl and the two have a talk about girls, love and sex.
A young couple in a car are on there way to a family gathering. After a beat of silence the girl looks over to the guy and says "I don't want to tell my parents we met on e-harmony."
Discovering that his pants are really wrinkled when he takes them out of his closet, a guy decides that he could just try and play it off by saying (jokingly?) its the new look. He rehearses that line, "Its the look." a few times to himself. Cut to the party where he says to a couple of girls looking at his pants "Its the look." They walk away.
A guy deals with a bitter break up by reanacting how it went with puppets in his apartment.
Time Life presents "Tom Waits sings his interprations of children's songs."
A bunch of regular guys go to a mystical, magical "lady of the lake" type figure to wish that their friend pulls through something that ails him.
The inner monolouge of a guy writing an apology letter (mic off stage) to his friend for what he did when he got very high and drunk the night before as he sits at his computer trying to write it getting more and more frustrated about word choice describing the bizarre and disgusting things he had done.
A cheery and upbeat (albeit nervouse) "setting up second date/just saying hi and seeing hows it going" phone conversation gets rocked when the guy on one end inadvertantly shares that his mother got the news that she dodged breast cancer the other day. The guy panics and apologizes for getting into such personal details so fast and then hits a slippery slope of sharing more and more things really nervous really fast.
A guy finds out that his buddy keeps ethnic slurs next to his friend's names on his cell phone's contact list. (e.g. Eric the Pole, Mikey the mick, Paul the Kraut). This is shocking as his friend never conducts himself as a racist or even someone who thought that way.
A young couple in a car are on there way to a family gathering. After a beat of silence the girl looks over to the guy and says "I don't want to tell my parents we met on e-harmony."
Discovering that his pants are really wrinkled when he takes them out of his closet, a guy decides that he could just try and play it off by saying (jokingly?) its the new look. He rehearses that line, "Its the look." a few times to himself. Cut to the party where he says to a couple of girls looking at his pants "Its the look." They walk away.
A guy deals with a bitter break up by reanacting how it went with puppets in his apartment.
Time Life presents "Tom Waits sings his interprations of children's songs."
A bunch of regular guys go to a mystical, magical "lady of the lake" type figure to wish that their friend pulls through something that ails him.
The inner monolouge of a guy writing an apology letter (mic off stage) to his friend for what he did when he got very high and drunk the night before as he sits at his computer trying to write it getting more and more frustrated about word choice describing the bizarre and disgusting things he had done.
A cheery and upbeat (albeit nervouse) "setting up second date/just saying hi and seeing hows it going" phone conversation gets rocked when the guy on one end inadvertantly shares that his mother got the news that she dodged breast cancer the other day. The guy panics and apologizes for getting into such personal details so fast and then hits a slippery slope of sharing more and more things really nervous really fast.
A guy finds out that his buddy keeps ethnic slurs next to his friend's names on his cell phone's contact list. (e.g. Eric the Pole, Mikey the mick, Paul the Kraut). This is shocking as his friend never conducts himself as a racist or even someone who thought that way.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
The ballad of Chewie C.
The Claire thing blew over. Eric liked my letter and accepted my apology. That was nice. I'm glad. So in the wake of that fiasco, things have returned to a level of normalcy I suppose among the guys. And Chewie is back. Chewie is a great guy and our fourth man--if that makes sense. Chewie's real name is Matt, but growing up in a house with seven older siblings is bound to give anyone a nickname.
I like Chewie a lot. He's an athletic, earnest, smart and cheerful guy. Like I said he grew up in a house with eight older siblings, so sevral of life's mysteries have been uncovered for him many times over. He's from the great City of Omaha in the great state of Nebraska and does bear some of that"aw shucks" mystique you'd associate with the heartland, but that quickly dissapates when you talk to him and find out that he's a sharp wit and not at all averse to voicing opinions. He's not one to put a lot of stock in tangeble things. His existence is a simple one consisting of reading (for school and pleasure) drinking, excercising, chasing girls and engaging Eric (whom he lives with) in discussion (a symptom of their apartment not having a working TV).
Chewy was away for the past summer. Working in New Mexico for a doctor in a small town out there, driving the poor to the clinic and hospital for their appointments. He also spent a lot of time "just cleaning the swimming pool," which is exactly what it sounds like. But he also managed to find a girl out there as well and spent some time screwing her. Around the middle of August he left NM and went out to Denver for the DNC. Now, a lot families have fundemental and specific ties to institutions: a legacy at a university, the military, a business, music, art etc. Chewie's family is one of polotics. Specifically Democratic polotics. His father was a State senator in the late 80's and is good friends with former Kennedy speech writer Ted Sorenson. Chewie made the trip out to the convention and was in his element for a while with free booze and celebrity sightings and the oppurtunity to see Barack's acceptence speech firsthand. I think he also got laid out there too.
Migrating further from Denver, Chewy rolled through Omaha briefly before heading out to Lake Geneva Wisconsin, where his aunt has a lakehouse. He had been there for a couple of weeks when Eric and I went up from the city to visit him three weeks ago. We had a grand, drunken time that night, and swam and played for the greater part of the next day. Chewy also let us know of how he got to have sex with a girl in a nearby lakefront house...a lot.
Three days later he'd make the trip back down into the loving bosom of Chicago and begin his senior year with Eric and Jon.
I've hung out with him a couple of times and its good to have him back. We all compliment eachother.
I like Chewie a lot. He's an athletic, earnest, smart and cheerful guy. Like I said he grew up in a house with eight older siblings, so sevral of life's mysteries have been uncovered for him many times over. He's from the great City of Omaha in the great state of Nebraska and does bear some of that"aw shucks" mystique you'd associate with the heartland, but that quickly dissapates when you talk to him and find out that he's a sharp wit and not at all averse to voicing opinions. He's not one to put a lot of stock in tangeble things. His existence is a simple one consisting of reading (for school and pleasure) drinking, excercising, chasing girls and engaging Eric (whom he lives with) in discussion (a symptom of their apartment not having a working TV).
Chewy was away for the past summer. Working in New Mexico for a doctor in a small town out there, driving the poor to the clinic and hospital for their appointments. He also spent a lot of time "just cleaning the swimming pool," which is exactly what it sounds like. But he also managed to find a girl out there as well and spent some time screwing her. Around the middle of August he left NM and went out to Denver for the DNC. Now, a lot families have fundemental and specific ties to institutions: a legacy at a university, the military, a business, music, art etc. Chewie's family is one of polotics. Specifically Democratic polotics. His father was a State senator in the late 80's and is good friends with former Kennedy speech writer Ted Sorenson. Chewie made the trip out to the convention and was in his element for a while with free booze and celebrity sightings and the oppurtunity to see Barack's acceptence speech firsthand. I think he also got laid out there too.
Migrating further from Denver, Chewy rolled through Omaha briefly before heading out to Lake Geneva Wisconsin, where his aunt has a lakehouse. He had been there for a couple of weeks when Eric and I went up from the city to visit him three weeks ago. We had a grand, drunken time that night, and swam and played for the greater part of the next day. Chewy also let us know of how he got to have sex with a girl in a nearby lakefront house...a lot.
Three days later he'd make the trip back down into the loving bosom of Chicago and begin his senior year with Eric and Jon.
I've hung out with him a couple of times and its good to have him back. We all compliment eachother.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
The letter
Dear Eric,
Last Saturday night, I did something awful: I interfered in your life and made a fool of myself when I told Sarah that Claire was sleeping with you in your bedroom. My actions were thoughtless and base; the kind of actions for which there is no sound and clear justification. Despite this, I still want to try to explain why and how this happened because, among other things, I feel you are entitled to an explanation.
To be perfectly honest, I have always been jealous and even envious of you, Eric. It seems that, for as long as I have known you, you have never had much trouble when it comes to women—especially in recent months now that you are playing the field more. That sort of thing seems to come easily to you and, by comparison, is very difficult for me…
That night I had been drinking copious amounts of alcohol. Drinking to the point where my judgment had all but disintegrated. You had been the better man that night in leaving me alone with Claire. That showed a lot of character and decency on your part; where some would have stuck around and ran interference, you gave me a chance to spend some time with her alone. Thank you for that. It meant a lot to me.
When Claire wandered into your room and insisted on staying there (a decision that was all her own) I felt defeated. You had not done much in terms of flirting with her that evening, and yet, there she was on your bed; whereas I on the other hand had spent the night jockeying for her attention and favor. I was angry and bitter at circumstances that were beyond my control. Feeling helpless, and bruised I figured I would let things be and just fall asleep on your couch. I had no conscious recollection of going to Sarah and telling her about you and Claire until I received your text message the next night and began to piece the fragments of that night together in my memory. I want to make it clear that if I was sober I would have just left you two alone as you had done for me. But instead, I drunkenly got up and acted on a wretched, jealous impulse and told on you. It was nothing short of childish and I regret that I had done it.
The simple matter of me being drunk does not excuse my actions in any way, however. I want to take this opportunity to formally apologize for what I did to you that night. I am sorry. Sorry for putting you in such a terrible position, and sorry for acting in such a despicable way.
I value our friendship very much and I hope that we can move past this and enjoy each other’s company for many, many more years to come.
Last Saturday night, I did something awful: I interfered in your life and made a fool of myself when I told Sarah that Claire was sleeping with you in your bedroom. My actions were thoughtless and base; the kind of actions for which there is no sound and clear justification. Despite this, I still want to try to explain why and how this happened because, among other things, I feel you are entitled to an explanation.
To be perfectly honest, I have always been jealous and even envious of you, Eric. It seems that, for as long as I have known you, you have never had much trouble when it comes to women—especially in recent months now that you are playing the field more. That sort of thing seems to come easily to you and, by comparison, is very difficult for me…
That night I had been drinking copious amounts of alcohol. Drinking to the point where my judgment had all but disintegrated. You had been the better man that night in leaving me alone with Claire. That showed a lot of character and decency on your part; where some would have stuck around and ran interference, you gave me a chance to spend some time with her alone. Thank you for that. It meant a lot to me.
When Claire wandered into your room and insisted on staying there (a decision that was all her own) I felt defeated. You had not done much in terms of flirting with her that evening, and yet, there she was on your bed; whereas I on the other hand had spent the night jockeying for her attention and favor. I was angry and bitter at circumstances that were beyond my control. Feeling helpless, and bruised I figured I would let things be and just fall asleep on your couch. I had no conscious recollection of going to Sarah and telling her about you and Claire until I received your text message the next night and began to piece the fragments of that night together in my memory. I want to make it clear that if I was sober I would have just left you two alone as you had done for me. But instead, I drunkenly got up and acted on a wretched, jealous impulse and told on you. It was nothing short of childish and I regret that I had done it.
The simple matter of me being drunk does not excuse my actions in any way, however. I want to take this opportunity to formally apologize for what I did to you that night. I am sorry. Sorry for putting you in such a terrible position, and sorry for acting in such a despicable way.
I value our friendship very much and I hope that we can move past this and enjoy each other’s company for many, many more years to come.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Getting by with a little help from my friends
One of the most difficult things for me to do is swallow my pride and face up to the fact that I’m in the process of getting my life back on track. A small aspect of that is reflected in that I’m re-taking some of the classes that I took last spring for the sake of a better grade. Two of these classes have the same instructors. Seeing them again, hearing their spiel on the syllabus I've seen before, hearing what the class is like etc—it’s all very surreal and very disheartening to me. Going to class feels more me atoning to past mistakes and less to me working towards a greater goal, although I suppose those two do go hand and hand. It is going to be a long 16 weeks.
I’m also in a strange place as far as my friends are concerned. Before I flunked out of the four year university I was at I forged really nice friendships with three other guys there. None of them are perfect, and I’m sure I’m not perfect to them either, but we get along great and in many ways compliment one another…
Our friend Chewie (whose away for the summer) has a cousin named Sarah. We all love sarah like a sister. Last weekend Sarah, invited her cousin into the city to have a good time—I go out to the city practically every weekend to get drunk and act my age and not give a shit about my circumstances for a day or two. The night was going pretty well. There we all were all getting drunk in my buddy Eric’s apartment; laughing, dancing, progressively getting more and more sloshed. Now, Sarah’s cousin, Claire, is very, very cute. If I were to draw a comparison, I’d say she looked a little like a Reese Witherspoon and Cameron Diaz, and she’s about 20. As the night was winding down I found that the stars had inexplicably aligned somehow and that we were getting along great in that wonderful superficial way that two drunken people in their twenties can. Amidst the very uncoordinated and unsavory (though very fun!) kisses we were planting on each other, she got the idea to wander into Eric’s room. Eric had turned in for the night, but who is he to throw a pretty girl out of his room…sitting on his bed…cooing/slurring something to the effect of “just wanna talk.”
Eric often manages to fall ass-backward into, well, ass. A drought for him is about two weeks. Mine are considerably longer (considerably.) I suppose he looks a little like an out of shape Hugh Jackman or Mark Ruffalo if I can pile on anymore celebrity comparisons. He carries himself with the same swagger as a guy from South Boston, Brooklyn NY or the Southside of Chicago, because in some ways he’s an amalgam of those kinds of guys. Like a character out of a Charles Bukowski or Raymond Carver story. Eric recently came out of a passive-aggressive long term relationship and is now just playing the field. Sometimes I get jealous and even envious of him because of the ease he seems to have with women.
These are about the same thoughts I had when I was standing in the doorway of his darkened bedroom watching the fun loving blonde I was having such a great time with sitting there. I was pissed. Pissed at the world. Pissed at myself. Pissed at Eric. Pissed at the girl. Somehow, without making any advances towards her, Eric wound up exactly where I wanted to be. After saying, “We should leave Eric alone,” a couple of times I surrendered and decided to just pass out on the nearby couch. Or so I thought.
I woke up the next morning to find that Claire was back in the bed her cousin was crashing in that night. She must have moved during the night, I thought. Much later that day I found out through an angry text from Eric that I apparently told Sarah that she was in Eric’s room. That prompted a slightly pissed and very drunk older cousin to come into Eric’s room to get her. I want to make clear that this was definitely something I would never have done if I were sober. If I were sober I would have just let things be. During the night I must have drunkenly gotten up and acted on that wretched jealous impulse I had and told on Eric. Childish. I wish I hadn’t done it.
Another thing that tarnishes this debacle more is the events that transpired beforehand with my other friend, Jon. Jon is somewhat opposite of Eric: he’s introverted, not one to take huge social risks like flirting outright with a girl he doesn’t know, and he is very, very quick to judge people and situations. I think this speaks to his unwillingness to take risks like asking a girl out or chatting up a female stranger at a bar. He couches much of his inaction in his judgments of people that I think reinforce his trying not to take risks or get hurt. One argument he uses to drive his anti “fun with a girlI just met” sentiment is that he believes it to be an imitation of the sordid, unrespectable life that Eric leads. Jon has always made a point of saying he has “lost respect for Eric” whenever mention of him spending the night with a girl, or hearing of his past escapades. Me? I’m not going to judge Eric too harshly. He’s enjoying himself and a part of me wants in on that kind of thing too. Anyway, Jon has a habit of playing the naysayer and mother hen role if he sees fit. That sort of thing occurred a few months ago one night when he and I were at a bar when I bumped into a pair of chatty (albeit slightly drunk) women who were joking around with the group they came with. Instead of us sticking around and Jon playing the role of wingman, he was more quasi-chaperones and said we should go meet Eric at a bar he was at. We left, but I still wish he’d have stayed because that night wasn’t any more exciting. It ended up with Eric getting some action from this really hot girl we all new, Jon “losing respect for Eric” and me wishing that things had turned out differently. Typical.
Fast forward to the night a week ago: Jon and I are standing on Eric’s back porch with Jon nice and sober and me fucking lit. Jon is telling me its time to go. I didn’t want to leave—for obvious reasons. Jon was being difficult. Where most guys would have said something like “So you’re just going to just crash here?” and leaving it be, Jon was trying to save my immortal soul and keeping me from having fun with Claire. “I’ll lose a lot of respect for you,” he threatened. I was too drunk to engage him. Too drunk to argue coherently. The best I could do is say “I’m in no condition to have this conversation with you. Just leave my car keys here so I can leave in the morning.” The argument ping-ponged between us for five mintutes never really departing from “just leave I’ll be fine” “no you won’t” points. Jon gave in and got ready to go but said that he’d hide the keys and text me their whereabouts in the morning. Whatever.
The problem is that when I look back on the events that transpired last week I can’t help but think that, on some level, Jon was right in his attempts to get me home. It stings.
When I got the text from Eric I called his phone and left some apologetic voicemails and said that I value our friendship too much for something like this to end it and we should talk things out. He texted me back a day later saying he wasn’t mad anymore but I was still a cocksucker (his words). And now, no more than just a minute ago I recieved a text from Sarah on Eric's behalf asking for a formal letter of apology and a twelve pack of heineken or better. Done. Done and done. I'll start the letter once this post is published. and I'll be in town tomorrow for the hand off and the inevitable smoothing over of things.
I haven’t heard from Jon yet. I may see him tomorrow. I wonder if I crossed some kind of respect Rubicon with him, though. We'll see.
I’m also in a strange place as far as my friends are concerned. Before I flunked out of the four year university I was at I forged really nice friendships with three other guys there. None of them are perfect, and I’m sure I’m not perfect to them either, but we get along great and in many ways compliment one another…
Our friend Chewie (whose away for the summer) has a cousin named Sarah. We all love sarah like a sister. Last weekend Sarah, invited her cousin into the city to have a good time—I go out to the city practically every weekend to get drunk and act my age and not give a shit about my circumstances for a day or two. The night was going pretty well. There we all were all getting drunk in my buddy Eric’s apartment; laughing, dancing, progressively getting more and more sloshed. Now, Sarah’s cousin, Claire, is very, very cute. If I were to draw a comparison, I’d say she looked a little like a Reese Witherspoon and Cameron Diaz, and she’s about 20. As the night was winding down I found that the stars had inexplicably aligned somehow and that we were getting along great in that wonderful superficial way that two drunken people in their twenties can. Amidst the very uncoordinated and unsavory (though very fun!) kisses we were planting on each other, she got the idea to wander into Eric’s room. Eric had turned in for the night, but who is he to throw a pretty girl out of his room…sitting on his bed…cooing/slurring something to the effect of “just wanna talk.”
Eric often manages to fall ass-backward into, well, ass. A drought for him is about two weeks. Mine are considerably longer (considerably.) I suppose he looks a little like an out of shape Hugh Jackman or Mark Ruffalo if I can pile on anymore celebrity comparisons. He carries himself with the same swagger as a guy from South Boston, Brooklyn NY or the Southside of Chicago, because in some ways he’s an amalgam of those kinds of guys. Like a character out of a Charles Bukowski or Raymond Carver story. Eric recently came out of a passive-aggressive long term relationship and is now just playing the field. Sometimes I get jealous and even envious of him because of the ease he seems to have with women.
These are about the same thoughts I had when I was standing in the doorway of his darkened bedroom watching the fun loving blonde I was having such a great time with sitting there. I was pissed. Pissed at the world. Pissed at myself. Pissed at Eric. Pissed at the girl. Somehow, without making any advances towards her, Eric wound up exactly where I wanted to be. After saying, “We should leave Eric alone,” a couple of times I surrendered and decided to just pass out on the nearby couch. Or so I thought.
I woke up the next morning to find that Claire was back in the bed her cousin was crashing in that night. She must have moved during the night, I thought. Much later that day I found out through an angry text from Eric that I apparently told Sarah that she was in Eric’s room. That prompted a slightly pissed and very drunk older cousin to come into Eric’s room to get her. I want to make clear that this was definitely something I would never have done if I were sober. If I were sober I would have just let things be. During the night I must have drunkenly gotten up and acted on that wretched jealous impulse I had and told on Eric. Childish. I wish I hadn’t done it.
Another thing that tarnishes this debacle more is the events that transpired beforehand with my other friend, Jon. Jon is somewhat opposite of Eric: he’s introverted, not one to take huge social risks like flirting outright with a girl he doesn’t know, and he is very, very quick to judge people and situations. I think this speaks to his unwillingness to take risks like asking a girl out or chatting up a female stranger at a bar. He couches much of his inaction in his judgments of people that I think reinforce his trying not to take risks or get hurt. One argument he uses to drive his anti “fun with a girlI just met” sentiment is that he believes it to be an imitation of the sordid, unrespectable life that Eric leads. Jon has always made a point of saying he has “lost respect for Eric” whenever mention of him spending the night with a girl, or hearing of his past escapades. Me? I’m not going to judge Eric too harshly. He’s enjoying himself and a part of me wants in on that kind of thing too. Anyway, Jon has a habit of playing the naysayer and mother hen role if he sees fit. That sort of thing occurred a few months ago one night when he and I were at a bar when I bumped into a pair of chatty (albeit slightly drunk) women who were joking around with the group they came with. Instead of us sticking around and Jon playing the role of wingman, he was more quasi-chaperones and said we should go meet Eric at a bar he was at. We left, but I still wish he’d have stayed because that night wasn’t any more exciting. It ended up with Eric getting some action from this really hot girl we all new, Jon “losing respect for Eric” and me wishing that things had turned out differently. Typical.
Fast forward to the night a week ago: Jon and I are standing on Eric’s back porch with Jon nice and sober and me fucking lit. Jon is telling me its time to go. I didn’t want to leave—for obvious reasons. Jon was being difficult. Where most guys would have said something like “So you’re just going to just crash here?” and leaving it be, Jon was trying to save my immortal soul and keeping me from having fun with Claire. “I’ll lose a lot of respect for you,” he threatened. I was too drunk to engage him. Too drunk to argue coherently. The best I could do is say “I’m in no condition to have this conversation with you. Just leave my car keys here so I can leave in the morning.” The argument ping-ponged between us for five mintutes never really departing from “just leave I’ll be fine” “no you won’t” points. Jon gave in and got ready to go but said that he’d hide the keys and text me their whereabouts in the morning. Whatever.
The problem is that when I look back on the events that transpired last week I can’t help but think that, on some level, Jon was right in his attempts to get me home. It stings.
When I got the text from Eric I called his phone and left some apologetic voicemails and said that I value our friendship too much for something like this to end it and we should talk things out. He texted me back a day later saying he wasn’t mad anymore but I was still a cocksucker (his words). And now, no more than just a minute ago I recieved a text from Sarah on Eric's behalf asking for a formal letter of apology and a twelve pack of heineken or better. Done. Done and done. I'll start the letter once this post is published. and I'll be in town tomorrow for the hand off and the inevitable smoothing over of things.
I haven’t heard from Jon yet. I may see him tomorrow. I wonder if I crossed some kind of respect Rubicon with him, though. We'll see.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Buddy, you've a lot of explaining ahead of you
It was about a year ago when several things happened to me. I failed out of school; I entertained thoughts of suicide and moved back home from my apartment in the city to live with my parents. About a week and a half after that my grandpa died. I started seeing a therapist and since last autumn I have been making fitful attempts at getting things “back on track.” In the course of the past year I’ve learned a lot about myself and at the same time very little. I wish I could articulate things better but there is so much at play that I really could not begin to describe everything that has happened here and now. I’m 21 now, and I’m living now with just my parents—my little brother just started his college career and lives in a dorm at his school and my older sister lives in an apartment nearby. There is no buffer between me and my mom and dad. This is very, very weird for me.
My hope is that this little blog will become a place where I can write—something I’ve always liked to do—consistently; venting and making sense of the past and present. Sorting out issues of friendship, love, school and other things that impact my life. I’d like to keep things honest and, man, am I banking on the anonymity of the almighty blogosphere as a place to let the happenings of my life disappear into the aether.
Tomorrow I begin a new semester at the community college out where I live. I’m taking some classes that I failed last spring. That was an ugly and unmotivated semester for sure. And I guess part of that had to do with me simply not having an answer to where I am going to go after that (both in the literal and figurative sense.) I have some semblance of an answer now, but the truth is, I really don’t know.
I really hope I can keep this thing regularly updated.
My hope is that this little blog will become a place where I can write—something I’ve always liked to do—consistently; venting and making sense of the past and present. Sorting out issues of friendship, love, school and other things that impact my life. I’d like to keep things honest and, man, am I banking on the anonymity of the almighty blogosphere as a place to let the happenings of my life disappear into the aether.
Tomorrow I begin a new semester at the community college out where I live. I’m taking some classes that I failed last spring. That was an ugly and unmotivated semester for sure. And I guess part of that had to do with me simply not having an answer to where I am going to go after that (both in the literal and figurative sense.) I have some semblance of an answer now, but the truth is, I really don’t know.
I really hope I can keep this thing regularly updated.
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