On Random Musings

Today was a rough day.

The daily grind is messing with my head, which is fine. But I've become moody and somewhat stand-offish, and that is not fine. I had the time to actually write today and what followed can only be described as short, but heartfelt drivel.

I admit that a lot of this will sound sappy, which is kind of against my nature, but take it for what it's worth:

-There are really only six ways to say "I'm Sorry":

1. I was wrong.
2. You were right.
3. You are everything to me.
4. Maybe, perchance, I was not right this time.
5. I would be nothing with out you.
6. I love you.

-The heart of a hopeless romantic is just that; hopeless. It withers and dies without a counterpart. Sometimes being hopeless together is the only kind of hope that there is.

-Mistakes are meant to be made. Without them, there would be no reason to become a better person. No one is perfect, but the mistakes are there to be corrected. It gives life a reason.

-It is impossible to be perfect, but the biggest imperfection that a person can have is believing that they are, in fact, perfect.

-Depending on the moment, "insecurity" can be the most alluring trait a person can have. It also can be a beautiful word, given the right circumstances.

-Without take, there can be no give (and yes, I realize how fucking stupid that sounds).

- Some people get by simply on beauty or charm. Others rely on hatred or self loathing. The key to life is a happy medium between the two. A true "meet in the middle" relationship.

At this point, the "inspiration" was lost. But I get the feeling that it won't be far away from now on. Something changed today. Something clicked. I once again feel like I can be entertaining. And I say that despite the fact that most of what I have just written was sanctimonious bullshit.

It happens to us all.

Even the great ones had an off day.

On Great Things

On a recent road trip to Pennsylvania, I was struck with a new idea for a book.

This is the one.

It's heartfelt, personal and easy to relate to.

No one knows about the content, save one person. I'll give you one guess who.

Well yeah, God. So strike that then, two people.

The rough draft began tonight with an outline. The actual writing process starts immediately.

I expect big things, which is more than I can say about any other thing I have ever written.

On Short Stories

As a high school student, I used to view short stories as an easy homework assignment.

And as the years wore on, I came to have a deep seated disrespect for short stories.

I just thought the idea of trying to pack so many details and so many ideas into an abridged volume was kind of unfair to the reader, and a pure cop out for the writer.

But lately, I've been indulging in the genre, and I actually find it quite refreshing. I have written a lot of things in my life, but a short story that I wrote about a month ago is without question the thing that I am most proud of in my literary career.

It hasn't been published. It hasn't been reviewed. Hell, it hasn't even left the Microsoft Word document on my laptop. But it's from my heart, not from my gut (which is where all of my previous work has stemmed from).

It took me about an hour to write, as opposed to many hours, or even days overall in the past for longer works.

It deals with love and loss. Oh, and ducks.

Yes, I might be going soft. But I'm strangely okay with that. As long as I'm inspired, I'm happy.

And a happy me is a content me. And that's a "me" that everyone can get behind.

So I'll keep the short literary contributions coming, because they might be the thing that ends up defining me...much to the chagrin of yours truly circa 2003.

On The Death Of Creativity

It's been awhile since I've done anything of real value. My creativity was waning. My head was full of ideas, but no way to convey them.

For some time, I really thought that I had reached my literary peak. I had flamed out before I had even sparked.

But I feel good now. I feel invincible in fact.

I come back tomorrow.

On New York City

For the majority of my life, I always saw myself as a suburban guy. I like big yards, white picket fences and cul-de-sacs.

But in the past few years, I could totally see myself being a city guy.

Sure, it doesn't hurt that the greatest city in the world (New York City, for those of you not in the know) is about an hour train ride away from my front door, but for quite some time I never took advantage of that.

After spending a fair amount of time in the city in the past few years however, I think that I can finally wrap my head around the idea of settling in that area.

I have some reservations of course, because why would anything ever be easy with me?

First, I hate crowds. So in theory, that should write of Manhattan right away. Wandering down 7th Ave this past Saturday, carefully dodging the less than fortunate, and some people who were just plain crazy, I was completely out of my element.

Second, the prices of everything.

And I'm not even going to go into detail on what the real estate must go for, I don't need to be that depressed.

.

Third, I love the theatre scene. I always have. But unless I soon hit the lottery, I can't afford to see nearly as many shows as I'd like to. One or two a year is all that I can handle, but I wish that I had the wallet for an exponentially higher number.

I will say however, that American Idiot is maybe the best show that I have ever seen, and it's completely worth the money for anyone to see it, especially if they like Green Day as much as I have over the last roughly fifteen years. A must-see in fact.

So could your favorite pissed-off blogger be in for a trek to the city, perhaps to live?

Probably not.

Because after all, the suburbs give me so much more to bitch about.

On Life Lessons

As a young boy, I don't recall ever learning any real life lessons. I kind of came to most conclusions on my own.

I wasn't an impoverished child, didn't want for anything. I wasn't abused, nor did I ever want for attention. I just never really was ingrained with any of the life lessons that kids get.

Not even the "If you touch a hot stove, you WILL burn yourself" chestnut.

I never went to church or anything back then (and this was years before my religious epiphany), so I never knew the Ten Commandments. Not murdering someone just seemed like common sense.

But coveting thy neighbor's wife? Hell, what if she's a hottie?

I never got the "birds and the bees" talk from my parents. In fact, they never said anything at all about sex.

Actually, that's not true. When my dad and I were at the park flying a kite when I was nine, and I came across a used condom, my father simply said, "Oh that's where the spermies go."

As if I knew were "spermies" were then. I'm still not entirely sure what the hell they are now.

But all in all, I think I turned out all right. I haven't burned myself badly on anything.

I haven't killed anyone, so as Bill Murray would say, "I've got that going for me."

As for those latex sheaths and their vaunted catching skills? Well I'll remain mum on that.

Problems with that?

On Alcoholism

I had my first beer around age three. There's pictures marking the occasion. Today, that would probably be grounds for an urgent call to ACS. In the 80's though, it seemed to be funny.

I should have known at that point that I was destined to be an alcoholic. The look on my face as I drank the sweet nectar from that Budweiser bottle (which is probably the only time ever that that swill has ever been referred to in such a reverent manner) can only be described as giddy. I look happy. Accomplished. Content.

I then went through what I now term "a thirteen year attempt at sobriety." Age sixteen marks my next foray into the wonders of booze, which promptly ended around two hours after it started with a guy around my age taking a drunken dive off of the top of a swing set, breaking his arm in two places.

I found this fact out later, as he got up and dusted himself off with his arm hanging by a thread. To this day, it's one of the most gruesome things I've ever seen.

Recreationally, I had run-ins with alcohol over the next few years, all the way into my early twenties. Then the real abuse began.

I was drinking or smoking weed nightly. I gained about thirty pounds, and looked like I was ten years older than I really was. I also entered into a roughly three year long relationship that proved to be even more toxic than the poisons that I was ingesting in the first place.

That trend ended in July. And I don't miss it at all.