On losing it:
Tonight was a quiet night and no one was around, so I drove to my favorite running spot a few towns away. I put on a playlist and took off into the woods for a 10 mile run. For a while, I was fine. I made small talk with a woman who was jogging about the likelihood of being attacked by a black bear (small, although there are bears in the area), I started to focus and I was headed for my zen...
There is a beautiful girl sitting right next to me in an empty bar… and I have no desire to talk to her. Did I accidentally grow up?! Am I broken?!?! Is this normal?!?!?!
I was a very serious child. My brothers were 17 (almost 18) and 12 (almost 13) when I was born; my sister was 16 (almost 17). I grew up fast and have acted like an adult (albeit a delightfully immature one) for my entire life. I learned to read before I turned 3 and have spent the intervening 20 years with my nose buried in newspaper articles and editorials. I can remember being 3 years old and...
I can’t help but wonder whether the fact that I’m not even on speaking terms with any girl I have ever dated says something profound/dire/profoundly dire about me as a person or is just a side effect of a disastrous relationship track record in general.
I need to find an excuse to be out of town on Wednesday. I try not to bitch about this sort of thing too much anymore, but Wednesday will be a year since the last time I talked to my dad. That whole situation was (and is and always will be, I suppose) way, way, WAY more complicated than just about anyone knows and I’m really alright with it for the most part, but I need to be somewhere else...
Why is she still threatening me? Dear god. I still haven’t done anything wrong. I just want to be left alone.
Did… did you just use my toothbrush?
Someone asked me tonight why I majored in psychology. I typically tell people almost nothing when they ask this. Instead, I steer the question to why I gave up psychology: “Because it’s a crock of shit.” That’s my answer, and that answer itself is a crock of shit. I don’t know why I quit psychology, but I do know why I majored in it: I wanted to fix everyone. My dad used to call me Henry...
Hey, I’m reposting that thing here but you’re under no obligation to relike it or whatever. I’m just putting it here because I’ll probably delete it because I delete goddamn near everything because my family (etc.) reads it. Actually, I hope no one ever feels any need to ‘like’ something because you like me. I always think about that. Sometimes I write things...
I wonder if I could answer a Craigslist ad and get some old guy to bring me Taco Bell, then tell him I changed my mind and make him leave.
Minus the Bear // White Mystery