It’s funny how a guy will turn down the music when he’s forced to concentrate on watching for certain street signs and exits off the freeway.
I sit here with similarly down-turned music (and a contrastingly-high blood alcohol content), having just finished reliving the recent years of my past as chronicled on this very blog. It's time to concentrate, and to write.
Holy shit, I miss some of the old me.
I sit here with similarly down-turned music (and a contrastingly-high blood alcohol content), having just finished reliving the recent years of my past as chronicled on this very blog. It's time to concentrate, and to write.
Holy shit, I miss some of the old me.
The thing is, nobody I know or have ever heard of has looked back on their past selves and said “They’ve got it figured out, much more than I do right now!” The benefit of hindsight is 20/20, which is an ironic presence of the number 20, considering we’re often looking back at our 20s and wondering how the hell we were ever so naive and innocent!
Anyways, it’s been 729 days - nearly two years to the day - that I last uploaded an entry to this blog. I started out so strong, wrote things I was and still am immensely proud of… Then it fell apart. I quit writing because I was writing for the wrong reasons. I shouldn’t write verbose, self-aggrandizing bullshit that only ends up being a wordy way of saying “Hey everybody! Look at me! I exist!” Writing for validation isn’t the right reason to be writing at all.
It’d be a lie to say that I miss it, though. The validation, that is. Three years ago, I found myself at my lowest weight in recent history, skinny-dipping with hotties at midnight, sucking at the teet of validation just enough to keep me afloat. I’ve since dialed back on all that, retreated myself to a more safe place, not content to continue the habits that led to such success and excess.
But whatever, fuck it, I’m back at my keyboard, typing away now. I suck back at the bottle not because I’m digging for courage or answers at the bottom of it, but because I genuinely love the taste of an India Pale Ale now. I’ve been at my lowest weight, I’ve gained it all back, and yo-yoed again since those halcyon times. I’m currently on the rebound, but don’t pat my back yet.
Who knows what this summer will bring? Maybe I’ll get to relive the adventures of ‘13, maybe I’ll get to even get to be set up with a girl I’d love to be with (had we not been two different people) like the summer of ‘15. Maybe this year, my latest crush will become more than that and I’ll finally have someone who’s not my brother to share a tent with, up on that island on the Canadian border!
Whatever transpires, we’re still in the grasp of February, and while El Niño has been blessing us with a mild winter, there’s still plenty of time to mold myself - both physically and mentally - into the person who desires and deserves a summer of love, a summer of excess, a summer of adventure.
I’m not promising to write anything more. While I’ve had literally hundreds of burgers in the meantime, I don’t think I’m meant to be a cheeseburger power ranker like I once attempted. But I’ll try to write as my mood affords. Whether anybody cares to read, I don’t care.
I’m not promising to write anything more. While I’ve had literally hundreds of burgers in the meantime, I don’t think I’m meant to be a cheeseburger power ranker like I once attempted. But I’ll try to write as my mood affords. Whether anybody cares to read, I don’t care.
