Now back to our orginially scheduled programming.
Man, I'm beat. I spent my first week at the new job, and man, I don't know how I'm gonna keep going forward. (Without Dooceing myself, suffice it to say that it's not the greatest job in history.)
My recent wave of nostalgia posting seems to have shaken something central loose in the recesses of my tiny little brain, because I've slipped into a bit of a funk the last week. While the new job probably has a bit to do with it, I've been more pre-occupied with shit that happened fifteen years ago, and frankly, it's bothering me a bit. I realized after I finished and posted the last big post that I passed over the central question of the equation.
Did I love D.J.?
Well, in a naive eighteen-year-old kid who didn't know shit about shit way, I guess I did. In a way, I suppose I'm still hung up on her. After all, every piece of fiction that I've attempted to write has, in some way or other, either been about her or been influenced by our relationship. I was trying to come up with a new idea for NaNoWriMo(less then two months away now), and one of the ones I thought about was reviving a particularly lousy one that I started writing back in early '90, when I was in the big funk that cost me my education. So chalk one up for naive lovesickness.
I think I'm gonna skip the drunken debauch story, since it only serves to make me look foolish, and I'm also going to pass on telling my other attempted relationship story from Marist, because it REALLY makes me look foolish, as LDub would attest to, I'm sure. So, next, see what happens when I meet a wacky artist chick thanks to my association with Doom.
Oh, and Erik Morales who should have stayed at 130 and not tried to come up to 135.
My recent wave of nostalgia posting seems to have shaken something central loose in the recesses of my tiny little brain, because I've slipped into a bit of a funk the last week. While the new job probably has a bit to do with it, I've been more pre-occupied with shit that happened fifteen years ago, and frankly, it's bothering me a bit. I realized after I finished and posted the last big post that I passed over the central question of the equation.
Did I love D.J.?
Well, in a naive eighteen-year-old kid who didn't know shit about shit way, I guess I did. In a way, I suppose I'm still hung up on her. After all, every piece of fiction that I've attempted to write has, in some way or other, either been about her or been influenced by our relationship. I was trying to come up with a new idea for NaNoWriMo(less then two months away now), and one of the ones I thought about was reviving a particularly lousy one that I started writing back in early '90, when I was in the big funk that cost me my education. So chalk one up for naive lovesickness.
I think I'm gonna skip the drunken debauch story, since it only serves to make me look foolish, and I'm also going to pass on telling my other attempted relationship story from Marist, because it REALLY makes me look foolish, as LDub would attest to, I'm sure. So, next, see what happens when I meet a wacky artist chick thanks to my association with Doom.
Oh, and Erik Morales who should have stayed at 130 and not tried to come up to 135.
posted by Jon M. at
12:33 AM
3 Comments:
Artist?
Oh, no.
Freya.
Heh.
Sorry, Red!
Two problems with that:
I didn't really know any of her previous history, and she has an extremely common last name.
Thanks for the advice, though. It's always nice to have someone I don't know pop in and read.
I miss you, man.
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