My Life Be Like, Ooh Ahh

ooh ahh
Originally uploaded by morgangster.

I have joined the ranks of the four-wheeled kind. No more Heinz Stucke-ing It for me.

How about a date?

Life never fails to entertain me. When the cute boy handing out samples in the grocery store asked me if I wanted a date, the normal response would have been to take the fruit and walk away. But language is funny. Words, humorous. Definitions, laughable. Whose idea was it to have several things have the same name? Didn't they know this would cause problems? I don't know about other languages, but English and Spanish are definitely guilty. When a small squiggly line is the difference between being 19 years old and having 19 anuses, there is a problem. Just take the fruit, and walk away.

Passion

I don't know why I want to be a writer. Is it because I think I am a good writer? Or that I feel particularly called to do it? Is it because I want to be known for something, or do I really have something to say? I don't know.

I hope it's that I have something to say... but I haven't really figured out what that is yet. Sometimes I feel like I could just sit down and write for days, without really thinking or applying any effort. And other times, the thought of writing makes me feel like my skin is on fire and my brain is imploding.

Maybe that's the way it is with all our passions in life- maybe that's what makes them passions. The thing that inspires you is the same thing that can make you go crazy... and it's that force, that constant, repelling force of inspiration and insanity that allows you to be passionate about something...

Time for a Change

Upon seeing my watch, my brother made the comment that it looked like a party favor he had received in kindergarten after a Ninja Turtle Themed birthday. I tried to take this as a compliment, but the more I looked at it, the more I realized he was right. I hate it when he's right.

So that's when I got this.
It screamed "Responsibility!" and "Maturity!" and "Better Make That a Venti Caramel Mochiato, Paul!"... but alas. It ticks. It actually ticks, like clocks do in the movies. And as hard as I try, I can't get the ticking out of my head. I try to sleep- it ticks. I try to read- there it is, ticking away. It's like a ticking bomb that follows me around, or an annoying song you can't seem to get out of your head. I can't hide it in my pocket, or under my pillow. I also can't read the hands fast enough or without panicking.

It's back to the Turtles for me. It was a good faith effort. And Paul... better make that a Strawberry Milk- to go.

Yeah, I Did That

Coming home after a year in college is not so much a strange feeling as it is a strange event. Here you are, standing in your driveway after 9 months of complete and ultimate freedom. Minus the occasional phone call to update your status ("I'm still alive".... "I need more money"... etc etc) your life has been completely separate from the world you are about to re-enter. Parents are thrilled, siblings hide their excitement, and pets are in the same spot you left them. Only everything is different.
It's interesting to think that a year has passed. High school seniors are getting ready to graduate. My little brother is driving. My room is coated with a layer of dust.
And what's this feeling? Is it saddness? Is it emptiness or longing? Do I wish I'd done things differently? Gone to a closer school, kept up with friends, come home more often? And honestly, I don't know. The experiences I've had this year, the people I've met, the places I've gone, the things I've seen, the things I've learned- I needed them. As much as things have changed, as weird it is to be back in this town, I needed to leave. I needed to grow.
Now I can come back and appreciate my high school teachers, and let my brother drive me to see old friends. I can even enjoy the dust in my room. I can stand in my driveway and think about these things and say, "Yeah, I did that."

Roger that

the boys of 80 springdale, otherwise known as Club 80, find a baby bird struggling for life outside on the ground. He must have fallen out of a tree, and left to die, alone. They pick up his frail, featherless, wrinkly body. They attempt to feed him, but to no avail. They decide Roger, as they've loving named him, is too far gone for help. They decide to put him out of his misery. They get the sling shot, load him, and fire into the woods. Alex spoke some final words for him: "At least Roger died doing what he does best... falling."