I could be better

            I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for discontinuing the habit I had for reading constantly as a youngster. I could try to pick it back up now, but I doubt it’d do much. I just read a short story by one of the kids in my Creative Nonfiction class. Not only did the storyline knock me off my feet and wish I had lived the life of this guy, but the diction just blew me out of the fucking water.

            Let me give you a direct quote from this thing: “Your life is only worth the reactions you get from your secrets.” Yeah. And so fucking true. I mean, damn, how many intimate details have you divulged just so someone will like you more?

            This guy, as the story goes, had a girlfriend who was 22 when he was 19. Baller. Additionally, they moved Atlanta and got their own apartment. Income? He wrote essays for college kids and she sold pot. This is the type of stuff that movies are made of, except there’s no bullshitting in this class, and trust me, this guy is not the type to bullshit. Both of our short stories are being workshopped tomorrow. I wrote a little piece called Thoughts on Divorce and poured at least two-fifths of my heart out, and now that I read this thing...”L'amour fou” (Based on a 1969 film about a ruined marriage...how relevant, too relevant, suspiciously relevant)…I’m thinking that this may turn out to be a bit awkward. Fuck em, my second draft will be heavily Thesauras-aided, perhaps change the title to a Sigur Ros song for the icing, and that’ll be that.

            God I don’t even want to talk about shit going on in my life anymore. It all seems so futile. Uhh…Spring Break’s comin up! While I’m getting shitfaced, this guy will probably be exploring some obscure urban dwelling, tape recorder in hand and Marlboro Red to face. Dare I say February ‘09’s new cliché? FML.