I'm writing this for a few reasons. Excuse me, typing this for a few reasons.
I previously had a passion for writing and over the past year it has dissipated. I'm thinking maybe, just maybe, this stupid fucking blog will help it return. At least long enough for me to finish my last year of college and get my BFA in fucking creative writing. Ugh.
I have so many issues I'd like to cover but this one lone post cannot host them all.
Anyways, it all started about a year ago when I was arrested for driving under the influence. Go ahead judge, but this was probably the best thing that ever happened to me minus the part where I had to stop going to school for a semester. During that period of time I realized that writing really sucks, the people really suck and the reason why I wrote really fucking sucked. Sure, I love storytelling, but doesn't everyone? It's in our nature. Some are better at it than others but that's only because their day to day life is different than yours. Your life sucks. Mine doesn't and never has.
I grew up quiet and cautious. Then I heard the Ramones. It flicked a switch and before I knew it I was fifteen roaming the streets of Chicago with punk rockers living and breathing sex, drugs and rock'n'roll. I lived that story for five or so years and I still dabble, but face it everything gets boring. I'll always be a punk rocker but sometimes change is good, sometimes you have to kick a few faces out of your story to let a few new ones in. I kept a handful of faces, the ones that when I couldn't drive still showed up ready to rock'n'roll in the basement, still made time to see me and made an effort to keep my spirits high as I dished out several grand for my mistake. The new faces brought big change in my life and let me in on a little secret I kept from myself. The secret was misery. I was miserable and the only way I knew how to deal with it was writing. My therapy, my own little perfectly imagined world. During that period of time I also met my best friend. Who doubles as my love, so fucking cheesy I know. Wait let me make it a little cheesier, I first encountered him when I was 17, a coworker and I used to gawk over him when he picked up his dinner. Somehow 6 years later and a lot of little coincidences in between, we ended up dating. Back to my point, I did a lot of growing up and all of a sudden writing is tedious and monotonous. I don't want to live in my stories anymore because the one I have write now, in a real, unimagined place, is so perfect.
On that note, I'm going to my last group meeting for this DUI and I wrote this on the toilet because it is the most comfortable place to sit.
