The words bounce around inside my skull
like a bullet that hasn’t found its mark, yet when I put pen to paper they just
won’t come. I’ve got almost a dozen
half-assed posts started since December . . . I just can’t seem to finish.
It has been a long, cold
winter. And it finally got to me. Drove me back into myself; made me into a
hermit. I made pizza.
Aside from that, I’ve been doing too much. Doing leaves little time for writing.
So maybe it’s time for a format
change. Maybe a few half-assed paragraphs
a week is all I need to post. I don’t
really need to finish every single one of them after all, do I? This is supposed to be an ongoing journal of
part of my life.
Thing is, my life has gotten so much
bigger than just this one part.
Try to keep up.
* * *
February
14
I
am running across a moonlit field of dry grass, catching up to my friend
Hunter. He is the birthday boy after all—we
drove three hours to Niangua for him. He’s
walking with a small group of people, and as I close in, one figure breaks away
from the pack. A leg kicks out in the
darkness and it’s too late for me to stop or change direction. My momentum carries me into the leg and I am
flipping head over heels. As I lay on my
back, gazing up at the stars, I think, Damn;
second time in two days. Last night’s
soccer game was kind of rough.
Laughter approaches and a familiar
voice declares, “Here I’ll help you up, don’t just lay there.” A hand extends toward me from my left.
I sigh, “And you wonder why you
never get laid, Eli.” I roll to my right
and stand on my own.
Another lovely fucking Valentine’s
Day with Eli.
We made pretzels. Did you know that pretzels are briefly simmered
in lye water to get that dark brown color?
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