I found an old notebook from college. It contained part of an assignment from the creative writing classes that I took. Yes, I took a creative writing class. Two of them, fuck off. It was a great escape from the history classes and were two of the best classes I took. Anyway, part of the assignment was to write something that could start or be part of a short story. I just re-read everything that I wrote and thought to myself that just having these conversations and monologues compiled together is pretty cool as they stand. So I think I'm going to try to continue this. I am going to continue this. I've always enjoyed writing. Some of this stuff is from college, some if it I am writing now. I won't put any dates on them to keep everyone guessing how old or how new something that they just read is. That's part of the fun.
I remember partaking in a summer activity called 'Young Authors' when I was a kid. I randomly found it in a box my mom kept for me from my childhood. It was a short story about a baseball that was hit out of Tiger Stadium by Cecil Fielder from the perspective of the baseball. The irony of his son playing for the Tigers now does not escape me. Anyway, I remember tying it up on the typewriter (yeah, typewriter) we had. I read it just a few years ago. It was awful, but what do you expect from a nine year old?
Anyway, I thought that it would be fun to put these 'conversations and monologues' out there for anyone and everyone to read. These are going to be shorter posts as I break up the writings so there isn't one long ass post that you get bored reading. So just a few at a time. And just a heads up, there is some strong language in some of these. I do my best not to censor myself when I write. And sometimes there are some dark themes. These are not my thoughts, these are my writings so don't worry about my mental state or anything like that. I am hoping to make these posts recurring amongst the political, sport, and the random. Enjoy.
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Beep. Beep. Beep. Be.
Silence.
Groggy awakening postponed for nine minutes. Then eighteen. Then twenty seven. Then...Shit! Late again.
The covers fly off. Rushing to dress. Hoping time slows down so you can make it up.
No breakfast.
No shower.
No clean teeth.
They feel fuzzy from a night of cigarettes and beer.
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'I love the sound of rain. On the windows, car roofs, tent canvas. It's....Zen.'
'Do you know what Zen is?'
'Does it matter?'
'If you find someone who cares about it, yes. It could, in fact, matter.'
'Do you care about it?'
'Not necessarily.'
'Then what's the problem?'
'I was just saying. You generalized. Generalizations can be bad. That's all.'
'Right.'
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'You can't honestly tell me you are one hundred percent satisfied with your life.'
'Right now? No. There are some things I would change. But in the end, I think I'll be happy with it.'
'By the end, you may not know yourself. You could be stuck in a home confined to a wheelchair.'
'That wouldn't be good.'
'No. No it wouldn't.'
'But I would be satisfied that I did what I could to prevent myself from years earlier being confined to said chair.'
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