Some runoff

I'm not sure if it's the stomach crunches or the gin, but lately I've had the taste of vomit in the back of my throat a little too often. My less-than-stellar eating habits are also a likely factor, but I generally take it that senior year is meant to leave a bad taste in your mouth.

It's already an odd year, considering I'm only a little more than a week into it. A lot has changed, my luck withstanding (already killed my laptop), and it's been a period of contrasts.

Contrasts. Conflicts. Opposing forces. Balance. Mud.

This summer I had the pleasure of working the greatest job I have ever worked. I was able to work with children with "special needs," and it was one of those jobs that actually made me think "wow, I could do this every day and be happy. I can't wait to come to work tomorrow." I don't think I've ever felt that way before about anything.

Of course, I also did part-time work as a dishwasher, scrubbing crusty shit off of plates and peeling shrimp until my hands got chapped. That was a joy, truly. I love a job that lets you smell like a garbage heap at the end of the day because you're covered in deflected liquid leftovers.

"Hey, Tony. You want a drink on the house before you head home?"

"No, thanks. I really don't want to make eye-contact with another person until I've showered at least three times. I think I'd stain the bar stool if I sat down."

If being a gross, smelly, wet bum isn't enough to get a person down, being one in a nice restaurant full of attractive women should do the trick. They're lucky I quit without burning the place down.

And I would have, if the steak wasn't so damn delicious . . .

Now I'm back at school, enjoying a shitty week and some great classes. It's a delicate balance, being miserable and inspired all at once. The new apartment is nice. I'm writing again, which makes me happy. I've killed my laptop and I'm running out of money. I have no idea what the hell I'm going to do when I graduate, but I'm ready to be a success.

Can't I just get paid to be awesome? Where the hell is that at the job fair?

I'm changing again. I'm getting stronger, and a little more focused. My libido seems to be off the wall, which is like a second puberty but a little less awkward. I'm perpetually annoyed at nothing in particular, and remain antisocial.

Oh, my youth. I'm not finishing any of my projects and I have no idea what the hell I'm doing when I do it.

I used to be mercurial. I used to dance in chaos. Now I worry I just don't give a shit anymore.

Maybe I'm just over-thinking it. Maybe I'm just tired . . .

Maybe things are too good, and I'm just convinced that it's all going downhill from here.

Maybe I need a dog. I don't even know what the fuck I'm talking about anymore.








. . . Get outta here. I'm trying to sleep.