(Sally: I would recommend not reading this, but there is nothing offensive in it…I believe.)
In my younger years, when I was still too young to realize that heartbreak fades, when I thought the scars from my very short list of lost loves would forever be on display to any of my future lovers, I decided to be another 90s kid who put his voice out there by making a magazine; mine was called “The Subterranean.” While the magazine only had one issue (and only about 20 copies of it printed), it was a moment in my life when I was proud of something I had created. Continue reading Broken Hearts and Reincarnation
Here I sit in the Frothy Monkey in the 12 South district of Nashville, just down the street from the restaurant where I arguably spent most of my time during the years I lived in this fantastic city. It was in this coffee shop I sat down and decided that if I was going to make it in this world as a writer I was going to have be dedicated to my craft. I couldn’t continue to find excuses on why I couldn’t write today. I had to find the dedication to take the time to pull out my laptop and type, even if it was only a few words. There were definitely days when I would write 100 words and just be over it, but at least I remained dedicated to the one activity I always cared about.
I used to be able to drink a beer faster than almost anyone else I knew. Actually, I may still be able to. I could pick up your pint of beer, and before you turned around the pint would be gone, leaving you wanting. Nobody ever got too mad at me for stealing their beer–normally they were impressed by how quickly I had made it disappear and would then inquire about how I had learned the skills to achieve such a feat. The truth is, I had learned how to do that because I didn’t want to be rejected by anyone, and (thanks to the groups I found myself hanging out in) I thought if I could drink faster than they could, they would accept me. This desire left me with a gift of being able to impress people at parties with what one of my friends lovingly referred to as “Matt’s Magic Trick.” Continue reading My Struggle With Addiction, Part II
(Sally: This one has some things you may take issue with. I wouldn’t recommend it. Not today anyway.)
Not too long ago a buddy of mine was visiting me in sunny south Florida. Right before he left to make the atrocious 11-hour drive back to Nashville he decided to impart some unsolicited words of wisdom on me. He informed me that the one thing that would “complete” me “as a man” would be a little puppy. To this ridiculous statement (as if I need anything to complete me as a man, I’m pretty darn perfect) I laughed, and told him that would never happen. He attempted to convince of me of his idea for what seemed like way too long to be discussing whether or not I should own a puppy, and when his attempts ended fruitless he started his venture back to Nashville (leaving the better portion of his clothes in my dryer. I hope he doesn’t need those anytime soon). Continue reading Why I Don’t Own Pets (or have children)