Currently I am sitting at my job, wishing I was at a coffee shop, stewing in the unending mess that is my head after a break up. My mind is racing at about a 1000 words a minute, but I am going to attempt to put some of these thoughts down here in a cognitive way that will explain where I am mentally, while also telling you all another heart wrenching story about my life that changed the way I view relationships, friendships, and how to approach dealing with a break up. Here is the often heard of, but never truly discussed break up with Becky Gorman and how Ben Folds has a special place in my heart. Continue reading Break Ups, Ben Folds, and Realizing Life Is Worth Living
(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
(*Sally: Do not read this one. Actually, if you know me personally you may not want to read this one)
As I was sitting in a Starbucks with a friend of mine who was detailing the horrors of sex education, and how the absolute fear of utilizing what she didn’t know was called a diaphragm made her completely uncomfortable (a conversation that made me completely uncomfortable) I started to remember the years before I became the person I am today, when I was still under the impression I would wait until marriage to lose my virginity, and envisioned that by this point in my life I would be a happy, successful, family man (run on sentence for the win). That was a long time ago, before my heart had grown calloused to the thought of being in a relationship and still believed in things like Cameron Crowe movies, and that John Cusack was the best actor in the world. Don’t get me wrong, I still love Cameron Crowe movies, I just don’t believe in love stories anymore (Sorry How I Met Your Mother). Continue reading Sex Ed, Video Stores and V-Cards
(Sally: I openly express later on in this story how I don’t know why I continue to do things that would make you ashamed of me. So please don’t read past this line.)
Writing this will be mildly difficult. I don’t want to give away anything about the other members of this story so I will have to not only change the names of the people in this story as I tend to do, but the timeline will be off and what city it occurred in will be a city that I never lived in, and the job I say I have may or may not be the job I had at the time, as to truly protect everyone involved in this story (which in all honesty is one or two other people, but they don’t need me to air their dirty laundry…unlike everyone else I write about. Huh. I must actually care about them). Basically, what you are about to read has been turned into a work of fiction based on many different experiences in my life that have been conglomerated into one story (It’s kind of amazing how often I find myself in this situation), and my desire to truly protect one person. Continue reading The Last Right Thing I Did (Followed By The Next Wrong)
(Sally: Let someone else tell you about this story. It has some rather harsh language you may not approve of.)
As I begin this story, I am sitting in my south Florida bay home staring out the window at a rainstorm, which has just knocked out my power. I am writing this on a computer with only 26% battery power (which disappears quickly these days) before this, too, has lost its usability. The sounds of sirens are going off in the distance. I’m certain due to a wayward lightning strike, which has set a building of little import to most of society on fire. Beyond the large elm in my front yard, well past the stone walkway and the dogwood trees, an occasional car will pass down the road. The car drives ever so cautiously in the rain, certain to be looking out for any rain-soaked animals, or children, running from the lightning in fear, searching for shelter. The sky is an eerie grey, not the black of night one might expect from a storm powerful enough to send me searching for candles and a lighter. This sky is one of an early morning, an overcast morning that could be filled with potential and possibility. This night, however, does not feel full of potential. I find myself sitting here, staring out the window, thinking one thing: “I am really glad I already cooked dinner.”
I opened my eyes and blinked away the light film that covered my pupils every morning. The sunlight exploding through the room blinded me for a minute as my eyes adjusted to the sudden change from darkness to light. I wasn’t exactly sure where I was, but the pounding in my temples led me to believe that I was having fun last night.
I sat up in a strange bed—nothing more than a futon on a metal frame only a few inches off the floor—and looked around the room. I was surrounded with white. The curtains, the walls, the carpets, the sheets, the furniture—everything was white, reflecting the early morning sun violently in every direction. The clothes that had been carelessly tossed to the floor at some point last night injected the room with an unexpected splash of color.
I rubbed my temples in a vain attempt to subside the headache that was growing worse by the second and making it hard to see anything in the too-bright colorless room. I took a deep breath, hoping that the taste of day-old beer and stale cigarettes would magically disappear with the fresh air of a new day. Continue reading Prologue to “Diary of an Addict”
(Sally, just skip this. Just don’t even read this. Don’t even think about this one. This above all else. Since I know you have ignored my other warnings and just won’t admit it to me, trust me, don’t read this. You don’t want any of this in your head. Please, please, please do not ignore this warning)
For anyone else who is still reading this story I will warn you this is a little graphic (not 50 Shades of Bullshit graphic, but graphic). Also this story is exceptionally embarrassing for not only myself but the other person involved with the very important life lesson that is set forth. As per usual I will be changing her name to protect her identity and I do hope if she ever reads this story she will forgive me for telling this story because as hilarious as I found it she did not want this story to come out. She and I are not very close anymore and I’m certain that she already hates me so I may as well go for gold on this one. Please enjoy our pain. Continue reading The Third Rule I have Learned From My Failed Relationships