5 years after the fact, after their demise, I finally got Elliott's album, Song In The Air. I'm only halfway through the first song, and I can already tell I'm going to wear this album out.
This morning I had to take my wife's car to get some work done on it. Instead of sitting around in the lobby, anxious, and waiting, I went to Starbucks. I got a coffee, sat down with my laptop, and out of nowhere, a new idea for a story came to me. In no time flat, my brain was off and running, and lo and behold, I've got yet another story in the works.
This makes 3 stories that I'm working on. 3 books. (The word "novel" just seems as pretentious as fuck to me.)
I'm going to school for a bachelor's degree in communications with a minor in journalism. I want to get my master's degree, and eventually my PhD. But what do I want to "do with my life?" I'd love to be a college professor, but what I'd love even more is to be a writer. A writer who can make a living through writing. I don't want to be "big", kicking out a book every 6 months, but I want to be doing well enough, that I can live comfortably. Plus, I think it'd be awesome, when people ask me what I do for a living, being able to respond with, "I sit on my ass and make shit up."
Back to writing.
me.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
All dogs go to heaven.
Exactly one year ago today, I came home and got shitty drunk on Jack Daniels.
My mom had called me at work, and told me that the vet's test results came back, for some tests we had done on our dog Emo. Pancreatic Cancer.
Katie was working on homework, so I laid on the floor of the living room, drinking straight from the bottle, occasionally getting up to pet our dog Cooper.
The next day, my dad took Emo for a ride in the truck to go see a specialist. He died less than a minute after my dad put him on the examination table. Honestly, I think he was just waiting to get one more ride in my dad's truck. Seriously, he loved that truck. We used to have to fight to get him out of it. You'd open the door, and he'd climb in the back seat, plop down, keep you company while doing errands, and stay there on the back seat for hours. It didn't matter how long you'd been home, he wouldn't get out of the truck! His record was 10 hours. 10 hours without food, or water, or going to the bathroom. It was his truck really.
My mom called me after my dad got him back home, and I don't know why, it's not like I could bring him back, but I left work, and rushed to my parent's house. I cried. A lot. That was also the first time I ever saw my dad cry.
Now, when Emo died, I had another dog, a dog that my wife and I got after moving in together. Cooper. He's awesome. Cute as hell. But he's not the same as Emo.
Just before this past Christmas, Katie and I rescued a puppy, a Golden Retriever Mix. Jake. He's insane. Incredibly cute. He truly reminds me of a combination of Angel, my dog that died back in 2003, and Emo. It's like God, Allah, Yaweh, Elvis, whoever... took traits from my two dogs that had died, and put them in Jake. He even smells like them. He's similar to Angel and Emo, but he's not the same as them.
After my classes were over today, I came home, and got shitty drunk on Jack Daniels.
My mom had called me at work, and told me that the vet's test results came back, for some tests we had done on our dog Emo. Pancreatic Cancer.
Katie was working on homework, so I laid on the floor of the living room, drinking straight from the bottle, occasionally getting up to pet our dog Cooper.
The next day, my dad took Emo for a ride in the truck to go see a specialist. He died less than a minute after my dad put him on the examination table. Honestly, I think he was just waiting to get one more ride in my dad's truck. Seriously, he loved that truck. We used to have to fight to get him out of it. You'd open the door, and he'd climb in the back seat, plop down, keep you company while doing errands, and stay there on the back seat for hours. It didn't matter how long you'd been home, he wouldn't get out of the truck! His record was 10 hours. 10 hours without food, or water, or going to the bathroom. It was his truck really.
My mom called me after my dad got him back home, and I don't know why, it's not like I could bring him back, but I left work, and rushed to my parent's house. I cried. A lot. That was also the first time I ever saw my dad cry.
Now, when Emo died, I had another dog, a dog that my wife and I got after moving in together. Cooper. He's awesome. Cute as hell. But he's not the same as Emo.
Just before this past Christmas, Katie and I rescued a puppy, a Golden Retriever Mix. Jake. He's insane. Incredibly cute. He truly reminds me of a combination of Angel, my dog that died back in 2003, and Emo. It's like God, Allah, Yaweh, Elvis, whoever... took traits from my two dogs that had died, and put them in Jake. He even smells like them. He's similar to Angel and Emo, but he's not the same as them.
After my classes were over today, I came home, and got shitty drunk on Jack Daniels.
Monday, March 16, 2009
There goes the world.
I just signed up for 20 credits this summer, and 20 credits next fall. I'm not crazy, just determined.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Leg Spasm
I hate the fact that I woke up today at 8am, did some errands, came home and did homework, then went to work from 6pm-Midnight. I know I should be sleeping right now, but dammit, I haven't even been out of work for 3 hours. My body = tired. My mind = not so much.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
When the wife is away, Curtiss is lame.
Katie is working the "overnight" shift tonight. Mikey is at his girlfriend's house for 2 days. The dogs are have been in bed since 10.
Since I got home at 9:30, I've:
1 - Made dinner for myself.
2 - Drank a Sam Adams.
3 - Watched the same scene from No Country for Old Men 20 times.
4 - Practiced the dialogue for the above scene for my Interpretive Communication class 10 times.
5 - Smoked 2 cigarettes.
6 - Drank 5 cups of coffee.
Time to work on my story, then bed.
Since I got home at 9:30, I've:
1 - Made dinner for myself.
2 - Drank a Sam Adams.
3 - Watched the same scene from No Country for Old Men 20 times.
4 - Practiced the dialogue for the above scene for my Interpretive Communication class 10 times.
5 - Smoked 2 cigarettes.
6 - Drank 5 cups of coffee.
Time to work on my story, then bed.
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