What's this?
I have returned from my self-imposed year-long exile from LiveJournal. Your browser is functioning correctly. I will not rehash how I have spent my year. I meant to post this on the one year anniversary of my last post, but procrastination got the best of me and I wasted time playing video games instead of contributing to the scummitude of the internet.
A year passed. I went back to school and I managed to learn a few things. I lost weight and I gained weight. I turned 27. That's a good number. It sounds nice. Better than 26 or 28. Odd numbers tend to sound better than even numbers. Prime numbers ring as true as their identity, as their indivisibility. I'd like to be prime again. It's been a long time since I was prime. I guess you could say that I'm past my prime. 23 was the last prime: 29, the next, a year and a half from now. Perhaps I'll start representing my age in terms of pi. "Hello, I'm approximately 8.59pi. It's been a pleasure to meet you. Can you point me to the finger sandwiches?" Isn't that a ragged, ugly term? Finger sandwiches. Not only does it sound like an imperative command that a player might type in a text-based video game "finger sandwiches," bless verbs, language's commander-in-chief, but finger sandwiches also conjures up this image of a couple of digits stuffed between two slices of white bread, smothered in mayonnaise, fingernails leering at the potential consumer like two pupilless zombie eyes. In physics, we might call this trajectory a tangent. I'm at a right angle to the action. Let me resume my course.
Yes, you can come to expect a few more wonderful gems like that as I hone my writing talents on this webjam. I haven't written much in the last year. I wrote a novella about a boy mowing lawns. It's about 50 pages long. I wrote a shitty short story about 5 pages long about an aging actor's romance with a woman half his age. I started a few ideas and shelved a bunch more. Maybe I'll make these available someday. I haven't worked on my magnificent novel in over a year. I guess that's no good. I've been pretty blocked lately. I thought I would be so productive this summer, but it turns out that I'm a no good wastrel with no dedication to what I consider my art.
Most importantly, it's August 5th and I'm getting married August 7th. Two days from now. Really soon. Wow. I'm very excited. It's the best decision I ever made in my whole entire life. I thought I'd be more scared about committing myself to someone for the rest of my life, but as the day approaches, I just want Jill more and more. I love her so dearly that it pains me to be away from her. I know that it doesn't seem that way at times, but I haven't been able to get this far through life without being a really good liar. I can't lie to her. She is my truth. She is my life. And it's funny that I can say she is my life, because earlier I was thinking about how I can't really say that anything is mine anymore, that everything is becoming ours and taking on new meaning. I used to be able to say that I'm going back to my apartment; now, I feel like calling it our apartment, our home. I used to search for home, for that feeling of belonging. I don't search anymore. I know where to look, I know where to put the key, and I know who will be waiting for me on the other side of that door for the rest of my life: my true love, my best friend, my wife.
I will be a husband in a few days. I'm not sure if I know how to be a husband, but I'm willing to learn.
A year passed. I went back to school and I managed to learn a few things. I lost weight and I gained weight. I turned 27. That's a good number. It sounds nice. Better than 26 or 28. Odd numbers tend to sound better than even numbers. Prime numbers ring as true as their identity, as their indivisibility. I'd like to be prime again. It's been a long time since I was prime. I guess you could say that I'm past my prime. 23 was the last prime: 29, the next, a year and a half from now. Perhaps I'll start representing my age in terms of pi. "Hello, I'm approximately 8.59pi. It's been a pleasure to meet you. Can you point me to the finger sandwiches?" Isn't that a ragged, ugly term? Finger sandwiches. Not only does it sound like an imperative command that a player might type in a text-based video game "finger sandwiches," bless verbs, language's commander-in-chief, but finger sandwiches also conjures up this image of a couple of digits stuffed between two slices of white bread, smothered in mayonnaise, fingernails leering at the potential consumer like two pupilless zombie eyes. In physics, we might call this trajectory a tangent. I'm at a right angle to the action. Let me resume my course.
Yes, you can come to expect a few more wonderful gems like that as I hone my writing talents on this webjam. I haven't written much in the last year. I wrote a novella about a boy mowing lawns. It's about 50 pages long. I wrote a shitty short story about 5 pages long about an aging actor's romance with a woman half his age. I started a few ideas and shelved a bunch more. Maybe I'll make these available someday. I haven't worked on my magnificent novel in over a year. I guess that's no good. I've been pretty blocked lately. I thought I would be so productive this summer, but it turns out that I'm a no good wastrel with no dedication to what I consider my art.
Most importantly, it's August 5th and I'm getting married August 7th. Two days from now. Really soon. Wow. I'm very excited. It's the best decision I ever made in my whole entire life. I thought I'd be more scared about committing myself to someone for the rest of my life, but as the day approaches, I just want Jill more and more. I love her so dearly that it pains me to be away from her. I know that it doesn't seem that way at times, but I haven't been able to get this far through life without being a really good liar. I can't lie to her. She is my truth. She is my life. And it's funny that I can say she is my life, because earlier I was thinking about how I can't really say that anything is mine anymore, that everything is becoming ours and taking on new meaning. I used to be able to say that I'm going back to my apartment; now, I feel like calling it our apartment, our home. I used to search for home, for that feeling of belonging. I don't search anymore. I know where to look, I know where to put the key, and I know who will be waiting for me on the other side of that door for the rest of my life: my true love, my best friend, my wife.
I will be a husband in a few days. I'm not sure if I know how to be a husband, but I'm willing to learn.