Seven weeks of river walkways
Summer is already half over, and this year I feel like I've been gypped on heat and sunshine. By far it's been the coldest and rainiest summer in N.H., and the one I've longed for the most. I haven't even been to a waterpark, which is probably good, because I still have my winter-chub. Perhaps this is all mainly because I've worked this summer more than any summer ever before. Still, somehow I'm completely broke and $100 overdrafted at my bank. My truck isn't inspected and I got pulled over today for it and yelled at. My job as a waiter at the Olive Garden is a notch above prostitution, and I've been written up three times already. All because my truck broke down on the side of the road and I had to walk 2 miles to a phone, or because I lived in an apartment in Hopkinton that you need a sherpa to guide you to. But that apartment was a hole--for the last month there was no water; no shower, no sink, no toilet. Just a piss-bucket and a sink full of dirty dishes. And I finally moved out on tuesday. Now I'm living at home with my dad, who is broke because he is getting a divorce and screams at me if I breathe too much. Friends have been my only hope, but it's mating season so they're all pairing up and leaving me in the homosexual dust. I dated a cute 'blasian' guy from Portland, Maine from March until recently when he decided to move to Chicago in the fall and "didn't want to get any closer to me." I didn't even get a birthday blowjob. What I could have done with all that gas money....
But enough about my problems!
Because I've decided to do something about it. Lately I've found my soul at Planet Fitness on the elliptical. It's time to shed my stress-related belly fat and started having more sex with real people. I went to see Nine Inch Nails last month, and then Madonna last week.... and soon it's Fiona Apple picking season. I had an interview at Starbucks yesterday which should have gone a lot smoother, but for some reason I felt like a sleepy robot. But as soon as I start working there, my life will become a caffeinated gay club. About every other day I've taken to loitering around my old school campus and using the free wireless. There's a music room there with a grand piano that simply collects dust. I feel bad and play it whenever I can, and since regular school is out, only the janitors can hear me. I've taken to bringing songs that I wrote my junior year of high school back to life--music that is kind of like a wordless diary thats reflect my turbulent emotions that year. The year I gradually overcame my shitty closeted Christian life and became a losery anti-Christ glamrock kid with yellow hair and a 90-lb. boyfriend named Milo. Oh, and realized that wasn't who I was either. But I liked to think I was a Tori Amos/Marilyn Manson. Any way you slice it, I find it's still fun to pretend I'm a rockstar. It's actually quite intense, I press a lot of keys really fast and my custodial audience sometimes compliments me. Maybe sometime I'll play for you. I'm trying to write new material... perhaps someday I will grab the music world by the balls. Until then, it gets my mind off how much of a shit storm my life is. Slap me if you don't see me get happier within the next few weeks.
Visual stimulus du jour:
Camper party. June '06.
But enough about my problems!
Because I've decided to do something about it. Lately I've found my soul at Planet Fitness on the elliptical. It's time to shed my stress-related belly fat and started having more sex with real people. I went to see Nine Inch Nails last month, and then Madonna last week.... and soon it's Fiona Apple picking season. I had an interview at Starbucks yesterday which should have gone a lot smoother, but for some reason I felt like a sleepy robot. But as soon as I start working there, my life will become a caffeinated gay club. About every other day I've taken to loitering around my old school campus and using the free wireless. There's a music room there with a grand piano that simply collects dust. I feel bad and play it whenever I can, and since regular school is out, only the janitors can hear me. I've taken to bringing songs that I wrote my junior year of high school back to life--music that is kind of like a wordless diary thats reflect my turbulent emotions that year. The year I gradually overcame my shitty closeted Christian life and became a losery anti-Christ glamrock kid with yellow hair and a 90-lb. boyfriend named Milo. Oh, and realized that wasn't who I was either. But I liked to think I was a Tori Amos/Marilyn Manson. Any way you slice it, I find it's still fun to pretend I'm a rockstar. It's actually quite intense, I press a lot of keys really fast and my custodial audience sometimes compliments me. Maybe sometime I'll play for you. I'm trying to write new material... perhaps someday I will grab the music world by the balls. Until then, it gets my mind off how much of a shit storm my life is. Slap me if you don't see me get happier within the next few weeks.
Visual stimulus du jour:
Camper party. June '06.