(no subject)
I keep retyping something on this screen to try and convince some unseen audience of some emotion to understand how I feel right now. But unless you know me, not from what I say about myself but from what I do and who I am, you will never understand the sentiment I'm about to express.
FUCK! I'm going to miss driving SO FUCKING MUCH! My car represents freedom, I can leave my arguing family whenever I want. Today and yesterday Geena and I watched Pulp Fiction and Kill Bill in my car's built-in DVD player and it was the best sound quality I HAVE EVER HEARD. Today I drove my car barefoot for the first time and the machine became a part of me. I could feel everything. Driving my car is like walking around with a gun. There is so much power at your hands. I have read books in my car. I have cried and screamed and flailed around in my car. I have slept in my car. I almost always blast music with the windows down. I've done dumb things in my car. Almost got myself killed in my car. I remember when I got in the bus accident in New Orleans and I fully became aware of how dangerous my car was. I remember being scared to drive it again, the power being too much. I've kissed girls in my car. When I went to Paris for two weeks the first thing I did when I got home was drive my car. There is not one person who knows me as well as my car knows me.
Once I leave home tomorrow, my car ceases to be my car. It becomes my brother's car. Soon it will be the bringer of arguments over who gets to drive where and when. It will cause stress along with relieving it. Wow. Just think about the steering wheel and turning it. Squeezing through tight spots without slowing down. Accelerating to pass motherfuckers on your left. Screaming curses half jokingly at drivers during rush hour. Annoying people with loud rap. Driving on Comm. Ave near BC, on 95, Beaconsfield Road (where I've been yelled at more times than anywhere else combined), Causeway Street. Causeway Street... Wow. The cemetary, Harding, the suicide turn I make every time I exit my street...
I'm also going to miss my forest. My woods. My Medfield. But I'm not going to think about that. I don't anyone really knows me at all unless they see where I have lived, meet my family (Wazoo), and seen who I used to be when I was a kid. I can't explain it, but all of you who know, you've known how I've changed, you know the magic of the woods, you feel it, you get the humor that we don't even need to speak anymore. I won't have these things on hand anymore. They will become my religion. My beliefs. Me. I will return and walk into the woods when I die. It's where I will always belong. My soul drifting in the wind with the spores and the leaves.
FUCK! I'm going to miss driving SO FUCKING MUCH! My car represents freedom, I can leave my arguing family whenever I want. Today and yesterday Geena and I watched Pulp Fiction and Kill Bill in my car's built-in DVD player and it was the best sound quality I HAVE EVER HEARD. Today I drove my car barefoot for the first time and the machine became a part of me. I could feel everything. Driving my car is like walking around with a gun. There is so much power at your hands. I have read books in my car. I have cried and screamed and flailed around in my car. I have slept in my car. I almost always blast music with the windows down. I've done dumb things in my car. Almost got myself killed in my car. I remember when I got in the bus accident in New Orleans and I fully became aware of how dangerous my car was. I remember being scared to drive it again, the power being too much. I've kissed girls in my car. When I went to Paris for two weeks the first thing I did when I got home was drive my car. There is not one person who knows me as well as my car knows me.
Once I leave home tomorrow, my car ceases to be my car. It becomes my brother's car. Soon it will be the bringer of arguments over who gets to drive where and when. It will cause stress along with relieving it. Wow. Just think about the steering wheel and turning it. Squeezing through tight spots without slowing down. Accelerating to pass motherfuckers on your left. Screaming curses half jokingly at drivers during rush hour. Annoying people with loud rap. Driving on Comm. Ave near BC, on 95, Beaconsfield Road (where I've been yelled at more times than anywhere else combined), Causeway Street. Causeway Street... Wow. The cemetary, Harding, the suicide turn I make every time I exit my street...
I'm also going to miss my forest. My woods. My Medfield. But I'm not going to think about that. I don't anyone really knows me at all unless they see where I have lived, meet my family (Wazoo), and seen who I used to be when I was a kid. I can't explain it, but all of you who know, you've known how I've changed, you know the magic of the woods, you feel it, you get the humor that we don't even need to speak anymore. I won't have these things on hand anymore. They will become my religion. My beliefs. Me. I will return and walk into the woods when I die. It's where I will always belong. My soul drifting in the wind with the spores and the leaves.