Yakety Yak.

Now it's the morning. It's always interesting reading what I wrote the night before after I've slept. It's not that I was so messed up that I don't remember what I said, it's more just being able to come at it from a different perspective. The things about last night that were crawling under my skin at the time I wrote that post aren't as prominent now in my current thoughts. It all still bothers me if I think about it, but this headache is making it easy not to think about it.

Truthfully, I just complain too much. You know that old man that doesn't accept anything because it's young and foolish? That's me. And that's young and foolish. Instead of actually doing anything to remedy my situation, I'm more content just complaining about everything while I go along. Usually the situation resolves itself if you give it time. I consider graduation to be the time when most of my situations will resolve themselves, and even though I'm terrified of the uncertainty that many, many graduates face I am becoming more thrilled with the idea of just being done with college. 

It was so strange at first, getting thrown into a dorm full of absolutely awful humans. People just like me. "Well I'm just going to stay in my room and do my homework." This lasted about two weeks. "Well, maybe I'll do my calculus homework in the lobby and that pretty girl will talk to me." This is how I made my friends. "Well, maybe I'll spend some time with these people, even though I have nothing in common with them." Heh!

Now it's just a tumblepot of rehashed adventure. Three years gone, just like that. I'm getting old and growned. My mustache is rubbable. My elbow hurts from nothing. I looked through glasses and my vision improved. 

One year

Here I am, hanging out with a cat that I do not own. His name is Watson. He is a good cat. At least to me. The last few nights, four nights I suppose, he has slept with or near me. I love this.

If there is one thing I've learned, it is that it is desirable to fall asleep and wake up next to a living creature. One of my best friends would often say that the most difficult part of breaking up with someone is no longer having a person next to you when you wake up. I can see this. I know that for myself companionship is vital to happiness. Marriage is tough, but I can't imagine being happier.

Meanwhile, look at college. Go to bars. Get drinks. Get too many drinks. And hey, you could probably fuck a girl or two if you wanted. Please forgive my language, but that is the formality of it. No one is real and nothing matters. This does not interest me. Where are real people? Real conversations? I could not hold a six hour conversation with 90% of the girls at this bar. And therefore they are worthless to me. You may be hot, but honestly you're a fucking waste of time.

And yet the people I love, the people I care about continue on in this fashion of life. And that is why I need to get away again. To start over, fresh without any attachments. I will be done with college in a year. I will get a job and move out of this god-forsaken town. 

One year

Drive

I step into my car to drive from my apartment to my house. 46.7 Miles.

I do not have enough gas to make the trip so I stop by the closest gas station, which is charging $2.539 per gallon. I pay $32.77 to the BP corporation to fill up my tank, despite the recent oil spill.

When I get back on the road, I look at the Distance To Empty reading on the dash. It says 127 Miles. This is wrong by approximately 300 miles.

I listen to Breakfast of Champions as I drive and zone in and out of the story. Audiobooks.

As I pass through the town of Bishop I think about going straight onto Madison instead of taking the turn that would lead me home. I've rarely gone back there in the 3 years since high school. Today I will.

This adds 11.4 miles to my trip. 58.1.

On the drive I notice a police officer driving behind me at the exact same spot that I received a speeding ticket on my 18th birthday. I was driving 82 miles per hour that night. I am driving 51 miles per hour right now. The speed limit is 55. I do not get pulled over.

After the police car passes me and speeds up to the 70 miles per hour that the rest of the traffic travels, I notice a sign on the side of the road that reads, "$1200 Fine, Throwing Trash on Highway." $1200 would pay for 1/3 of a semester at the University of Georgia. 24 Wendy's cups would pay for a college education.

I pull into the town of Madison and get to the traffic light outside my school. I can turn right and drive by the place that I graduated or through the neighborhood that some of my friends live in. I can look at the little yellow house that I wanted to buy 4 years ago and keep for the rest of my life. There is a perfect, fenced in, backyard where my dog can stay. But he can come inside too, if he wants. It's a short trip to the local school, so my children would never have to make the commute that I did to get to their classes. I would go to every one of their soccer games. The light turns green and I drive straight.

I decide that I don't want to go downtown. I don't really want to be in this town at all. I'll go to Wal-Mart. Maybe I'll see someone I actually wouldn't mind seeing. I have mixed feelings. I park in the spot facing the security camera. Old habits.

I'm in Wal-Mart and instantly regret it. I feel awkward and out of place. I don't see anyone I know from school, but everyone looks exactly like they did 4 years ago. Nothing changes in Wal-Mart. I circle the outer perimeter of the store. I go through the electronics and toward the pet supplies. I cut through the board games and head for the door. It is the same path I always took in high school when wasting time in this store. I avoid looking at anyone in particular, but I try to give off an air of confidence just in case anyone recognizes me. Maybe they'll think, "Hey, that guy might suck less now."

I think of stopping by Chick-Fil-A on my way out of town. I've been spending too much money lately. The gas station next to the interstate has a price of $2.439. I could have saved $1.30. $1.30 cannot buy much.

I pass the spot that used to be a Taco Bell as I turn onto the interstate. It is still not a Taco Bell.

Take this road for 15.6 miles. I have satisfied my desire to go to Madison for now. I would not be surprised if I never go back. I would not be surprised if I ended up in Illinois after this year and live there for the rest of my life. I keep telling myself I'll live and work in Atlanta. I'm afraid to leave this comfort zone. There are people here that I'm all right with. There is a tiny spider on my steering wheel. I wonder if it glows in the dark. I swerve as I move my hand to end its existence and almost hit an 18 wheeler. I could die. I don't. My family lives in Illinois. Maybe I should.

I sneeze and the cd stops. That's weird. Then I hear: "Chapter 15."

Exit 130. Gas $2.69. 8 seconds further there is a sign for gas at the Home Depot for $2.53. Anyone getting off the interstate would not see this, nor have any reason to believe there is another gas station for miles. They would pay $2.69.

Vonnegut begins to describe in detail the penis sizes of several characters within the book. I become curious about my own penis dimensions.

I see a frog jump near the front of my car. It takes another jump closer, and another jump in front. I am not sure whether it jumped under my tire or past it. It could be dead. This is the fourth time a frog has done this in my lifetime. That seems like too many times. It happened three times during my senior year of high school while I was traveling to or from that same friend's house. It would have been nice to see her at Wal-Mart.

I'm home.

Summer? 2010

It's a Saturday night in Athens GA, my apartment smells like Rotten Fish Milk Chicken Gravy Don Beefy Mac, and I'm not going to leave. Since I started the two classes I'm currently taking a month ago, I have had more work to do then I think I've ever had before. Between that and the World Cup, I just haven't had time to think or worry about the things that usually cloud my mind (and subsequently cause me to write this blaggery). On top of that, my laptop's screen has been freaking out for a few days now and that prevents most in bed writing. Of course, tonight proves to be the exception, for I am in my bed with mind of cloud and a laptop screen that shivers with excitement (literally. well, I guess not. it shivers. How do you get excited?)

I just shifted the wrong way, and my screen turned purple. I better hurry this up.

I went to my house with a few friends yesterday. It was a lot of fun, and a little stressful. If anything is messed up now, I'm sure my mom will notice. This is why I hate nice things. My parents used to ask me why I never had people over to the house while I was in Middle School / High School, and I really think that sometimes they actually didn't know. For as long as I remember my mom has complained to me about how one of my sibling's friends has messed up this or ruined that and it'll cost a fortune to fix. From fishing poles to jet skis, nothing ever managed to escape the wrath of the friends of Johnson. What's the point of even living in a nice house on a lake if you can't enjoy it because you're too worried about every little thing that might get messed up?

When I grow up and get married, I'm living alone! You hear me? I'm living alone! I'm living alone!