Unable to Stay, Unwilling to Leave
Ladies and gentlemen,
I should come to you bubbling with excitement, but I’m once again melancholy at best. Perhaps I really am starting to mellow out. I don’t expect this to be a depressing post; rather I expect it to be reflective. Shall we begin?
Let’s see, what can I say that I’m allowed to say? Yannow what? I never like being told what I can and can’t do. Blogging presents this problem, you see. Ideally, one wants to be to communicate everything that they are thinking and doing and experiencing. Some may say that this is freakish, while others are appreciative of getting a chance to look at a situation from another perspective. So I have a question: is it ethical to put your private affairs in a public forum?
Brevity is also key. Too brief and depth is lost; only shock value will prevail. Too long, your magnum opus is passed along because there simply isn’t the time in the schedule. But what if you just can’t cram it all in? You throw away details that could be key to either the story as a whole or vital to appreciating the subtle undertones.
But I digress. I suppose all that is wanted here is a sip of cappuccino: enough to savor, but not enough to gorge upon. Therefore, brief let me be.
First of all, I know someone who has made a decision recently, but they aren’t in any position to be making the decision they are making. While I hope for the best for this person, suffice it to say that the bets are against this person. It’s unnerving too. Everyone can see it but this person. Others, methinks, are just along for the ride. Perhaps I’ll put this in a private post if I don’t get too lazy or forgetful and make it public someday when it is safe.
For those of you who are wondering or anticipating the excerpt of the book I mentioned before Christmas, thanks for your continued support. We’re working hard to serve you better.
It’s possible that we might get the afore mentioned recording artist after a bit of red tape. Why is it that you just can’t think about doing some great monumental undertaking and it just miraculously happen? Life just isn’t fair. But I still believe that this will be a breakthrough year.
Completed one of the save my shit letters. Need to do a little research on the second one, but suffice it to say that I’m plodding along and have the happy endorphins flowing. This translates into “I know it was a waste of time, but I feel better about it now because I banked on the one chance in a million and know that it wasn’t a solid investment.” So it shall be.
This is probably just hanging myself here, but I am compelled to relate this story with all the irony involved. So I picked up the fone (that’s phone for those of you in MO) the other day and asked good o’le Dad if he’d help me get a new car. The best buy I saw was the Forenza for eleven-five. Not bad. The Reno is ten-five. So he said to see what the payments would be and how much I would need down. The salesperson didn’t want to run my credit because I don’t make enough a month to get a loan by myself. He wanted a co-signer…
Anyway, a couple of days after I went down to the dealership, I almost hit a cop head on. She was severly pissed, but realized that it was just an accident and let me go. That night, my final deliveries were to the UAH police and the Sherrif’s office. Two days later, I got a ticket from the same cop.
I think I am going to start working 50-72 hour weeks split between two different Domino’s stores: Big Cove during the day and University nights and weekends. It seems the best course of action considering that I have no life. This will allow me to outright purchase a car in very little time as well as get the credit cards paid off. All I have to worry about after that are the student loans.
Drove my car down to the great town of Juanita Tuesday night so Dad could evaluate it and see for himself that I need a new car. Somehow, he miraculously says that the water leak thing can be fixed for $35 dollars. The car was down there all week and the bastards at the shop didn’t fix it.
I borrowed his (Dad’s) van for the week so I could continue to deliver pizzas. Tips weren’t that great driving it. Friday morning, I was on my way to the Big Cove store again (Did I mention that I worked days there this week and nights at University?) and it died. So he came up from the great town of Juanita and due to his asininity, regained the title of Pumblechook. He claimed that he was coming up to cosign on the car (because I needed something to drive and he had almost broken since having the ghetto mobile) but instead he got all huffy and threatened to not bring my car. (which would have been a bad move on his part had he not have) Then, instead of the original six months time table that he had been talking about of me putting money back showing that I can make the payments, he then says a year, but he’s just like Kane: he wants love on his own terms. So our beloved Pumblechook is back.
On a more positive note, the photo shoot went well for James’ album.
James Flynn, guitar man
Me, Stephen Spielberg II
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