everything is fine

I think I have writer's block. Probably. That or I'm just fabulously uninspired these days. That's a thing that happens, I guess, with some cyclicity. I tried to sit down and write about zombies the other day. It didn't go quite as well as I hoped it would. Lots of writing, erasing, rewriting, and erasing. I remember when I sat down and wrote fifteen pages in one sitting. Now I'm under the impression that it's a good night if I can sit down and write fifteen words that stick. All of the ideas are bouncing around up there, it's just that I can't get them to precipitate the way I want them to. My sounding board has up and left. I've lost my ground. Which, I guess, means it's time to start a different project. Maybe I'm just working too much. Too much work, not enough outlet. We made $150 playing the street corner on Saturday night. Just an hour of playing. And I busted the drumhead. Split it wide open after the first song. And ye

When it comes down to it, I really don't have much to say about Valentine's Day, I guess. I certainly have some acquaintances who seem to have their hearts set on condemning the holiday. It is apparently the most painful day for them to endure whether in or out of a relationship. No pleasing some people, I suppose. I admit to some pleasure from instigating Valentine's rants. In the end, though, it's just another day that slips by. Like weekends and birthdays. My original plan was to stay in and catch up on assignments and do more writing. My friend, however, insisted that we go out. And so, somewhat reluctantly, we set out to the pub on a Monday afternoon. We'd been friends for some time by that point, but not particularly close ones. Simply nature, I suppose. Small talk here and there. But we spent a few hours together and talked about all sorts of things. Life directions, how great it was to be a kid, plans. And then we bonded over some mild vandalism

I finally got my bike fixed the other day. It wasn't terribly expensive. There were a lot of things that needed fixing. And now, fixed. It was a fantastic feeling, riding it again. Such elegant machines. Such graceful transportation. It's a fluid exercise, really. You move and it answers, moves with you. Complementary elements. Riding a bike is a lot like dancing. That would be me being clever. It snowed the other day. There was ice, too, I guess. So the city put gravel out on the roads to help college students drive poorly. And so, since it's not icy anymore, the roads are covered in loose gravel. And so, I crashed my bike. I hit the patch of loose gravel at a very manageable speed and my tires slid out from under me. There's still some gravel and such in my palms that I can't quite get out. I had to get John's help with my knee. This picture really makes it look not that bad at all, but there was a surprising amount of dirt and gravel and tar i

I hope I never get tired of hearing the sound of snow under my feet. It's a unique sound, really. Those crackles, those staccato crackles like walking on sand or gravel or broken glass. So familiar. Predictable. Typical, almost. It's a sound we hear all the time. But underneath it there's another sound. This constant munch. Difficult to describe, but it's always there. The sound of snow compacting under your shoes. This cartoon-ish squeezing noise. Not quite a squish. Just a steady munch. Persistent and reliable. It always sounds the same. Comforting, almost. Munch, munch, munch. It snowed here, like it so rarely does. A precious occasion that finds everyone roaming the streets at three in the morning, bleary-eyed and absolutely giddy. Mature young adults when they go to bed but rowdy children the second they're roused from their beds. Laundry basket sleds, miniature snowmen, and names scrawled on the windshields of uncovered cars. It's amazin