I feel I should post this song...it was what got me thinking about the subject
The Well and the Lighthouse by The Arcade Fire
Well, it almost come to the 1st anniversary of this blog. Close enough anyways, 2 months away...
What has come from it? I created it back in February of last year for reasons I can't remember, I'm assuming it was just to simply keep a blog. But as I look back, I realize how much I've changed as a person. I started by just basically recording my thoughts that day- college, snow day, etc. I've gotten to the point where I occasionally write something insightful. I'm a better writer than I was then, it's a slow but consistent process. I just still feel like there's something missing.
I was in creative writing class 2 weeks ago. Mr. Hamm assigned a poem. I immediately groan to myself and wait for the prompt. Write a poem about how you've progressed as a writer, of poetry in particular. I don't even like poetry, I never could write it. I love listening to Brian, Alex, and Brandon read their amazingly fluid, beautiful lines of poetry. But me? I can't do it. I always say, "Oh well I'd much rather write prose than I would poetry...". But what is the last piece of prose I've written? It's been about a month and a half. I haven't written anything in 50 days, besides a few clinical essays. As soon as I have this realization, my mind breaks through the chains I've subdued it in. There's so much I have to say, so much I've left to decay inside of me. I want, no I need to write something. And what do I decide to write with this bottled up inspiration? A poem of self-loathing. 25 lines of depressing dictum. No really, I'm not kidding. It's about how I wish I could write poetry better....I refuse to even re-read it to myself again.
After bottling up that discouraging writing experience, I have another realization, 2 weeks later, this morning...
The paper (or in this situation, the blog) is a fine place to vent on, process your internal struggles, and evaluate who you are as a person (which I do so often). But I think it's unhealthy to use the blog solely for these purposes. Besides the two pieces I posted back in October (the personal narrative and "Hold the Cream"), all I've written are bleak invitations into my mind at times of distress.
I want to change this. I want to stop trying to find myself all the time, and write for someone else. I want to stop being afraid to let myself show my true self, instead of covering it with a pity-craving rant. I know I have it in me, I've seen on paper before. I need to stop being so self-conscious and remember that my writing is my own, and its destined to be bad at first. It's a learning experience.
While I'm at, I want to be a better Christian, a better friend, and just a better person in general. Not to say I'm a bad person, I just have room to improve, just as I do in my writing.
So I guess that it. I guess you could consider this an early new year's resolution...
Friday, December 21, 2007
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Merry Halloween
It's dangerous to do this.
I'm tired, and I'm writing. That combination has never been a good one.
It's always resulted in blogs that are craving pity and bottomless support about how "you'll always be there for me and what not."
Don't get me wrong, I love hearing support from friends. Sometimes you just need to hear it. But it happens most often when I'm tired, putting off homework, and it's late/semi-late. I usually read it the next day and hate myself for writing it. I'm typically a little embarrassed, but I never delete it. I think I just don't give a damn when I'm tired, so I just let it all flow out. So it's probably a good thing in the end.
I haven't really "talked" in a long time. I feel like a lot has happened within me, and I really haven't acknowledged it, analyzed it. So while I should have been writing my research paper, I was browsing through my old xanga I haven't used in a year -and my old myspace comments.
There are two really bad habit I've had for the longest time. One is the fact that I can't get motivated about anything school related. I can't think of the last time I actually put my full effort into school work. I bet I would if my grades ever slipped, but I'm fine with A's and few B's. Besides some projects in Creative Writing, I feel like I've just been really lazy about everything. Ok, so I guess you would consider this Senioritis, but I've had the same habit for all of high school. Being obsessed with movies has really put a lot of stress on this habit. I'd much rather watch The Man Who Wasn't There than start on this stupid paper. Of course, I would. I feel like my motivation in life is narrowed down into a few things, film being one of them.
OK glad to get that out of the way. Next...the biggie
Much to your demise (I know), this is not about The Notorious B.I.G.
This is more self-loathing. Hey, I warned you...
Although I've only mentioned it to a few people in passing, you all know it. I'm socially inept, at times. It's strange really, unless I reallly know you, it takes a lot for me to say "hey" to you in the hallway or strike up a conversation when we're awkwardly sitting there alone. It's a pathetic habit, but it's really taken a toll on me.
For instance, I'll use an actual example of why this problem bothers me so much. When I first met Tory, I thought she was pretty cool, we became "myspace friends" and talked it up via commenting. But then once school started back up from the winter break, I would see her in the hallways and avoid her. We slowly had a falling out of "myspace friends" to "oh, he/she is on my friend list". Sorry to use the horrible cliche myspace reference. This same type of behavior happened a lot during the play production too. All of these people I knew, but didn't exactly know, I avoided without even saying hey (unless they said it first).
But the point of all of this is that I'm pretty sure I come off as a complete prick to these people. I mean I completely avoid them and knowing me, it's probably pretty obvious too. I don't dislike any of these people, I guess I'm just extremely self-conscious around new people. Once I'm comfortable around you, I'm myself.
Now that's the end of that.
Okay, well at the end of the night, I have no new additions to my research paper, a new blog, and lots of leftover candy (no one showed up this year!). I'd call that a good night.
Until next time,
Austin
I'm tired, and I'm writing. That combination has never been a good one.
It's always resulted in blogs that are craving pity and bottomless support about how "you'll always be there for me and what not."
Don't get me wrong, I love hearing support from friends. Sometimes you just need to hear it. But it happens most often when I'm tired, putting off homework, and it's late/semi-late. I usually read it the next day and hate myself for writing it. I'm typically a little embarrassed, but I never delete it. I think I just don't give a damn when I'm tired, so I just let it all flow out. So it's probably a good thing in the end.
I haven't really "talked" in a long time. I feel like a lot has happened within me, and I really haven't acknowledged it, analyzed it. So while I should have been writing my research paper, I was browsing through my old xanga I haven't used in a year -and my old myspace comments.
There are two really bad habit I've had for the longest time. One is the fact that I can't get motivated about anything school related. I can't think of the last time I actually put my full effort into school work. I bet I would if my grades ever slipped, but I'm fine with A's and few B's. Besides some projects in Creative Writing, I feel like I've just been really lazy about everything. Ok, so I guess you would consider this Senioritis, but I've had the same habit for all of high school. Being obsessed with movies has really put a lot of stress on this habit. I'd much rather watch The Man Who Wasn't There than start on this stupid paper. Of course, I would. I feel like my motivation in life is narrowed down into a few things, film being one of them.
OK glad to get that out of the way. Next...the biggie
Much to your demise (I know), this is not about The Notorious B.I.G.
This is more self-loathing. Hey, I warned you...
Although I've only mentioned it to a few people in passing, you all know it. I'm socially inept, at times. It's strange really, unless I reallly know you, it takes a lot for me to say "hey" to you in the hallway or strike up a conversation when we're awkwardly sitting there alone. It's a pathetic habit, but it's really taken a toll on me.
For instance, I'll use an actual example of why this problem bothers me so much. When I first met Tory, I thought she was pretty cool, we became "myspace friends" and talked it up via commenting. But then once school started back up from the winter break, I would see her in the hallways and avoid her. We slowly had a falling out of "myspace friends" to "oh, he/she is on my friend list". Sorry to use the horrible cliche myspace reference. This same type of behavior happened a lot during the play production too. All of these people I knew, but didn't exactly know, I avoided without even saying hey (unless they said it first).
But the point of all of this is that I'm pretty sure I come off as a complete prick to these people. I mean I completely avoid them and knowing me, it's probably pretty obvious too. I don't dislike any of these people, I guess I'm just extremely self-conscious around new people. Once I'm comfortable around you, I'm myself.
Now that's the end of that.
Okay, well at the end of the night, I have no new additions to my research paper, a new blog, and lots of leftover candy (no one showed up this year!). I'd call that a good night.
Until next time,
Austin
Thursday, October 4, 2007
"Hold the Cream" by Austin Dressman
The prompt was to create a character based off a few items. A Kiplinger's Magazine, The Nation Magazine, a Santa figurine, and a few other things I can't remember. John Miles is the character I made up with these items...
John Miles, slicked back his thick brown hair as he sat waiting for class to begin. He was paging through a recent “Kiplingers” magazine hastily until his attention was suddenly diverted to the entrance of the classroom. In walked the tall slender Jack Corey with his posse of friends, all yapping wildly about the new internship Jack had been accepted into at the prestigious Bard Brokerage, the most successful brokerage firm in the city. Getting an internship there guaranteed him a job in as a high ranking broker after school. John scowled as Jack took his seat near the front of the room. Jack’s scent of success reached John’s nostrils...Old Spice Body Spray. He was the envy of all the Business students. He was always winning all of the awards and scholarships. And now he had added one more to the list.
John scribbled something onto a piece of paper and shoved it into his pocket. He continued to stare two rows down at the back of Jack’s brunette head. John positioned himself in the way Jack was sitting, hands folded on his desk with his leg resting on his knee. He fiddled with his hair until it slightly resembled Jack’s. As Jack pulled out his notebook and blue pen, John had already had his out on his desk. He congratulated himself on his small victory over Jack.
As class began, the professor began dictating notes to the class. As John wrote, his glance was still fixated on Jack. He hurriedly wrote the notes, always trying to stay a few words ahead of Jack. Then the lecture began and Jack pulled out a magazine. John squinted to make sure he had the same “Kiplingers” Jack did. But to his horror realized Jack was reading “The Nation”, a change from the magazine he routinely read during lectures. John gasped and sank into his seat: defeat overwhelming him.
Class soon ended and Jack left the classroom with his troop. John followed behind them as they made their way down the halls, still jabbering about the internship. John had already perfected Jack’s walk, practicing as he followed Jack around in the past weeks. Jack said his goodbye’s to all his friends, just as he always had before stepping outside. John proceeded to follow Jack outside and on to the normal route Jack had always taken.
John had also bought all of the items he had seen Jack with. He bought the exact checkered cool pack Jack used to ice his knees after his morning run, the breath mints Jack always consumed as he stepped out his apartment building, his favorite Santa Claus ornament his mother gave him three Christmas’ ago, among many other things. It was just another day for John, following Jack from place to place. Next Jack would stop by his regular coffee shop. There he would order a coffee of the day, a little sugar, hold the cream. Then he go on to his next destination, his girlfrien...
Just then, a horn blared and John heard a loud thump. This was followed by a woman screaming and the screech of tires coming to a stop. The man next to John swore and pulled out his cell phone, quickly punching in a number. John slowly turned his head toward the commotion on the street. A man lay dead in front of a Mercedes. Though a crowd surrounded the body, John could see the brown hair and the latest issue of “The Nation” laying next to the body. John turned around, in shock at what had just happened, and retraced his steps into the coffee shop. Coffee of the day, a little sugar, hold the cream. He slowly took a window seat and stared blankly into space as an ambulance raced past the window. After a while, he took out his “Kiplingers” and began to flip through its pages.
John Miles, slicked back his thick brown hair as he sat waiting for class to begin. He was paging through a recent “Kiplingers” magazine hastily until his attention was suddenly diverted to the entrance of the classroom. In walked the tall slender Jack Corey with his posse of friends, all yapping wildly about the new internship Jack had been accepted into at the prestigious Bard Brokerage, the most successful brokerage firm in the city. Getting an internship there guaranteed him a job in as a high ranking broker after school. John scowled as Jack took his seat near the front of the room. Jack’s scent of success reached John’s nostrils...Old Spice Body Spray. He was the envy of all the Business students. He was always winning all of the awards and scholarships. And now he had added one more to the list.
John scribbled something onto a piece of paper and shoved it into his pocket. He continued to stare two rows down at the back of Jack’s brunette head. John positioned himself in the way Jack was sitting, hands folded on his desk with his leg resting on his knee. He fiddled with his hair until it slightly resembled Jack’s. As Jack pulled out his notebook and blue pen, John had already had his out on his desk. He congratulated himself on his small victory over Jack.
As class began, the professor began dictating notes to the class. As John wrote, his glance was still fixated on Jack. He hurriedly wrote the notes, always trying to stay a few words ahead of Jack. Then the lecture began and Jack pulled out a magazine. John squinted to make sure he had the same “Kiplingers” Jack did. But to his horror realized Jack was reading “The Nation”, a change from the magazine he routinely read during lectures. John gasped and sank into his seat: defeat overwhelming him.
Class soon ended and Jack left the classroom with his troop. John followed behind them as they made their way down the halls, still jabbering about the internship. John had already perfected Jack’s walk, practicing as he followed Jack around in the past weeks. Jack said his goodbye’s to all his friends, just as he always had before stepping outside. John proceeded to follow Jack outside and on to the normal route Jack had always taken.
John had also bought all of the items he had seen Jack with. He bought the exact checkered cool pack Jack used to ice his knees after his morning run, the breath mints Jack always consumed as he stepped out his apartment building, his favorite Santa Claus ornament his mother gave him three Christmas’ ago, among many other things. It was just another day for John, following Jack from place to place. Next Jack would stop by his regular coffee shop. There he would order a coffee of the day, a little sugar, hold the cream. Then he go on to his next destination, his girlfrien...
Just then, a horn blared and John heard a loud thump. This was followed by a woman screaming and the screech of tires coming to a stop. The man next to John swore and pulled out his cell phone, quickly punching in a number. John slowly turned his head toward the commotion on the street. A man lay dead in front of a Mercedes. Though a crowd surrounded the body, John could see the brown hair and the latest issue of “The Nation” laying next to the body. John turned around, in shock at what had just happened, and retraced his steps into the coffee shop. Coffee of the day, a little sugar, hold the cream. He slowly took a window seat and stared blankly into space as an ambulance raced past the window. After a while, he took out his “Kiplingers” and began to flip through its pages.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Personal Narrative
I haven't blogged in a while...
Well I figured I'd just post my personal narrative, in its rough draft form. I think it came out pretty well...It's long but it reads fast.
The back door of my suburban abode slammed with a thud. I was off to the football field. As I walked through backyard after backyard in the melting February snow, I asked myself why I was doing this. I didn’t even like football. I couldn’t help that I was the least aggressive person I knew. The wet snow began to seep into my shoes as I contemplated my reasoning.
“Should I turn back?”, I asked myself.
“Are you a man?”, testosterone retorted.
I was halfway there and was wearing my Green Bay Packers jersey, I wasn’t turning back.
“The Packer’s ehy? Have you even watched a full Packers game before?”, testosterone asked.
“No, but I’ve watched portions of their games a few...many times.” I stammered.
I was beginning to hear the voices of my peers a few yards away.
“Okay, hopefully Adam isn’t here today,” I said under my breath.
“Pass the ball you pansy!”, a faint voice shouted. Adam was there.
My heart skipped a beat. Adam was my bully at the time. Derek had moved last year, so the position was open. Adam quickly filled the duty within a few weeks of Derek absence. My feet were completely soaked by the time I reached the football field. I was never greeted with any harsh words. It was always, “Dressman’s here”. This always left an air of suspense, “Will today be one of the bad days, or will I be spared?” I would soon find out; the insults usually came once the game started.
“We’re playing smear the queer, you’re it.”
I was liking Adam’s style. He was straight and to the point. He let you know what kind of day it was going to be right away. Derek on the other hand, stretched out the process. He gradually built up suspense and then swooped down on you right when you thought you made through the day. So in a way, you could say Adam was an improvement.
Each bully I had singled me out for some reason. Okay, I was a little chubby, but other than that I was a pretty nice kid. They just saw me as an easy target I guess. The worst part of the bullying was that all of my friends took the bully’s side. After he left, of course, they casually acted as if nothing had even happened and we were back on good terms. I never said anything to them because they were always good friends when he wasn’t around. That seemed reasonable to me.
The object of Smear the Queer is to tackle the one with the ball. The one with the ball has to keep from being tackled. And so Smear the Queer began, and within a few moments, ended. I was used to it, give the worst kid the ball a few times, easy target: just to boost the confidence and get the juices flowing. If I had been one of the aggressive, I probably would have done it too. But I wasn’t.
“Don’t you guys ever get tired of using me,” I said to Adam and his posse, “I mean you know I’m the weakest player.”
“You know, I don’t know, it’s just fun for some reason. Now stop being a little pussy and get up and actually try.”, Adam sneered.
On a normal day, Adam and my “friends” would mess around with me for the first part of the day, and then get tired of it. We would then proceed to play a regular football game and forget about all the abuse. But today was different. We never got around to playing a regular football game. We played side-swipe the “pansy” in the Packers jersey, over and over again.
Each time the ball was kicked off to me, I would scramble to pick up the ball, and then run as far away from the wave of pain as I could before ultimately being smothered into the ground. I knew the taste of grass and snow all too well. Before I knew what had happened, the ball was being kicked off again. I stumbled up off the ground and hastily picked up the football. Adam, now driving what looked to be a chariot pulled by twelve-year-olds was rushing towards me at full force. This time, I instinctively jumped out of the way right before he could spear through me. Before I could congratulate myself on the smooth move, his posse fell on top of me, one-by-one.
“Ugh! Get the hell off me!” I commanded wearily. I was a pretty tolerant person, but I just couldn’t take any more of this. I wasn’t so much angry at Adam as I was my friends. I had successfully juked out Goliath, and did my friends congratulate me on the move? No, they decided to have some sort of testosterone orgy on top of my face. I never usually got too angry when this sort of thing happened, but today was different. I was really mad. I was so angry that I was going to...get up and begin my long trek home. Who was I kidding, I wasn’t going to do anything.
Before I could start my pity party for myself, a football hit the back of my head. I turned around and saw Adam and my “friends” laughing. I don’t know how long I stood and watched them joke before they turned to go their separate ways, but it seemed like forever. All the while, the anger and frustration was building up inside of me. Without realizing it, I bent down and scooped up a large ball of snow.
Summers were always fun for me. There was the occasional bullying but other than that we played baseball every day. I was actually good at baseball. In fact, I was one of the best in the neighborhood. I was great at batting, and I always had the game-saving catch out in the field. Since I was so good, no one ever messed around with me. Until football season rolled around, the baseball diamond was my refuge. How does this fit into the story you may be asking. Well, I was a great pitcher. I had near-perfect aim and a good arm. Now that you know that bit of information, what I did back on the football field seems plausible.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I hurled a snowball the length of the football field, thinking it would maybe come close to hitting someone. It did. It came really close. Close enough to hit Adam in the side of the face. I watched in horror as the snowball exploded just below Adam’s eye.
And so Smear the Queer began again. Except this time I probably wouldn’t just be tackled, I’d be beaten until you couldn’t tell if it was me or the ground. All I could do was run. I sprinted through a few backyards and then frantically crawled under someone’s deck. Adam ran past the deck breathing heavily. Thankfully it was just him, the posse was probably still in shock back at the field. As I sat under the deck trying not to breath, I heard his heavy panting and saw his menacing legs make their way past the deck numerous times. Each time he went by his panting increased and his speed was reduced. Finally he walked by tiredly, cursing under his rapid breathing. I decided it was safe to come out after he didn’t pass by the deck again. I slowly crept out from underneath my wooden castle, stepped over my moat of bushes, and inched along the sides of the house. I jumped behind a bush when I got to the front of the house, scouting out my path home. My stomach felt like it was about to jump out of my skin. I considered just hiding behind the bushes for a few days. My stomach did a flip as I saw Adam walk along with his posse a few yards over. It looked like he had given up. At least that’s what I told myself before I was up and running across the yard towards my house, three backyards ahead. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Adam, now a charging locomotive heading straight towards my yard. “He’s going to cut me off, I’m going to die,” I told myself. I kept my eyes locked on my back door as I ran directly towards it. Two yards away.
Somehow I was ahead of Adam by ten feet, one backyard away from my house. I felt him grab for my jersey, the tips of his fingers clawing at my back. Just then, the adrenaline kicked in, his hand quickly loosing grip of the jersey. I raced ahead, now a few feet in front of him.
I saw my back door, “Oh God, is it locked,” I thought to myself. I grabbed for the handle and forced my way in, at the same time closing the door behind me. I turned around to see Adam, enraged, staring through the glass door at me. Trying to catch my breath, I limped over to his figure still standing on the doorstep and turned the lock. He accepted defeat and walked away. I sat down and replayed the whole ordeal in my mind. Austin-1, Adam-0.
Well I figured I'd just post my personal narrative, in its rough draft form. I think it came out pretty well...It's long but it reads fast.
The back door of my suburban abode slammed with a thud. I was off to the football field. As I walked through backyard after backyard in the melting February snow, I asked myself why I was doing this. I didn’t even like football. I couldn’t help that I was the least aggressive person I knew. The wet snow began to seep into my shoes as I contemplated my reasoning.
“Should I turn back?”, I asked myself.
“Are you a man?”, testosterone retorted.
I was halfway there and was wearing my Green Bay Packers jersey, I wasn’t turning back.
“The Packer’s ehy? Have you even watched a full Packers game before?”, testosterone asked.
“No, but I’ve watched portions of their games a few...many times.” I stammered.
I was beginning to hear the voices of my peers a few yards away.
“Okay, hopefully Adam isn’t here today,” I said under my breath.
“Pass the ball you pansy!”, a faint voice shouted. Adam was there.
My heart skipped a beat. Adam was my bully at the time. Derek had moved last year, so the position was open. Adam quickly filled the duty within a few weeks of Derek absence. My feet were completely soaked by the time I reached the football field. I was never greeted with any harsh words. It was always, “Dressman’s here”. This always left an air of suspense, “Will today be one of the bad days, or will I be spared?” I would soon find out; the insults usually came once the game started.
“We’re playing smear the queer, you’re it.”
I was liking Adam’s style. He was straight and to the point. He let you know what kind of day it was going to be right away. Derek on the other hand, stretched out the process. He gradually built up suspense and then swooped down on you right when you thought you made through the day. So in a way, you could say Adam was an improvement.
Each bully I had singled me out for some reason. Okay, I was a little chubby, but other than that I was a pretty nice kid. They just saw me as an easy target I guess. The worst part of the bullying was that all of my friends took the bully’s side. After he left, of course, they casually acted as if nothing had even happened and we were back on good terms. I never said anything to them because they were always good friends when he wasn’t around. That seemed reasonable to me.
The object of Smear the Queer is to tackle the one with the ball. The one with the ball has to keep from being tackled. And so Smear the Queer began, and within a few moments, ended. I was used to it, give the worst kid the ball a few times, easy target: just to boost the confidence and get the juices flowing. If I had been one of the aggressive, I probably would have done it too. But I wasn’t.
“Don’t you guys ever get tired of using me,” I said to Adam and his posse, “I mean you know I’m the weakest player.”
“You know, I don’t know, it’s just fun for some reason. Now stop being a little pussy and get up and actually try.”, Adam sneered.
On a normal day, Adam and my “friends” would mess around with me for the first part of the day, and then get tired of it. We would then proceed to play a regular football game and forget about all the abuse. But today was different. We never got around to playing a regular football game. We played side-swipe the “pansy” in the Packers jersey, over and over again.
Each time the ball was kicked off to me, I would scramble to pick up the ball, and then run as far away from the wave of pain as I could before ultimately being smothered into the ground. I knew the taste of grass and snow all too well. Before I knew what had happened, the ball was being kicked off again. I stumbled up off the ground and hastily picked up the football. Adam, now driving what looked to be a chariot pulled by twelve-year-olds was rushing towards me at full force. This time, I instinctively jumped out of the way right before he could spear through me. Before I could congratulate myself on the smooth move, his posse fell on top of me, one-by-one.
“Ugh! Get the hell off me!” I commanded wearily. I was a pretty tolerant person, but I just couldn’t take any more of this. I wasn’t so much angry at Adam as I was my friends. I had successfully juked out Goliath, and did my friends congratulate me on the move? No, they decided to have some sort of testosterone orgy on top of my face. I never usually got too angry when this sort of thing happened, but today was different. I was really mad. I was so angry that I was going to...get up and begin my long trek home. Who was I kidding, I wasn’t going to do anything.
Before I could start my pity party for myself, a football hit the back of my head. I turned around and saw Adam and my “friends” laughing. I don’t know how long I stood and watched them joke before they turned to go their separate ways, but it seemed like forever. All the while, the anger and frustration was building up inside of me. Without realizing it, I bent down and scooped up a large ball of snow.
Summers were always fun for me. There was the occasional bullying but other than that we played baseball every day. I was actually good at baseball. In fact, I was one of the best in the neighborhood. I was great at batting, and I always had the game-saving catch out in the field. Since I was so good, no one ever messed around with me. Until football season rolled around, the baseball diamond was my refuge. How does this fit into the story you may be asking. Well, I was a great pitcher. I had near-perfect aim and a good arm. Now that you know that bit of information, what I did back on the football field seems plausible.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I hurled a snowball the length of the football field, thinking it would maybe come close to hitting someone. It did. It came really close. Close enough to hit Adam in the side of the face. I watched in horror as the snowball exploded just below Adam’s eye.
And so Smear the Queer began again. Except this time I probably wouldn’t just be tackled, I’d be beaten until you couldn’t tell if it was me or the ground. All I could do was run. I sprinted through a few backyards and then frantically crawled under someone’s deck. Adam ran past the deck breathing heavily. Thankfully it was just him, the posse was probably still in shock back at the field. As I sat under the deck trying not to breath, I heard his heavy panting and saw his menacing legs make their way past the deck numerous times. Each time he went by his panting increased and his speed was reduced. Finally he walked by tiredly, cursing under his rapid breathing. I decided it was safe to come out after he didn’t pass by the deck again. I slowly crept out from underneath my wooden castle, stepped over my moat of bushes, and inched along the sides of the house. I jumped behind a bush when I got to the front of the house, scouting out my path home. My stomach felt like it was about to jump out of my skin. I considered just hiding behind the bushes for a few days. My stomach did a flip as I saw Adam walk along with his posse a few yards over. It looked like he had given up. At least that’s what I told myself before I was up and running across the yard towards my house, three backyards ahead. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Adam, now a charging locomotive heading straight towards my yard. “He’s going to cut me off, I’m going to die,” I told myself. I kept my eyes locked on my back door as I ran directly towards it. Two yards away.
Somehow I was ahead of Adam by ten feet, one backyard away from my house. I felt him grab for my jersey, the tips of his fingers clawing at my back. Just then, the adrenaline kicked in, his hand quickly loosing grip of the jersey. I raced ahead, now a few feet in front of him.
I saw my back door, “Oh God, is it locked,” I thought to myself. I grabbed for the handle and forced my way in, at the same time closing the door behind me. I turned around to see Adam, enraged, staring through the glass door at me. Trying to catch my breath, I limped over to his figure still standing on the doorstep and turned the lock. He accepted defeat and walked away. I sat down and replayed the whole ordeal in my mind. Austin-1, Adam-0.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
'The Girl' Chronicles Pt. 1
I've been putting this off for a long time but I really feel like I need to write about it.
So, here it is, the girls I've been romantically involved with in my life up to this point.
To start off, I've always been a hopeless romantic. Pretty cliché, I know, but it's true. I can remember the first girl I really became interested in. It was 4th grade and I had just moved here from "Chicagoland", Indiana.
I was 'the' cool kid. I mean I came in there the first day with my sweater, khaki zip off pants that turned into shorts, and a sort of a crew cut haircut. I was the man. I remember going to gym the same day and just suavely unzipping my zip-off pants so they became khaki shorts. All watched and were amazed at my cool demeanor and kickball skills. By the end of the week I could get any girl I wanted. So I went after this girl named Hannah.
Every day at recess I would chase her around the playground trying to catch her glance at every opportunity. I chased her around every day for quite some time. Then one day I walked into the classroom just as someone was broadcasting that "Austin likes Hannah" to the whole class. I immediately turned as red as the sweater I was wearing and stood outside in the hall until the teacher came out and asked what I was doing. I sat down and pretended I had no idea about what had just happened. Hannah and her friends were just sitting there laughing, all pretending that they had no idea I liked her in the first place. There was one other guy in the class that was rumored to have liked her. In the end she went for the other guy, so I settled for this other girl I didn't even know. I just remember us deciding to "go out" one morning before a field trip. I think that lasted like 1 week(?) So I had some girl go tell her that I didn't want to go out with her anymore. I was pretty cruel. But I mean, who cared, I was the man. I was funny, I dressed to impress, and I had mad kickball skills.
Then came the day I lost my throne as "the man"...or so I thought. It was just an ordinary day, summer was almost here, and we were getting on the bus to go home one day. Until I was in my seat and we were about to leave, I realized I had to go to the bathroom really bad. Some jerk who sat in front of me was taunting me the whole time by saying "water! gatorade! waterfallsssss". But I had to go too bad to be angry at him. I asked the bus driver if she could pull over really fast at a gas station so I could go. I mean she had let someone do the same thing just the other week. But, despite my constant nagging, she would not pull over. So, I'm sitting there, now in pain and all of the sudden, I feel a cool sensation going down my right leg...
All I remember is everyone just hitting the person sitting next to them saying "whoa, dude, look at that kid." I was in shock. I pretended it wasn't really happening. Honestly, it was all just a blur until the bus driver yelled some profanity once she realized pee was running down the isle and collecting near the gas pedal. I was then given the red carpet treatment by being dropped off first...it was the least she could do. I ran home, now crying because I realized what I had just done. My mom thought I had seriously injured myself when she heard a shrieking kid run into the house with his pants halfway down. She told me everything was ok as I sputtered out that "everyone is...is...is going to make fun of me". I sulked around the rest of the day pitying myself and dreading waking up the next day to be ridiculed by all my peers. I feared for my confrontations with girls the most. I mean with guys, I could just be a bamf and say "oh yeah, I just did because I had to go" but with girls that wouldn't work. I was terrified that my harem of 4th grade girls would stop liking me because I wet myself in public.
The next morning at school, no one said anything. I didn't know if they knew or not, but no one acted any different around me. I remember going up to this girl I was pretty close to and asking her if she knew. She didn't, but laughed at me for a good minute or so, and then swore she wouldn't tell anyone. Word never really got out about it. Only that summer did I ever endure any ridicule over it. But that was by the kid who bullied me all the time. But most important of all, I was still the cool kid.
So I guess I got a little sidetracked there. I included my first encounter with women though. I didn't say anything about all the other girls I "liked" that year because I basically liked every girl at one time or another. So I'll wrap up the beginning of this series and continue next time with my middle school years.
So, here it is, the girls I've been romantically involved with in my life up to this point.
To start off, I've always been a hopeless romantic. Pretty cliché, I know, but it's true. I can remember the first girl I really became interested in. It was 4th grade and I had just moved here from "Chicagoland", Indiana.
I was 'the' cool kid. I mean I came in there the first day with my sweater, khaki zip off pants that turned into shorts, and a sort of a crew cut haircut. I was the man. I remember going to gym the same day and just suavely unzipping my zip-off pants so they became khaki shorts. All watched and were amazed at my cool demeanor and kickball skills. By the end of the week I could get any girl I wanted. So I went after this girl named Hannah.
Every day at recess I would chase her around the playground trying to catch her glance at every opportunity. I chased her around every day for quite some time. Then one day I walked into the classroom just as someone was broadcasting that "Austin likes Hannah" to the whole class. I immediately turned as red as the sweater I was wearing and stood outside in the hall until the teacher came out and asked what I was doing. I sat down and pretended I had no idea about what had just happened. Hannah and her friends were just sitting there laughing, all pretending that they had no idea I liked her in the first place. There was one other guy in the class that was rumored to have liked her. In the end she went for the other guy, so I settled for this other girl I didn't even know. I just remember us deciding to "go out" one morning before a field trip. I think that lasted like 1 week(?) So I had some girl go tell her that I didn't want to go out with her anymore. I was pretty cruel. But I mean, who cared, I was the man. I was funny, I dressed to impress, and I had mad kickball skills.
Then came the day I lost my throne as "the man"...or so I thought. It was just an ordinary day, summer was almost here, and we were getting on the bus to go home one day. Until I was in my seat and we were about to leave, I realized I had to go to the bathroom really bad. Some jerk who sat in front of me was taunting me the whole time by saying "water! gatorade! waterfallsssss". But I had to go too bad to be angry at him. I asked the bus driver if she could pull over really fast at a gas station so I could go. I mean she had let someone do the same thing just the other week. But, despite my constant nagging, she would not pull over. So, I'm sitting there, now in pain and all of the sudden, I feel a cool sensation going down my right leg...
All I remember is everyone just hitting the person sitting next to them saying "whoa, dude, look at that kid." I was in shock. I pretended it wasn't really happening. Honestly, it was all just a blur until the bus driver yelled some profanity once she realized pee was running down the isle and collecting near the gas pedal. I was then given the red carpet treatment by being dropped off first...it was the least she could do. I ran home, now crying because I realized what I had just done. My mom thought I had seriously injured myself when she heard a shrieking kid run into the house with his pants halfway down. She told me everything was ok as I sputtered out that "everyone is...is...is going to make fun of me". I sulked around the rest of the day pitying myself and dreading waking up the next day to be ridiculed by all my peers. I feared for my confrontations with girls the most. I mean with guys, I could just be a bamf and say "oh yeah, I just did because I had to go" but with girls that wouldn't work. I was terrified that my harem of 4th grade girls would stop liking me because I wet myself in public.
The next morning at school, no one said anything. I didn't know if they knew or not, but no one acted any different around me. I remember going up to this girl I was pretty close to and asking her if she knew. She didn't, but laughed at me for a good minute or so, and then swore she wouldn't tell anyone. Word never really got out about it. Only that summer did I ever endure any ridicule over it. But that was by the kid who bullied me all the time. But most important of all, I was still the cool kid.
So I guess I got a little sidetracked there. I included my first encounter with women though. I didn't say anything about all the other girls I "liked" that year because I basically liked every girl at one time or another. So I'll wrap up the beginning of this series and continue next time with my middle school years.
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