In a room to my right, the past five years of my life are stacked and packed together, and my old apartment is all but empty. I never knew I had so much crap, but like my dad I don't really throw anything away so I guess its no surprise. But it all looks so small packed up, and it just made me think that up until this point, I haven't left much of a mark on the world, not even enough to fill up a small room.
So it is a good time to move on with my life, hang up my party boots, and get all existential up in this bitch. I spent most of today running around, on the phone, interviewing a guy with a 600k mile Mustang, finishing some freelance newspaper
article, and trying to set up something interesting
for the Syracuse Nationals car show. I love this work. I am much more motivated when it comes to working for myself, something about doing work I enjoy and can actually see the results for myself.
But I've also had a chance to do a lot of reflecting on the ridiculous bullshit I've witnessed that is just too strange for fiction. Like waking up on my last Sunday morning to find a confused Irish man without a shirt sitting on a couch in the basement after a party. I could hardly understand him but I did manage to get that he had no idea where he was, and we had no idea who he was either.
Or the time Walsh attacked a Christmas tree that was staring at him funny.
Speaking of Christmas, how about ornaments made from beer cans.
Bedroom doors perforated with ninja stars.
Twelve minute stomping contests.
Obnoxious yelling at all hours of the night.
Who wants to do a shot?
Sketchy beer pong tournaments.
All good memories come from bad decisions.