This page is nothing but samples from the book I am putting together. I'll be posting bits here and there until it's done. Feel free to offer feed back, I like to know what readers think of my writing.
Neophiliac
(I wrote this in 2006 while I was trying my best to settle down and live a "normal life" in Anchorage. It's amazing to me how little some things change. There's really no way around it, it's just how I'm built.)
The very worst part of going out and having a "good time" is not the hang over, nor is it the broken bank account, it's not even the over whelming sense of humiliation of having made an ass of ones self by inexcusably inappropriate words and actions. In truth it is the simple fact that it really was a good time. And afterwards being thrust back into the everyday world of sole crushing monotony, and ever so predictable repetition. If I was not happy prior to the awesome time that I had (for example last week) than the return to normalcy compounds the sensation, and multiplies the misery of my boredom on an infinite scale. Anyone who has known me for more than an hour has heard me speak of leaving this place (again). Each and everyday I force myself to go some place I don't want to be, and do things I don't want to do, all to make other men more wealthy, I can feel myself die a little inside. It gets better than this. I know it does because I have seen it. And soon I will be going back to where I belong: Parts Unknown. Where everyday is filled to the brim with discoveries, the only things you can truly predict are amazement and wonder, and your memory becomes so cluttered with adventures you have trouble keeping them in order. I look in the mirror and I see an impatient child squirming in his seat awaiting the recess bell, nearly ready to light a match to the little bit of school work required of him before he may go.
The very worst part of going out and having a "good time" is not the hang over, nor is it the broken bank account, it's not even the over whelming sense of humiliation of having made an ass of ones self by inexcusably inappropriate words and actions. In truth it is the simple fact that it really was a good time. And afterwards being thrust back into the everyday world of sole crushing monotony, and ever so predictable repetition. If I was not happy prior to the awesome time that I had (for example last week) than the return to normalcy compounds the sensation, and multiplies the misery of my boredom on an infinite scale. Anyone who has known me for more than an hour has heard me speak of leaving this place (again). Each and everyday I force myself to go some place I don't want to be, and do things I don't want to do, all to make other men more wealthy, I can feel myself die a little inside. It gets better than this. I know it does because I have seen it. And soon I will be going back to where I belong: Parts Unknown. Where everyday is filled to the brim with discoveries, the only things you can truly predict are amazement and wonder, and your memory becomes so cluttered with adventures you have trouble keeping them in order. I look in the mirror and I see an impatient child squirming in his seat awaiting the recess bell, nearly ready to light a match to the little bit of school work required of him before he may go.