Tales from the Quip

My grandma always tells this story about my three year old self. Apparently I was asked my thoughts on a situation, probably something like "Do you want to go see the giraffes or ride the goat?" My little face contorted with the misery of indecision, and I told her simply: "I just don't know where to go or what to do!"

This seems to be a common theme in my life. And as one with no clear sense of direction, I've bounced around like a single bouncy ball hurled violently down a dormitory staircase, and with every collision I gain a new weirdo story. I've been thinking of writing them down, and I guess thats what I'm going to do. I also stumbled on some pretty hilarious/sad journals from throughout my 25 year stay on earth. So I'll probably include excerpts from time to time, just to please those sadistic fucks who love the stench of melodrama. Reading through them I was reminded of watching a 4 year-old with a splinter on funniest home videos, screaming the most blood curdling, agonizing, shriek of pain. I'm not totally sure someone who had been recently disembowled could recreate the sound. Well anyways, thats what teen poetry sounds like to me. At least mine. Some of it.

Right. Blogging.

So I'm going to prattle on from time to time here, sitting in my rocking chair, telling stories. I hope they make you laugh, or at least snicker.