I've come to the realization that certain basic human interactions are, for some reason, a sort of tangled web of confusion I always find myself in. I'm no mind reader and very few people are( lets face it, mrs. Cleo was full of shit), but trying to read people through certain actions, gestures,etc. is going over my head more and more. I start to think I grasp or see things as one way and then in a second it all feels flipped and spun around. Advice helps but at the same time it doesn't when you do not know which way to go with it. Confidence/mental issues? perhaps, but I'm working on it. Its a process. Such is life;one big process. Now, for some tunes...
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Curse of the sober driver...
Heres something I wrote for a creative writing class I'm taking.:
It's a little after 9:00 pm and the stars out over what almost seems like a ghost town. One of the only remaining business's that is left open at this point in the night is the local watering hole. After he gets done tripping his way over the many cracks in the sidewalk, he soon walks his way through the cloud of smoke into the dimly lit establishment, what some might call a dive. Here, a well stocked bar will be found with an array of drinks that will no doubt lend itself to the mistakes that, for many, will be realized the morning after. For the sober patron, a not so extensive set of choices is made available. A juice or Roy Rogers strike your fancy? Ordering either makes him the minority in this particular place filled with with the young and old, the casual drinker as well as the depressing mess getting their fill as if prohibition was about to be kicked started once again. The occasional biker also finds his way into the crowd.
This particular person will be subjected to the ramblings and nonsense that will find its way from the juke box, which is blasting everything from the great Bob Dylan to the questionable works Lady Gaga, to the billiard tables and back to his bar stool. With sobriety and half a conscience, he finds himself in the worst place. As he decides to sit back with his sarcastic point of view, he slowly comes to terms with the curse of the sober driver.
It's a little after 9:00 pm and the stars out over what almost seems like a ghost town. One of the only remaining business's that is left open at this point in the night is the local watering hole. After he gets done tripping his way over the many cracks in the sidewalk, he soon walks his way through the cloud of smoke into the dimly lit establishment, what some might call a dive. Here, a well stocked bar will be found with an array of drinks that will no doubt lend itself to the mistakes that, for many, will be realized the morning after. For the sober patron, a not so extensive set of choices is made available. A juice or Roy Rogers strike your fancy? Ordering either makes him the minority in this particular place filled with with the young and old, the casual drinker as well as the depressing mess getting their fill as if prohibition was about to be kicked started once again. The occasional biker also finds his way into the crowd.
This particular person will be subjected to the ramblings and nonsense that will find its way from the juke box, which is blasting everything from the great Bob Dylan to the questionable works Lady Gaga, to the billiard tables and back to his bar stool. With sobriety and half a conscience, he finds himself in the worst place. As he decides to sit back with his sarcastic point of view, he slowly comes to terms with the curse of the sober driver.
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