Jinked

Snow. A snowstorm is okay because it has a visible beginning and end. I can plan for things, especially things that are travel related. Lake effect snow? Nuh-uh. There’s a beginning, but no end. Endless snow rolling off Lake Michigan right to my front door (or rather my apartment complex) makes me want to rip out my hair and put chains on my tires.

Lake Michigan certainly has it out for me this year.

In the books I’ve been reading lately, especially the memoirs (and in some of the zines too) there is always mention of past drug use. Maybe I’m bitter because I don’t have as gritty a past as a lot of writers, but I find myself blinking back a shallow form of loathing while I read. Jealousy, I guess. People like reading about other people’s shortcomings. We like stories of depravity, desperation and at the very end, redemption. We eat that shit up, like those warm cinnamon buns with that gooey icing on top. Filling, satisfying and leaving a taste behind that makes you want more.

I never touched a drug in my life. I smoked once. It was a hooka and I was twenty-seven. I coughed a lot. Needless to say, I didn’t take a second drag.

I drink socially. If I’m ever grasping for straws, that can be something to consider writing about. Maybe with an anti-hero. Those are nice and cliche.

I’m getting used to writing in first person, present tense. I could never do it before in my stories, but now it’s painfully easy. My writing has evolved. Upwards and outwards in all directions.

I’m not happy about having to go out and scrape my car in a half hour. At all.