I recently came back from an amazing trip across the United States. I was all over the place on the greyhound. I returned about a week ago to live with my parents for about a month. The point of this blog is to explore what I’m doing in my home town for a month, whether or not i’m moving to albuquarkie NM (I still can’t spell it), to see if i have what it takes to finally write that novel, and to try and figure out wordpress. Let’s get into some necessary background information. That obligatory shit that you may want to hear if this is all to make sense to you. I have lived in the “city of brotherly love” for about 3 years, maybe four. I am not, however, from there. I hail from a town in central New Jersey. A town where the only thing that ever happens is the development of housing, schools and the Lindbergh Trial. By the way they reenact it every year, and one time i got stuck being the stenographer. It’s a pretty sleepy town with any suburban teenaged underbelly. The one that consumes mass amounts of marijuana, cocaine, and heroine. Heroine was a major problem at one time. Me, i just like to hit the sauce. So that’s Flemington.
A place where i have, of late, returned to a house and a family who doesn’t even want me here. They want me to be living out their version of success. My mother is distant with me and never has been. My sister, at once a beautiful teenage dream, is a fat wreck. My father is a “recovering alcoholic”, because i think that’s what you’re supposed to call them.
My dad just told me “don’t be so finalistic, the world turns, things change”. That was in response to me saying “i’ve already burned most of my bridges in this town”. For that matter the East Coast can go fuck itself. What I’ve been doing lately is just driving around in my old beat up mx6 circa 1983, before they even had a logo. I drive around and smoke bummed cigarettes because i supposedly quit last October. I was doing well too, but it’s something about jersey that turns you into a smoker again. Driving around in my wreck that stalls at lights and listening to old mixed tapes from highschool. Being as self destructive as i possibly can be. So let’s get into that story.
The other day i decided to hang out with my old friend Nicole. We were in kingwood, which is pretty much nowhere. The brilliant idea we had was to buy a bottle of wine and drive around with it. A thought that never crossed my mind before this week. Drunk driving is pretty stupid. I kept hoping that a giant truck would turn around the bend on one of the incredibly small back roads and crash us into oblivion. No such luck. We ended up at our friend Tiffany’s house on her hammock. That’s kind of like the analogy of my whole week. Read on if you’re interested in my stories, because it’s time for another beer.
