Interesting Times

Off the top of my head, these were the major points of the past year: I found a job captioning television programs in Virginia. I shifted my living schedule to an evening shift. I was admitted to the Maryland Bar Association. I developed a crush on someone. I managed to run three miles in twenty-four minutes. I quit the job captioning television programs. I found another job technical writing in Virginia. I shifted back to a day schedule in a weekend. I moved down to Virginia after a ridiculous seven hours of commuting in two days thanks to snow. I found out my crush was not reciprocated, and took that really poorly. I vowed to write fifty thousand words in a month, and produced about thirty thousand. I started bar hopping to meet women, only to discover that even though they wanted to talk to me, I was too shy to talk to them. I quit the technical writing position. I found another job as a business analyst. I started taking adrafinil, though not to the point of addiction yet. I continued working on the novel in spurts.

The minor recurrent points: I lied to everyone I met about my educational background. I ran. I listened to people when they asked me "if I had a second." I played video games. I drank water. I ranted and raved about the most inconsequential things. I danced when people were watching. I danced when no one was watching. I sang at the top of my lungs, serenading a choir of angels. I made goofy faces at babies, strangers and friends. I surfed the internet. I typed up blog entries. I drove for the hell of it. I ate 7-11 hot dogs, because I have mental problems. I accused myself of having mental problems. I played football. I dreamt about playing football. I read. I spoke in halting tones. I spoke in bombastic tones. I went for entire conversations without speaking, relying on hand gestures, nods, and clever eye waggles. I smiled at friend and enemy, stranger and familiar. I cried. I laughed.

That was my twenty-sixth year on this earth. One of so few, and as I sit here right now, it feels like I didn't do that much. Then I read all that, and I think about all that I did, and realize that, yes, it was a crapload. Maybe this past year wasn't a wasted year. I was born around 12:30 A.M. on Sunday, September 7, 1980. I'm now twenty-seven years of age. I'm still angry about life, and frightened of my future. I'm still hopeful about what might come, and compassionate towards others. I'm unsure as to what this year will bring, but should be so lucky if it is half as interesting as the past year. Let us never forget the curse, "May you live in interesting times."