grrr

The mid-90s; long Friday

Last night, feeling somewhat bored, I dove into my old journal entries (1993-1998) to see if I'd written anything about my stomach issues. As there are probably 300-400 entries in total, I was mostly just picking stuff at random; in the 30 or 40 that I looked at, there were maybe one or two sentences about stomach issues and feeling bummed out about not being socially active because of it.

I've gotta say - looking through old journal entries can be pretty entertaining, especially with so much time having passed (was 1998 really 7 years ago?). Lots of stoned ramblings about listening to specific musical passages; TONS of ridiculous crushes and torrid make-out sessions with an average lifespan of around 72 hours; most interesting, though, was the insane amount of confidence I had in myself at the time. I don't remember being that confident, at least publicly; but in those writing sessions I was King Shit of Fuck Mountain. If you think I use excessive hyperbole now, your brains would explode if you saw this stuff.

The saddest part, though, was reading about all the people that I'm not really in touch with anymore. There was a super-tight posse in those days that just doesn't exist these days - if it does, I'm certainly not a part of it. But not just that crew - there are tons of people I met and had amazing times with; quite a few people, in fact, that I'd love to get in touch with now. I don't quite know how to go about doing that without sounding creepy; nor do I know what purpose it would serve. Looking over these entries is akin to looking at old photos - they mean something to me, but I can't say that they mean the same thing to anyone else.

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While all you clowns are getting out early today, I'm stuck here until the bitter end. But then I have band rehearsal. I am fucking STOKED to play; I don't even care that our bassist is currently in Alabama being a rock star. It's been too goddamned long already. My guitar is freshly set-up and I'm chomping at the bit.
Fret not, for the torch that belonged to you as King Shit of Fuck Mountain has most certainly been taken by me, and I've been running with it for quite some time.
You're gonna have to out cock-of-the-walk me for it.

Or, if I'm ever blessed enough to be in New York, we could team up and run that city.