untiled

February is the most depressing month of the year. Especially in Indiana. It is cold and gray. The only snow that manages to hang on as the temperature hovers near freezing is hiding in shady places and enormous piles in Walmart parking lots. Which leaves just soggy ground and brown grass. The wind is relentless and seems to have teeth when it manages to find a chink in the armor of coats and gloves and knit hats and hits bare skin. You can see it in peoples faces - wore down by the plodding winter progress, a blank resignation reflected in their eyes. An old man steels himself for the bracing wind near the automatic doors at the entrance to the grocery store: wraps his scarf around his neck and stuffs his hands into gloves. He grips the handlebar of his shopping cart and slowly pushes it out onto the wet asphalt.

True Stories

Today I passed a semi on the highway with the word 'INEDIBLE' plastered on the back and sides of the metal tank on the back of it. What the hell.

At McDonalds in Terre Haute there was a man with a little girl in line behind us. His T-shirt said 'I am not as think as you drunk I am'. The print was a little blurry. He was also bald. And had an earring.

I am just getting over the flu. Not the throw-up kind of flu. I am feeling much better, thanks.

third post - where the author apologizes for insuting bloggers

I post this blog without even reading the blog that came before it where I sound a bit bitter and trash the blogging process - in a blog. I realize the irony. The first two posts were just to get it started I have tried this in the past and found that I took the whole thing too seriously so here I am just going to put things down with as little editing as possible. I find that if I try and edit it to make it sound good I spend more time picking it apart and just end up giving up. So I pledge to just do a quick reread and correct some of the glaring spelling mistakes. Having just typed that sentence I already broke my pledge and went back and started editing the damn thing. Now I come to the crux of my dilemma as a writer I can never find anything that seems like a good enough topic to write about. I read a good book yesterday - literally all in the same day, which is odd because it was over 300 pages. I don't really want to talk about it too much but it was really sad and not at all what I thought it was going to be. It is called The Kite Runner - they made it into a movie.
I just erased the text that was here because my internal editor would not permit me to post a bunch of crap self-pitying crap about how I feel - maybe next time. So in conclusion, I read a book and it was good.

second post

Ok so the first post sucked so I am going to try again. The barn really is haunted and the field is full of borken dreams but I have been told that sounds too sad so instead of empty cornfields I will discuss the. dont edit while you write it breaks the creative process I have going on here. I was going to talk about the shithole apartment complex we looked at today but now I am not gonna... there. just reread what I wrote and am not sure this blogging thing is for me especially when someone is watching. it is lame that people write blogs anyways. what the hell makes them think anyone cares about what they have to say. then you have to find some way to make people read your blog. which is also lame - I know I could post a bulletin on myspace so all of my friends (especially Tom) reads what I write and comments on it. that way i can feel like someone cares about what i write.

first post

Its hard to write the first post so I am just going to keep typing and erase the parts I dont' fucking read over my shoulder I hate that it makes it hard to think of something to write. see now I just stopped typing and then I had to sit here like an idiot before I started typing agin. it is going to be impossible to do this with the dumb dog trying to burrow under the covers I didn't even think the dogs were supposed to be in the bed yet here they are. lame. blogging sucks. the lonesome cornfield is full of broken stalks - like the borken dreams (worse than broken) of the farmers. also the barn is haunted.