Tell them your pleasure’s set upon slow release

I’m currently mostly dehydrated, sipping on water out of a 49ers cup I’m not entirely sure is clean while lamenting the collective decision to not go to Denny’s last night. If there is one thing Sunday morning’s have taught me in my extensive weekend experiences, is that the late night Perkin’s/Denny’s/anything run is invaluable in avoiding that morning after starvation/hangover. Instead of fixing this situation with some more shitty burgers somewhere, I thought to myself that I would finally return to writing, at least a bit for now, and when that mood hits I guess I should just run with it.

I’m already pissed at this because I’m using the first person I too much.

I’m in my mid twenties, and the last year has been a complete tearing away from my 4 years of selective attendance, lackluster academic performance, and general apathy I could get away with. Now, I get up early, I work all day, I sleep early, and don’t decide Irish Carbombs on a Tuesday night is a sound, responsible decision. I’m still not comfortable with my newfound old-manness and ‘responsibility’.

A few months ago I got engaged, which came as a surprise to almost everyone I know. Apparently I’m very adept at keeping my goings on to myself. Out of all the myriad decisions I have made in the past couple years, from transferring schools, to doing what I’m doing now, this is the one that I can honestly say I’m completely happy with. As Hanks phrased it, “When you know, you know” and that couldn’t sum it up better.

I’m currently out in California, around San Fransisco, and I have to be completely honest, I hate it. I absolutely hate it. The weather never changes but it’s never really beach weather. It always feels like it’s going to rain, but never does, or it’s just this thick fog that covers the ground as if to suffocate everyone in this high priced lameass retirement community. The fact that I possess no car to escape the boundaries does not help to alleviate my dour opinion one bit. There is hardly any nightlife here, just bars that charge 13 dollars for a 4 pint pitcher of PBR while being filled with quite the collection of potential gang members, former high school athletes, surfer types when there’s no surf here, and a smattering of other people who should have left a long time ago. Our group is usually just sitting at a table creating a running sarcastic narrative about how much we can’t wait to go to a place where it actually rains.