Sitting in the Hall of Fame and the world's gonna know your name.

Yesterday I took my roommate's 88-year-old aunt to the pharmacy to pick up her medication. Before dropping her off in front of her house, she left me with some sage advice.

"Don't get old," she said.

"I don't think I can avoid it," I returned. I don't think anyone can avoid that. Age comes for all of us.

Then I thought, perhaps what she really meant was, never let go of your childlike innocence and lust for adventure. As long as you hold on to those things, you'll never get old. So I promise, Aunt Dodo, I'll never get old.

But dreams come slow and they go so fast...

"You need to write again, you haven't really written anything for a while," she says. "Well you've written some things, but nothing like you used to.

"Yeah, I know. I haven't had the inspiration or the time to look within myself to find the answers. Just kind of blah things here and there," I say. "I'll write again when I can no longer afford to go to school, which is coming up here quickly. Then my life can return to normal again."

And I can’t even remember what normal means anymore. I just get up and press through everyday life things. Wake up, shower, go to work, come home, and do some homework. Somewhere in-between the monotony I manage to connect with friends for the few fleeting moments of happiness that I feel. Like, a shared drink or conversation around microphones about tentacles and fur piles that no one will really ever understand.

My life has kept a steady pace and I’m not really concerned about it flat lining. But I want to go back to the fast pace heart beat that makes days string into one-another. Then I’ll look back and think, man this really was the best time of my life. And I want the rest of my life to be like that. Unfiltered and unwavering. But I suppose that’s how everyone views life; we all want to live a life that is so exhausting and full that by the end of it, we’re happy for the moment of sleep that will creep into our minds eternally.

And perhaps once my life returns to normal, maybe then I’ll be able to find the motivation to write.

Tear the World Down

Conflicting seems to be the human affliction. What’s right or wrong, good or bad pants or no pants, love or no love. We struggle with these things daily.

So there’s a good guy there, the “bad” guy here and I have this constant need for instant gratification. I want to be loved and touched and felt. I want to love, touch and feel. But the ones that I want seem to be so far out of my reach. The guy who stole my heart with words and the electrifying way he kissed. The good guy who stole my heart with warmth and kindness. Make the best decision. I hear it over and over.

But when neither are choices I can make, because neither can touch me, feel me or love me. The choice I make seems to be the wrong one.

Find someone to fill me up, hold me close. Someone who can touch me and feel me, but never love me. Empty spaces filled momentarily so that I don’t feel so alone. Is this the choice I should be making?

Can anyone love me, feel me, hold me and touch me?

things changed, and that's the way it is

I’m sitting on the couch in the living room at my brother’s house listening to the rabbit hastily drink water. And I think about all the time I’ve wasted running away from Tucson because when I drive it now, It’s not filled with the pain, the anger or frustration. It’s filled with the memories of my youth. Because now, when I see the Catalina Mountains they seem to stand taller than I remember. The shadows created by the sun seem darker and more mysterious.

When I see them as I drive closer to a family members house, I stare at them. Connecting them with the memories of my younger years, but they seem so foreign to me now. And I know, that I am the only thing that’s changed.