This summer seems familiar.

By familiar I mean it has all the familiar symptoms of a summer where you just gotta put your head down and work for what you want. In the name of achieving and knocking your goals out the park.

I know summertime usually means downtime, but I think I’m going to go ahead and say that won’t be the case for me.

This summer will be one where I work so hard that every summer going forward will be a summer of leisure.

(Did I just use summer three times in one sentence? All this work is getting to me.)

Well yeah.

Push forward.


I’m the type of person that, when they get stuck in a rut, tries to avoid feeling sorry for himself. 

Like, wallowing in self-pity. Even though that’s usually the gut-reaction most people have when they suffer a crushing defeat or when they continue to fail over and over. I guess there’s something comforting about just sitting there, replaying what happened to you, your feelings bubbling over into despair.

Its easy. And I try to avoid it, not because its bad. We all need some “me-time” to reflect. I try to avoid it because I prefer the alternative.

The one where you get angry, where you want to attack the situation that got you in this defeated state in the first place.

I recently was able to form a plan of attack after being down in the proverbial dumps for awhile now. Man, was that exhilirating, just the feeling of finally being able to fight back.

I know all of this is really random and pretty out-of-context, but I think we can all agree that finally being able to attack our problems feels fucking fantastic.


So, I don’t know what happened to me last night around 10pm, and I doubt I’ll ever capture the mental state I was in, but I wrote.

Like, over 1000 words of fiction. I’m shocked.

Those of you who have been following my blog know that lately I have been stuck in a muddy state of depressive writer’s block.

But something happened last night. One moment I was on my Mac, lollygagging, and almost hypnotically I found myself rattling away on Microsoft Word, headphones locked in.

What resulted was a fun little short story, and its still a little rough, but here’s a short excerpt of the piece, reluctantly titled “Conversations”:

“‘Judy, I’d like to thank you for being so cordial with me this evening. I recently moved to the city, and haven’t had much in the way of conversation.’

‘Really?’ She leaned forward, closer. ‘Where from?’

‘New England.’

‘What brought on the move?’

‘A broken relationship. I’ve been collecting the pieces ever since.’

Judy’s eyebrows curved upward and her head tilted to the side.

Pity, humanity’s most generous feeling.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said silently. Joshua took another sip.

“Quite alright. It went quick. The relationship taught me many things, so I am grateful.”

‘Like what?’

‘Well, simply, and if you’ll forgive my vulgarity, I discovered that watching a woman put her panties on is proof of the existence of God. Watching her take them off is proof that miracles do indeed happen. And watching her pack them away in a fit of rage is as close to helplessness as one can get.'”

-Would love to hear some feedback!