A call to arms

I haven't updated in over a week. Why?

I really don't know. There have been times where I've pulled up my blog homepage to write an update, and I just don't. That doesn't mean I haven't been writing, mind you. Recently, I rekindled my love for my iTunes "So, you're writing..." play list, consisting of my drug-addled, low-fidelity indie anthems, 70s space rock, and Descendents, because let's face it: EVERYONE likes to write while listening to Milo Aukerman wail.

Thinking and writing. Thinking about relationships. Thinking about my last year in Muncie, my last year in college. Thinking about my dog. My sister. My filthy apartment. And I'm torn by it all.

Around this time next year, I'll (hopefully) be done with college. Packing up my tweed pants, knit hats and striped sweaters into beat-up cardboard boxes and getting ready to move back to southern Indiana. Knowing me, I'm going to be stubborn, say goodbye to no one, and lift my middle finger at Muncie as I merge onto I69 south, "Statue of Liberty" or "Kabuki Girl" blaring out of my broken front speakers.

My cat will be sitting next to me, clawing at the door on her cage. It'll probably be raining, which'll cause my mom to call me two or three times, assuring me that "I has terrible vibes that something is going to happen to you on the way home." So, I'll keep driving. Pass the Bloomington exit. That stupid red bridge which housed that cataclysmic fireball that was once a red Ford Probe that I passed on my way home on my last day as a freshman. (Unrelated, but that last sentence is really choppy and poorly written. I could do better). The roads will wind up to my parents house. The park is going to be empty. The swings barely moving. "Tab" will be playing, and I'll forget that the song is 32 minutes.

I'll start some life that I can't describe because I don't know what's going to happen. I'll have some job that probably won't matter, and I'll have to start trusting new people all over again. That's when I'll miss Muncie. 10 minutes after being home. I'll miss my dirty fucking apartment. I'll miss everyone telling me how I'm supposed to go about my relationship with my girlfriend because they have a richer, more idealistic idea of who I should be dating. I won't have Jake sitting in the brown chair, downloading pictures of cats with their head in between hamburger buns.

I'll miss my roommates never cleaning the kitchen. I'll miss flipping burgers in some shit-hole restaurant that I continually dismiss, but can't seem to quit. I'll miss talking to Ryne about video games we'll both never play. I'll miss hearing him laugh. I'll miss Juice doing flips off the doors. I'll miss sifting through a mountain of Magic cards with Mike and talk about decks that we made when we were 12. I won't have Deanna to talk about David Bowie with, or that creepy movie that Tom Cruise is in where he's this crazy elf guy who fucks some chick with small tits.

Nate won't be there to do Carl's voice, and Martha won't be there to talk about Josh Farris and his gut-wrenching body odor. I'll have my family but no second family. And it took until I was 21 to realize that having a second family is just as important, if not more important, then your real family. No matter how far away I am, I'll always have Mom, Dad, Jen and Heidi, but I won't have "My Muncie People." There were a few times this year that I seriously wanted to take all of my shit out of the apartment and live in my car because I was fed up with them. I didn't deserve to get treated the way I did by any of them. Neither did my girlfriend.

But it doesn't matter, because I forgave all of them because they're all too important to me.

I'll end it here, because I don't know what else I want to say.


I don't even know anymore.

"My friends are all dying, and death can't be lying. It's the truth and it don't make a noise."