What I'm doing right now.

It's about 10:30. I'm laying in bed getting ready to play some game where you pop balloons and win prizes. Better than a carnival. Brianne is sleeping, and she has three freckles on her arm that make a smiley face. That makes me happy.

We're both stressed out because being grown-up isn't fun and being in this super-cold bedroom isn't necessarily fun, either. I was growing a beard today, but I decided to shave it even though it made Brianne upset. She likes when I have a beard. I do, too. Only not during the summer.

I miss a lot of people in Muncie, not the city itself. Louisville is a lot more fun. Not that there's necessarily more to do, it's just a much more immersive environment. But... I should remember there are really cool people in Louisville just like in Muncie. Even though most of them don't write poetry or even care about poetry. There's nothing wrong with that. A lot of them do like Volkswagens, which is just as exciting.

Which reminds me, I ordered a few things for my car a couple of days ago. I went into Grossman Tuning and talked with John and Matt. It's nice talking to people who are enthusiastic about cars, especially Volkswagens. Most people don't seem to care about their cars. I wish they understood that cars have feelings, and they definitely get pissed when you treat them like shit. My parts should be here either tomorrow or Wednesday. This is exciting.

Writing this makes me think about the way I write. I don't do that very often. Usually when I write, I get this really fun idea and keep forcing it out until it's done. Think of taking a shit, a really huge shit that's been balled up inside you all day. You're at the zoo or something, and you just refuse to take a shit there because so many other creepy strangers take a shit on that same toilet you'd be forced to use, and you also don't like the idea of having your knees pressed to your chest with jeans and boxers wrapped around your ankles while some toddler peeks through the crack of the door at your balls. That makes you feel really vulnerable.

But that's how I write. I grunt and strain and just force shit out. And just like turds, most of the time... it's a stupid dirty mess that most people don't want to look at. They just cover it with paper, flush it, and forget that it ever happened. That's a good thing, because sometimes you just write things that aren't any good. Even if you don't know what "good writing" is, because I certainly don't, you just know what you made isn't "good." 

Brianne just woke up for a second and she made a tired face and told me she loved me. That's probably a really good way to end this entry. Definitely better than writing about feces.