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But Your Names Are Too Hard To Spell by Ray Printer Friendly

Oh. Oh, yes.

This is probably what the Whiskey Pages were all about, when they started. Like you're just sitting there, a little too much booze pumping through your system, and you should really be in bed, but you can't make yourself do it.

Your eyes are a little hot, a little burny, but you aren't tired, and neither are they. They're open and they want to see things.

You feel like you have a million things to say, even though you know that 90% of them are so stupid. It's that other 10%, though, it's that 10 that makes it impossible to shut your eyes, to shut you mind, to block out the world for another little bit, because there is just so much to say. There is so much to be.

So much to learn, so much to teach, so much to experience, and to sleep is just a waste of time, it's time you could be using to learn about how penguins mate or time you could be using to build a little cabin out of bacon, with a fried egg spread out so that it looks like a frozen lawn, and hash browns sprinkled over the roof so it looks like snow.

You could be using this time to email your high school English teacher and tell her Hey thanks for being so understanding and intelligent, you really did make a difference, instead of just making me read crap I didn't care about. Or heck, why stop there? Call up your Junior High English teacher, say to her, "What was up with your Larry Bird fetish, anyway? To this day, I can't look a picture of that dude without thinking of gerunds, and getting a little warm in the cheeks. But whatever, because you showed me it was okay to be funny if you're smart about it, and you showed me that you don't have to be a jock to be cool."

I don't know. I just want to let them know. Because we all scream out into the night. We do it in different ways, but everyone wants to hear an answer, right? We dread the growl of whatever beast might be out there, but that's not nearly as scary as hearing nothing but apathetic silence. Hateful quiet.

To the people who molded me, made me, changed me: arooooooooooo! I howl at the moon for you. Duck in shame or bask in the glory, but know that you are responsible. Know that you made a difference.

And to everyone: Know that you change the world, whether you want to or not.


Comments:
Entered By Que From A land far far away
2009-07-29 15:29:33

I really like this: "Know that you change the world, whether you want to or not."


Entered By Ricky From Earth, but rising steadily now
2009-09-19 21:23:59

Ten or so years ago, I brought my three daughters up for a visit. One of the things we did while walking around my hometown was drop by the house of my mentor, my high school English teacher, Llewellyn Roberts. And after I introduced my girls to him, I said, this is the person who taught Daddy how to write. And Len said, "Oh, don't listen to your Daddy. He was a writer that I just helped a little." He's gone now, but I sure am glad I had the chance to thank him.



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