Hey Strangelanders. I was in the shower the other day, and I suddenly realized that it was October and I haven’t told you even one scary story. If you’re wondering why I was thinking about something like that while I was in the shower, you’ve obviously never seen me naked and covered in soapy water. Because me naked is one of the scariest things I’ve seen in my entire life…and I’ve seen some scary stuff.
Anyways, I’ve spent the last couple of nights trying to get something decent put together for the trick-or-treat season, but we’ll see. I’ve got a lot on my plate at the moment, and I’m not talking literally. In fact, one of the things on my metaphorical plate is losing weight, so just sit there and let the irony of that bit of business sink in for a second.
I’m going back to school, kids. I start next week. It’s an eight-week condensed course—Government—and I’m scared shitless about it. People around me have always considered me smart, and back in the day, they were sort of right. I was never nearly as intelligent as people made me out to be, but I could learn, and that was something I used to my advantage. After over a decade of letting my brain sit dormant, I’m a bit concerned.
My friends and family still shower me with assurance. They tell me it will be no problem, that I’ll be fine. They think I’m still smart.
What they don’t understand is that these days, I use my brain to try to figure out jokes on The Simpsons and that’s about it. Sometimes I try to use the microwave, but that’s as much as I tax my intelligence. What I’m saying is, my mind is as out of shape as the rest of me.
“You’ll be fine,” my princess tells me.
“But…you saw me. You saw how I needed help just to get registered. You saw how much trouble I had filling in the form just to meet with an advisor.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“If we’re going to just throw money away like this, I should at least be lighting cigars with hundred dollar bills or something.”
“Just hush, and concentrate on filling this out…you put your name on the wrong line.”
“Yeah, this is the best idea we’ve ever had.”
For some reason, she’s still convinced this is a good idea. I’m not saying that higher education is a mistake. I’m just saying it’s a mistake for me. What I think we should do is pay for some kid to go to school, and then have him support us. I don’t know how any of that would work, but it seems like a really great idea, compared to actually paying for my dumb ass to go back.
I’m excited about it, though. My first step in being a real person. Pretty soon, I’ll have a tie and a briefcase, and I won’t even need to waste my time trying to be creative, because I’ll have the dough already.
Actually just getting a job where I don’t have to lift hundreds of pounds of poisonous chemicals or wear a polo shirt with the company logo embroidered on the breast would be a great step forward.
But because it’s a condensed course, I’m going to have to work my ass off, apparently. Which means not as much posting on The Strangelands.
Also, I’m trying to get a book of short stories edited and put together, which always takes more time than I feel like it should. It’s funny, because last year around this time, I was actually doing the same thing with Portly Boy.
Several email rejections later, Portly Boy remains unpublished, but I’m seriously thinking about going the self-publication route with something like Café Press or Lulu. Of course, I have no idea how difficult it is to do that, and if it turns out to be too time consuming, I’ll have to scrap it in favor of other projects. You know, like getting more rejection letters with a whole new book.
Oh, yeah, and I’m getting married in less than a month. You wouldn’t believe how much attention you have to pay to that sort of thing.
We have the rings, we have the clothes, we have the, uhhh…hm. I’m not sure what else we have. We have the person to marry us. I’m not sure if you need anything more than that. It’s amazing how much running around you have to do to accomplish so little. Because we dedicate a lot of time to this stuff. “Okay, we’ve worked on this for twenty six hours straight this weekend. What did we get done?”
“We, uh, we…flowers?”
“Okay, well at least we got flowers ordered.”
“We didn’t get them ordered per se, but we got them picked out.”
“Well, at least we know what we’re getting, though, right?”
“What does that mean, ‘sort of?’”
“We have it narrowed down.”
“Look, I say we just go back to the original plan.”
“What was the original plan?”
“We march down an aisle made up of my enemies’ corpses. The preacher marries us by way of robot-speak, and then we-”
“But I haven’t even got to the good part.”
“No, yeah, that’s okay. I don’t need to…we won’t be doing any of that.”
“Can you at least decide between white roses and red, then?”
I’m telling you about all of this because there’s a good chance that I won’t be posting nearly as much in the next couple of months. I’m pretty sure I say that all the time, though.
I don’t know—maybe none of this stuff will even make a difference in my writing. Maybe I’ll keep posting all sorts of senseless bullshit for you to read while you’re at work nursing a hangover, or at home in the evening, building a hangover. I want to prepare you just in case, though, so that you don’t feel abandoned. All of you are important to me. You are not a used condom to be tossed away with disgust, or an unwanted child that should be ignored until you’re old enough to ship over to Taiwan as a sex slave.
You are a beautiful and unique snowflake, no matter what Mr. Jolie says.
’Night, Li’l Homies.