“The past is gone but something might be found”

And you can trust me not to think
And not to sleep around
If you don’t expect too much from me
You might not be let down
Cause all I really want is to be with you
Feeling like I matter too
If I hadn’t blown the whole thing years ago
I might be here with you

Why don’t I have any Gin Blossoms albums? I must do something to correct this error in my music collection.

I returned to the soundtrack of my youth, remembering how stupid it was being so stupid. Youth is wasted on the young, the saying goes. Making us old farts think that we’ve lived life enough to know that we wouldn’t waste our teenage years acting like adults. Days it feels like life is wasted on the living.

Last night I started what I hope is my first draft of “Holding Hands with Eloise.” Without giving too much of my premise, think 90s romantic comedy with a twist inspired by my current occupation. I figured that each chapter will jump through the timeline (so, essentially, you’re getting two romantic stories, one doomed and one blossoming). The ending will have both timelines collapsing on each other, causing something of a conflict that I’ll probably carry over to another story (and I want to make this as annoying as possible in hopes that people love my work after they finish reading it).

Meanwhile, I’m beginning to hate my place of employment. I know I’ll end up writing a letter to HR bitching about all the shit we’re put through in hopes that someone gets off her ass and does something.

This post doesn’t push forward any revelations, except one. The swinging door? I’m locking it.

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