chance[s]

Apparently I have to write a story about sex. The topic for Vita.mn's annual summer story contest was announced, and it is everyones favorite taboo, faux pas, and pastime. What?

I have this incredible history of Almosts and If Onlys, and I made a vow last summer after seeing a friend's name blissfully printed across the cover of Vita.mn's Summer Story Winner edition, that I too would start writing again. This event was in many ways what got this blog rolling again. And here the contest is, within my reach. Now I seriously have to write again. No more of this funny business.

So back to high school I go. It'll start with a list. The list will be hemmed and hawed over, I will cross out lines, re-write them in various forms, and conjure up the most lustrous events and experiences of my life. I will then stew. Allow these images to ruminate with every bit of my being until I cannot stand it anymore and then I will write three to six hundred words. I'll then tell myself that it is the worst thing ever penned. That some shitty eighteen year old lit kid will write something in a day and knock it outta the park. But then I will let it set. Allow the story to tell itself to me. And then it happens.

My desk is already littered with notes and thoughts.

Yesterday was pretty surreal. Up to the very end, actually. Between the raise, relaxing, going to the show, then even more coincidental happenings (one of these days, I'm really just not going to say anything to you because this is starting to get old, what with the me saying stuff that you apparently "tweeted" or whatever. There is no way all of these happenstance things could keep coming, but they do and it's freaking me out), it was a lot to take in. Serendipity, coincidence and chance or whatever the hell you call yourself, you're a twisted thing, you know that?

In other mischievious, unexplanable things, my little red thunder (two-thousand-two Cavalier) is being a real jerk lately. I'm convinced she's going to die a slow miserable death. If the rust that has some how flourished on the bottom/edges is any indication though, it's going to be a random, sudden attack (which it has been) that is undiagnosable. And she will ail until the day she decides to stop. Just one more fun thing to add to my list of Worry About.