There is absolutely no reason I ask this. Nope. Certainly not from personal experience over the last couple of days. I have for sure not started an epic writing quest with Mike over Facebook message that makes me happier than the journalism award contest form my editing TA handed to me to fill out to enter my “in-depth” Hunter S. Thomspson Lite article. Uh uh.
About that form: It might just be so we have a horse in the race. Fuck knows my editing professor had enough problems with it that he spilled out in green ink. (Sometimes I feel like laminating a 3 X 5 card that says, “I know what you mean, I just can’t read what you wrote” to hold up during our editing talks.)
But it’s my horse. Small validation.
More validation: Bluetooth commented on my last Facebook status. It was random and had nothing to do with anything except making me wonder about sex again. He always makes me do that.
I met another pretty boy while I was playing "Me and Bobby McGee" on the third floor of the Russell House tonight after dinner.
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| Not my guitar. But still catnip. |
"Is it wrong to want to give back to the place that made me so much of what I am now?"
"No, no, but--how much more are you planning to give?"
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