I've been experimenting a little with writing a memoir. It would be a different sort of thing, with the "chapters" being somewhat short vignettes of various bits of my story and philosophical ramblings on feminism, religion and pop-culture, as well as maybe some poetry and comics thrown in as well. Each vignette would expose just a little more of me, allowing me to become increasingly more vulnerable and open.
I like the idea (even if no one else does). I think it will be a fun thing to work on at night before I go to bed.
Anyway, here is the first chapter of it. Hope you all like it:
If I told you that I spent the summer of my senior year in college mostly just getting high and watching episodes of The Simpsons you would probably not be all that surprised.
Even if I told you that the summer in question was actually this very summer, in which it is now July, you would feel no real sense of shock or intrinsic pull to keep reading.
I do not know if it will at all matter that I am 35 years old, never married, living in a studio apartment that I specifically moved into because Jack Kerouac once lived here.
It might be interesting that I am expecting to graduate summa cum laude this coming fall with a degree in history and a minor in religious studies. And if that is indeed interesting, then I would probably just automatically mention that I had to completely go through college after I graduated from college because that first college wasn’t actually a college but a “college” that was actually a fundamentalist pentecostal vocational training school that only gave us enough theology to continue to propagate their very narrow minded message and also happened to not be in any way accredited.
I imagine that this would naturally lead to some questions and I would have to explain a few things. And maybe that’s when I would turn off The Simpsons—even though it’s the episode where Ralph falls in love with Lisa and is arguably the greatest episode of The Simpsons ever—and would instead put on the documentary Hell House which followed the church that housed my aforementioned bible school as they put on a haunted house that portrayed people dying as a consequence of such activities as drunk driving, abortions, and school shootings and then burning in Hell for eternity.
But then I would get a bit bummed out because the edible had just kicked in and start talking about Harry Potter or something to cheer us up and maybe suggest we watch the Flash Gordon movie that had the Queen soundtrack. And if you happened to be a girl, I would then try to make out with you. If you were a guy, I would try to use the power of positive thinking to make you into a girl and then try to make out with you. There is a chance I would also just try to make out with you, but you’d have to charm me.
It is at this point in the story that I acknowledge that I have just now realized that I am pretentious and a total snob. I seriously just now got this. Today. Like twenty minutes ago. And I am going to be honest with you, that’s why I decided to write my story. Because, fuck it. If I already act like I am Goddamn Truman Capote then I might as well learn to fucking write like him. Am I embarrassed by my pretension? Why, no sir/madam/other gendered pronoun! I am not embarrassed at all. I am doubling down. I think I might buy an ascot.
11:33 a.m. - 2016-07-13
Recent entries:
Pretty damn drunk - 2016-07-31
Buddha and Daniel Johnston - 2016-07-30
Dear Emily - 2016-07-29
Dear, future wife... - 2016-07-23
I just don't know - 2016-07-21
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