Jared Witt | October 17, 2019
Part II: The way it is now
My work day began in exhaustion and now ends in exhaustion.
This type of fatigue has nothing in common with that satisfying soreness, which follows a productive day of yard work, nor is it the full and confident feeling an artist or a cobbler used to feel when they knew they’d spent the day creating something of genuine worth. It’s a dry eyed, caffeine wired, but not totally alert sort of feeling. My brain feels spent but not accomplished. I remember all the sound and fury of a day’s worth of emails and text alerts, but what they signify, currently escapes me.
My poor dog, Lula, greets me at the door. She is doing the pee dance like a kid in a little league game. We make our nightly pilgrimage to the apartment complex mailbox, which somehow manages to be an equidistant mile from every unit.
A cute girl in Yoga pants has just done the same with her yippie Shih Tzu. We exchange polite apologies while our dogs try to recreate the plot line of Bloodsport. “You're supposed to be helping me with that!" I scold Lu as we mosey on.
Jared Witt | October 3, 2019
Part I: The way it used to be…
Backstory: When I was about 12 or 13, I thought briefly of asking out a girl from my class. But as I contemplated the humiliating logistics of (A) seating her on the back of my banana seat huffy or (B) asking one of my parents to drive, I just figured it was a no go and tried to focus on bettering myself (I asked my Mom to take me to Old Navy).
So my first encounter in romance (let’s just use the term liberally for the story’s sake) came when I was sixteen. She was a cute, soccer playing blonde with a loose affiliation in my friendship circle. Truthfully, that’s all I knew about her, that she was cute, soccer playing, and blonde. It was enough for me. I’d only had my eye on here for a couple weeks, which I figured was advantageous timing as I’d long noticed the self-sabotaging effect of pining after someone for months on end if unaccompanied by action. And so that’s where we find our hero in the spring of 2002…
A blog that is too churchy for your drinking buddies and too drinky for your churching buddies.