Another one of those restless evenings. And though I am a bit agita, I can’t seem to distract myself by doing anything. And I have a lot to do: study Spanish, work on my final script for film class, return all of Dr. Pussyfinger’s calls. I considered going to see The Fog of War but postponed it until tomorrow night when hopefully I will have recovered from this ennui and teeth-gritting sense of angst. In the meantime, all I can do is sit here and read some of my old unfinished short stories and think about finishing them.
The one about the dwarf nurse who sews himself up inside the belly of his lumbering hypochondriac girlfriend
…and the one about a funeral home director who can’t seem to get a charred corpse to stop screaming
…and the one about the recently dead woman trying to get back home to her husband and kids before she completely forgets her life
…and the futuristic one about a guy hired to steal organs for a powerful Sexual Surgery cult
…and one about the healing power of love.
Each one in desperate need of a middle and an end. But they won’t come tonight. Instead, I will gorge on Pepsi and Pop-Tarts while Googling old childhood friends.
Such as Mark Viglianco. Where are you now, Mark? (A side note about Mark: I spent part of my childhood with him in Winston-Salem. We were in fact, declared Bosom Buddies. That is until he caught me in his room watching his older sister dance naked. I had seen plenty of naked 6-year olds before, but an actual 8-year old? Bosom buddy or not, I couldn’t pass up that opportunity. After that, Jim Landis was my new bosom buddy. Jim bit me a lot, and didn’t have any sisters.) Mark lives in Phoenix, if Google is to be believed. He has entered and respectably finished several footraces. Jim raises snails for elderly French expats. Or something like that, I’m sure.
Ken is a gay troubadour in Allentown, PA. David Purvis lives in Boone, NC and is a disgraced ex-sheriff now working as a security guard at Home Depot. I think. Actually, I declare it to be so.