January 24th, 2k7

January 24th, 2k7

So, I started working on a story that’s been floating around in my head for a while. You, my dear blog reader, get to be my treasured first reader. Why? Because I value your opinion, and because I really don’t have anywhere else to put what I write.

In typical fashion, though, I’ve allowed myself to get completely sidetracked, and spent a bit of time reading up on what is going to be a part of my story. If y
ou’re interested in how to run a business, check it out. If not, then.. uh.. don’t.

Of course, this is after working all day, driving to PA, and spending a couple hours messing around with my iPod. Yes, my addiction is there, and strong as ever, thanks for asking.

so, after all my messing around, I’ve managed to put together just under 300 words, and done no editing at all! Yaya!!! For clarification, my regular blog posts will be in a different font than any story posts, and if I actually write a lot on the story, then there won’t be any blog post other than the story. Blog posts are in Arial, and story posts will be in.. let’s see… How about times? Ok.. So here goes:

Brian’s day began like every other day; a hellish commute to a job he didn’t care about so he could pay for an apartment he didn’t like. Not that there was really anything wrong with the apartment. As far as “box” housing goes, it was pretty average. He was more attached to the memories he had in the place than the place itself. Well, that and he had a really good parking spot if he beat Mrs. Grabowski home.

After the break up last year (don’t ask) it just didn’t seem to matter. He knew that it was really stupid to live in Gig Harbor and commute to Kent. He knew he was wasting a fortune in gas every week, not to mention car repairs and all the crap that goes with it. He just didn’t have the heart to leave what had been “their place.” The sad part is that it would actually be cheaper to go to a shrink! Gas at three fifty a gallon and the toll on that stupid new bridge were going to bankrupt him.

Every morning, he left home at 6am, and barely clocked in on time at 8. Two hours and a thermos of dark-roast to go less than 40 miles. Another hellish start to another mind-numbing day. Thank the gods for home-brew espresso. If he didn’t work at a roasting plant, he’d be broke from buying beans. At least he’d been able to give up the nicotine before the breakup. One bad habit was more than enough, thank you very much.


So that’s the beginning. Where’s it going? Not sure, but you’ll know when I do.