Sometimes I get the feeling that my entire life would be better if I just packed up all my shit, got in my car, and drove until sunrise. And wherever I was when the first sliver of actual sun appeared over the horizon, I would remain forever. Things would be better, starting fresh, having no past, no identity.
That’s the fantasy, anyway; I know that wouldn’t be the reality. Unless TV has lied to me, I know that if I left, one of two things would happen: (1) I would get murdered by someone who preys on people who want to disappear, or (2) I would be sent to a brutal hell dimension where I would be enslaved and abused until I was no longer useful. Either way, that probably doesn’t seem like such a good thing.
Still, it would be nice to go to a big city or a small town and just get lost. It’d be nice to start over. No need to worry about the mistakes of the past; I could concentrate on making brand new mistakes.
A good idea was donated to me by a friend. Something he said brought back a memory from junior high, and that memory spurred dozens of other memories of that bizarre and hilarious time in my life. He said, “Hey, you should write about that.” Yeah, I should. I’ve got a vague idea of thematic elements that could loosely tie together a series of short stories about the most memorable experiences in junior high.
It’s pretty odd, though, how I don’t remember as much about high school as I do about junior high. Well, I do, I guess. I have memories, and if I strained hard I could remember vividly. And when people jog my memory, the specific icident becomes clear in my mind. But never as clear as junior high. I wonder why that is.
I’m gonna go read.