I’ll tell you what last night was: well deserved. Last night was fun and entertaining and spent with loved ones. Last night was the perfect night out. There’s not a single thing I would change about last night other than the damage done to my bank account. So about last night, be happy. Because it was all worth it.
Memories are bittersweet. What I wouldn’t give to go back to so many days, and relive them one more time, but obviously, that’s not possible. The best thing I can do is reminisce and hope that I have many days in the future of a similar caliber. I cling to things for way longer than I should, and today, it’s time to say goodbye to all my yesterdays.
Goodbye to my prior home. Goodbye to my old bad habit. Goodbye to my summer 4 am epiphanies. Goodbye to each of my yesterdays for what they were. Hello to my today, and I can’t wait for my tomorrows.
The thing about a flame is that the bigger it gets, the less steady it gets. Bigger flames are harder to control, and they flicker more. I like to think that’s why I’m so unstable. I’m a bigger fire, so I’m less steady and harder to control. I like to think I’m just flickering, not fading. But who really knows?
You can hold a lighter, or a match, or a lit cigarette and there will be a glow at the tips of your fingers. You can control that, you can have complete control over that. I like to think I’m too big of a fire to control like that. I’d rather be unstable and more than easily controlled and less.
This will forever be my favorite throwback, because in all the pictures for the next month I look super tough. Anyway, it’s always a good thing to touch on the importance of responsible drinking. That was the very last thing I was concerned about, though, Halloweekend of last year, and my face looked like this for a month as a result. Don’t blackout during the pregame, don’t mix alcohol and drugs, don’t let other people make your drinks, don’t let your drink go unsupervised at any point; there’s a lot of don’ts. Just don’t do them. They seem fun, but they’re almost always a bad idea. Have a DD. Pace yourself. If you fall down cement stairs, brace yourself. Be a good noodle, friends.
“You gotta move slowly; take and eat my body like it’s holy.”
This song resonates with me. I can’t stop listening to it, I can’t stop singing it, and I don’t even really understand 100% what it’s about. Don’t bother telling me I could research it and learn, because I could, but I choose not to. Rather, I choose to believe it’s about really savoring the sweetest thing.
Lincoln has been the sweetest thing in my life. Don’t get me wrong, Blair is neat, and Valentine is my favorite place in the world, but there’s something about Lincoln. There’s something about the people I’ve met, the adventures I’ve been on, the classes I’ve taken, the jobs I’ve had, there’s just something more to it.
Savoring each moment, each sweet moment of Lincoln, until the time comes for me to move on is now one of my top priorities. It’s the early mornings listening to the highway and the dog park behind my house, smoking my morning cigarettes and drinking cheap black coffee. It’s sunny Sunday afternoons when my friends and I decide to go for a hike in some of Lincoln’s beautiful little hideaways. It’s sitting outside at 4 in the morning, listening to the slow trickle of traffic and the trains. It’s driving over that one highway that gives you the perfect view of Lincoln.
All in all, it’s the memories of Lincoln that I will be left with in the end, and I plan to savor my time now, but I know some day, looking back, these will be the ‘good old days’ and I’ll savor the memories even more.
Somewhere in the midst of my dog season, and school, and work, I’ve lost a bit of who I am. So this is to outline who I think I am.
- I love dogs. I love all animals, but especially cows, elephants, and dogs. I need to spend more time with my dog, specifically training him. Which reminds me, I need to buy treats.
- I’m a writer. I need to work on writing more, whether its this blog, social media, the novel I tell myself I’m going to write, a memoir of my life, it doesn’t matter. I need to write more.
- Positivity, I used to be the happiest person you’d ever meet and I’d like to get back to that, so I’m going to focus only on the positive aspects in my life and try to diminish as much negativity as I can.
- I’m a creator. Creativity has always been huge to me and I need to express myself more. I’m thinking somewhere along the lines of photography, maybe short stories to go with the pictures, I don’t know. But, I need to create something. That might be my next series of blog posts.
- I’m a student. I need to focus more on school and less on everything else (sleep, work, sleep, Netflix).
- I work. I need to be dedicated and reliable in my work. I need to make money, and I need to come up with a plan to save money. (I am open to suggestions.)
- I need to be a better friend. I need to empower my friends to grow towards their greatest potential more often than I do.
This seems like a good start to me.
Dog season is my favorite time of year. If you’re unaware of what dog season is, it’s the time of year when you experience the most new dogs, and it can be literally any time and different times for different people. I have pictures with most of the dogs I’ve met since moving to Lincoln, but this one sticks out to me the most. So here’s the story:
Setting: 1145 C**** Street, football season, everyday it feels like, but most likely just game days.
This was this house I partied at all the time during my first Husker football season in Lincoln. I don’t remember the house inhabitants names, or honestly, this dog’s real name, but I remember very clearly how many times I tried to take him home, (9 times).
I called him Poof, and while there were hundreds of people in and out of this house, this little fluffy ball of joy just ran wild (including in the streets, which were very busy, which is why I tried to steal him.) Every time I was there, I would seek him out, and carry him around the rest of the time I was there. He loved me, and I loved him. He was probably my best friend during this period of time in my life. If I was shotgunning a beer, he was there. If I was on the roof, he was there. If I was playing beer pong, he was there. We were seriously best fucking friends.
Here’s the moral of the story: I believe one of the owners’ names was maybe Brandon, and if anyone know what happened to this dog, I want to know. If anyone can find him, I’ll buy him at any cost. Wasn’t being taken care of the way he deserved, and I promise I could give him a better life. It’s been a year since I’ve seen him, and I miss him. I don’t know what happened to him (the house is empty now) but I want to know. I at least want to know that he’s okay.