Thoughts from 1993

As the title suggests, these are all my Thoughts papers from 1993. Yes, there are only two of them. There’s plenty of 22 to 23-year-old angst to go around, though.

February 27, 1993

Hello and welcome back to the show that gives the most and takes the least. I’m becoming a better comedian in private situations. Now, the trick is to transfer that to more public ones. Perhaps I should become more public as a person first. I don’t think I’ve ever wondered if I could. My only thought was when I would. I’m looking at my life and saying, “OK, let’s get on with it.” I’m also saying, “Let’s get it on,” but there’s no one listening.

There is a general feeling of stalling pervading my life these days. I’ve always had procrastination in my life, but now I think I’m getting more annoyed with it. I need to organize my life. Actually, no. I’m going to organize my life (yes, the underlining of “going” was not accidentally done). I’m going to get a workout plan and workout tomorrow so I can be smarter, healthier, and (what the hell) feel better about myself and where I’m going. I’m in a voice class and, ironically enough, that is where I learned I need to work out again. We do more than just work the voice in the class, we also work the body. We stand on our heads, roll on the floor, and have mass orgy-like sessions where everyone piles on top of one another with their eyes closed and tries to meld into one another. Actually, we haven’t done the latter activity in a while. I miss those days.

There’s also another a little thing called happiness missing from the main part of my life. There are small moments here and there giving me good cheer, but as for having one place, time, or person where, when, or who I can go to so I can escape the rest of the things in life, it’s just not in my life. (For a written transcript of what I just said, send five dollars to yourself.)

I’m creating more songs I have confidence in now. I took one song to work the other day. They listen to it twice without me and again with me there. I took it in to break the wall of mystery surrounding my musical stylings. It probably gave me some confidence in my speaking about my musical stylings. Now they know I’m not just throwing sand in the wind and watching it land (whatever that means). Music is still a mysterious avenue in my life because I don’t know exactly what role it plays in the large globule forming the snot of my life. (I know. My wordsmithery is second to none. You don’t have to tell me. Though, it would be nice since no one is actually telling me that.)

October 12, 1993

Hello and welcome to the never-ending game known as Brian’s life. In a never-ending saga to find some kind of life for myself, I have endeavored to find female companionship. This search has led me deep within the recesses of the seat next to me. Having found someone free and normal, I must now find the courage to wedge myself within the small amounts of time between no time and little time. In other words, … never mind, I forgot what I was saying, so I’ll talk about my hopes for the future. Not here, but in the next paragraph.

I hope world peace comes soon, or I get started on my career (one or the other, whichever comes first). Before that, I am hoping to sit in a room without going nuts from a mysterious feeling of wanting out. No, I don’t have claustrophobia. It’s a feeling of restlessness whenever I have something uncompleted I need to do. Right now, the main thing on my mind is calling the previously mentioned individual from the prior paragraph. I realize my fear of talking on the telephone is irrational, but it’s all mine and I earned it, so back off you side-winder. This is my land, and I don’t want you trespassing on it, you hear me!

As you can see from the last paragraph, not only alcoholism, but a bit of the old mental illness roams the halls of the Kirwan school grounds. Admittedly, I’m in a room where headaches are frequent visitors to these parts. Why I stay here when I know what will happen, I’ll never know. Here’s a question. Who the hell am I talking to in these entries? Do I have a specific person in mind when I’m writing them? Would they know it was them if they read these hallowed words on the page? Would I know they were who they were, or would I think they were someone else who they weren’t and never would be? Perhaps I should put an “s” at the end of “question” in the first sentence of this paragraph. I can barely breathe. I’m leaving.