What is this life? He wondered to himself. How did he get to be here, and more importantly, where’s he headed? A mere two months ago he was living the dream, maybe not your dream, but very much his dream. He was young and happy, poor but upbeat. He scribbled by day and drank cheap beer in cheap bars by night. He smiled at pretty girls, who occasionally smiled in return. He went to write a book, and write a book, he did. But then what? What comes next? It was back to the midwest for him. Back to the heat and humidity and mosquitos and good friends and cookouts and thunderstorms and Premium Grain Belt, “The Friendly Beer.”
Back to the overnight. Back to the hustle and grind and the petty politics of the working poor. He would average three hours of sleep for weeks on end. He would develop raccoon bags under tired eyes and a chip on his shoulder. He would travel west and south and he would smile. He would wonder where he was headed in the grand scheme of things, and whether it was worth it. He would decide that its always worth it, and life really is about the adventure en route rather than the destination. He would wonder if he still counts as a writer when he doesn’t write. He would decide to rectify that and write this.
He promises to write for you everyday for two weeks. He thanks you for reading.