I was having a go at short-story writing the other night when everything my life has led up to till now came into focus. The story was total crap, I'll admit, but somewhere along the way my strong, sardonic protagonist found himself emotionally unstable. After reading it today for the first time I realized that I wasn't writing a story. I was expressing my deepest fears of losing myself.
A local car dealership recently began their "Going Green Sale." Every car with a green tag is marked down, Hummers, too. They did this because, like anyone with a social conscience, this business felt the need to do their part in the world-wide push for a better tomorrow. They're "Going Green," jumping on the bandwagon, joining the crowd... but for what?
I'm not committed to too many things in this life. I like to write, I like to have a great time, and I like to smoke cigarettes. It's my life, that's how I choose to lead it.
So it's stupid to some people. They say it'll probably kill me off early. But not, of course, before I succumb to a long, painful demise. And that'll be that for me.
