"Don't drink and dream, you'll wake up sad and hungover."
- Myself, sober.
Fuck that. Here I am, finished with work early and drinking down the shit and piss of some Sisyphean yeast-being. I'm young, white, and filled to the brim with dreams (and pee). Somewhere in the world opportunity was dropped on me, and here goes:
One of my favorite ideas of life beyond these college years involved (wait for it...) a motorcycle, a case of wine, friends across the country, and a cat. Luckily, I already have the cat. What I wish for myself is to take up a motorcycle, forget about any worldly problems that I may ever have, that death thing, student loans, future careers, forgetting I left the coffee pot on. Fuck it, (five years in college allows my creative writing to include expletives) I want to wake up one morning, strap in a few bottles, take a change of clothes, a few assorted items, hit the road and not look back. That will happen.
I hope that every at some point enjoys the taste of thought of road trips, alone or with your closest friends (or soon to be, as it may come). Hope is that fucked up drug that can keep people going even when they're out on the sidewalk, pushed up against newspapers, dirty diapers and cardboard, scavenging for a new home and a better life, (or even just to end the one they have, you may be suicidal, but you can at least hope for a sharp knife). Road trips are those things of eternal summers, some feel good aspect of life that us youth never wish to get rid of. Reality may say otherwise, but god damnit I'm going to buy a motorcycle and travel at least two-hundred feet.
Moral of the story: Shut up, you're drinking.
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