March 8th
As all of my gentle readers would know by now, I am not one of a sentimental nature. It’s not that I can’t feel emotions, per se, but it has always been my style to be one of a stoic position.
With this freshly renewed in mind, let’s just say that the calendar is making a grand attempt to play upon my heart strings. It’s March 8th.
Big freaking deal. Caesar still lives. But wait – there’s a reason. Let me show an excerpt of something I’m working on:
“Whoever designed the fire alarm’s siren must have either done his research on what works or was a true sadist. It wasn’t so much a siren as a grating unforgiving buzz that has the frequency that resonates in your lower spine. This is the sound that clawed its way through my keg-induced coma and threw my zombie form into a crowded quad of brethren dorm-undead.
Somewhere upstairs my 300 pound roommate laid still sleeping. Not even the alarm sadist took into account the amount of alcohol needed to take a giant down, and no simple noise or shove short of a pimp slap from Jesus Himself was waking that guy. Truly not a hero, or at least not at that moment, I had declared that man “Duraflame” before my drilled sojourn into the night air.
That air was wet and cold, with the hint of spring just hiding, kept at bay by the early March wind. It proved just a shock enough to cause a few synapses to fire up again, and the first few thoughts or memories weren’t real, or at least I could make or place them to be. I certainly wasn’t in a Sultan’s harem chamber, and it was very unlikely that I crash drove the Popemobile into the campus dining hall. It was the memory flashes that came after that fueled the mental marathon that was to come.
I knew something had happened that night. Somewhere, some time amidst the innumerable trips to the keg(s), I met someone…”
Yeah – way back when on this calendar date – I officially met the gal who would turn out to be the Wife™. I seriously don’t think there are many stories like ours, so the next time you have anywhere from five to fifty minutes, I’ll give it to you as thick as you can handle it.
Not that I’m counting, but it’s fifteen years today.
With this freshly renewed in mind, let’s just say that the calendar is making a grand attempt to play upon my heart strings. It’s March 8th.
Big freaking deal. Caesar still lives. But wait – there’s a reason. Let me show an excerpt of something I’m working on:
“Whoever designed the fire alarm’s siren must have either done his research on what works or was a true sadist. It wasn’t so much a siren as a grating unforgiving buzz that has the frequency that resonates in your lower spine. This is the sound that clawed its way through my keg-induced coma and threw my zombie form into a crowded quad of brethren dorm-undead.
Somewhere upstairs my 300 pound roommate laid still sleeping. Not even the alarm sadist took into account the amount of alcohol needed to take a giant down, and no simple noise or shove short of a pimp slap from Jesus Himself was waking that guy. Truly not a hero, or at least not at that moment, I had declared that man “Duraflame” before my drilled sojourn into the night air.
That air was wet and cold, with the hint of spring just hiding, kept at bay by the early March wind. It proved just a shock enough to cause a few synapses to fire up again, and the first few thoughts or memories weren’t real, or at least I could make or place them to be. I certainly wasn’t in a Sultan’s harem chamber, and it was very unlikely that I crash drove the Popemobile into the campus dining hall. It was the memory flashes that came after that fueled the mental marathon that was to come.
I knew something had happened that night. Somewhere, some time amidst the innumerable trips to the keg(s), I met someone…”
Yeah – way back when on this calendar date – I officially met the gal who would turn out to be the Wife™. I seriously don’t think there are many stories like ours, so the next time you have anywhere from five to fifty minutes, I’ll give it to you as thick as you can handle it.
Not that I’m counting, but it’s fifteen years today.
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