Now, I figure a lot of you have forgotten that Thom Caulfield also writes for Aestheism, which is understandable.
But I’m back! And I have very important things to say.
First is that yes, Erin and I will both be taking part in a psychological experiment of sorts, rigorous and questionable as it may be. Details on that later, I suppose. Starting next Monday.
Next is that Erin worries lately that she’s being overly depressing, and let both I and her readers proclaim unanimously that she is *not*. I think her posts are wond’rous and, frankly, hilarious, and that she’s silly to think she’s putting off bad vibes.
Reading her post on the future made me think, too.
And I’ve always concluded, when thinking into the future, that it’s difficult to tell anything about myself from where I stand now. I want to go off to college and major in English (do you, reader, even know how many colleges in the US have past-proficient English programs? It’s like saying I want to go to the ocean and find somewhere to swim), become a journalist or an editor at a publishing company. And if all goes write (har-har), I’ll submit a manuscript to several places and become happy with my money.
But *none* of that is for sure. In the least bit. Tomorrow I could eat cocaine-laced applesauce and become addicted, fail all my classes, and develop chronic heart failure.
I just know that if I stick with Erin (that’s not even a question. If *Erin* sticks with *me*), then I’ll be the happiest boy in the whole damn world.
She’s not depressing if she’s making me happy, and she’s always making me happy.
Last, but not least (I’d rank this above the psych announcement, and below my little future-segment concerning myself and Erin… why did I just rank those things?) I’d like to say that I am, too, rather disappointed with the lack of 32*- Fahrenheit solidified water molecules. There hasn’t been one snowflake that’s fallen from the sky where I live, not a one.
I do like Winter, but Erin brought up a valid point with me: the gray skies and the clouds really can get to you. After all, the most suicides all year occur during the Winter months. Which is… awful and I shouldn’t have said that.
But as a kid who grew up in Maine, being buried under six feet of snow… what kid can’t see the beauty in that? It’s hard to make a kid unhappy, hard to discourage a six year old. I grew up nestled in sheets of snow and I loved it, so whenever I get hit with a really chilly breeze, while it stings, it also feels great. I like the smells of fire and ice, and I like when the sun splits the clouds open and starts melting my awful, two-foot, leper of a snowman. Snowball fights? Not as great as in the movies, ever.
Ever seen Elf? Children, that’s not how it really is.
But we’ve always had fun with them. One time a friend and I built a huge tunnel-fort up in Maine in his front yard. The fort was made entirely out of snow. There were mounds that were like turrets, littered with pre-made snowballs, and then there were undersnow caverns for hiding and such.
We ambushed a few kids who came riding down the snowplowed street on their bikes (they were older than us; stupidest thing I’ve ever done involving snow), and we got a bunch of tongue lashings which, to this day, I don’t understand. I looked a few words up online and even UrbanDictionary can’t tell me what they were saying, not even A Clockwork Orange has words that held these boys’ gravity. They rode off and my friend and I sat there, feeling like shit. We’d thrown maybe ten of our hundreds of snowballs.
Then I fought him and that was fun. The same year, this boy suggested we play baseball with no mitts and a rock, and I was hit in the face.
That’s why I’m ugly as shit.
aestheism, not atheism.