Tomorrow is the start of August. This is a huge day for me, as the first of the month officially kicks off my writing retreat. I will be grinding, working on my writing for MFA applications, and probably sinking into a depression.

While I wanted to drop a Trailer Park Files last night, I wasn’t satisfied with the quality of the piece I am working on. Part three of the files has really stuck in my craw. I think it sucks. Now I feel this urge to rebuild my reputation with myself, I guess. I don’t really know. I only know that I am not happy with my writing.

Aside from part four of the files, there may be one more in August. For the most part though, aside from chilling and throwing up relaxed pieces here and there, I need to use what little brain power and motivation that I possess on continuing my education. I also ordered some books that I won’t read, including some Hemingway.

When it comes to Hemingway, I have an immense amount of respect for his work. To me personally, he is a complete master of his craft, and I could only hope to be a quarter of the writer he is. His ability to write plainly but powerfully is unmatched.

While I am heavily influenced by Hemingway, there are a couple of things that he does that I don’t, which is probably why I have a blog and he’s a legend.

Specifically, there are two things he did that I have yet to master. The first was his ability to understand the value of time and translate that into motivation. I understand that time is our most valuable resource, but instead of doing great things with what little of it I have, I scroll social media, read the news repeatedly, and feel sorry for myself about wasting time.

The second is the ability to deeply and intently listen to everybody. My mind wanders and actively jumps between like ten different thoughts during conversations. I have been practicing the art of remaining focused or at least catching myself when I begin to zone out. When I am able to pay attention, I tend to love the interaction afterward. It’s one of those things. I am a person who just gets lost in their own mind on accident every day of my life. I try to pay attention to things around me, but the abyss always calls.

I have learned to write from lived experiences and not get too lost in the fantastical, which I learned directly from the man himself through a quote, so there’s that at least.

The second of August is another important date. It is the one-year anniversary of me and my best friend Boo meeting up in beautiful Boiling Springs, Pennsylvania. I finally understand what “man’s best friend” means. She is an incredible dog. Incredible. We went the long way home and drove into New York state, cutting across to Albany, and going over the Berkshires to get home. Albany is beautiful. I really dug the vibe and the architecture. Those features, along with the river, combine into a unique aesthetic.

The second is also the anniversary of my dad’s death. The cool part is, I have managed to have so many wonderful August memories that I am finally at peace during the month.

Back to upstate New York. I love it. I even like Buffalo. I say this with complete sincerity. I have been to over 30 states, and Buffalo, New York is the hardest city I have ever seen. A true, old-school, tough town. The people are really nice unless you’re a dipshit, in which case you may wind up getting lumped up by the clerk at the Motel 6. You can’t beat that level of atmosphere. Shout-out to Fort Wayne, Indiana for a solid second place.

Johnny Appleseed is buried in Fort Wayne. There is also a green mini trash can that we had to pull from our packed car and leave behind in a park. Everything was so tight that removing a 1-foot-tall mini trash can was necessary to continue our travels. My wife still misses it. Sorry, dear. We all make sacrifices in life.

I have some cool pictures of Johnny Appleseed’s grave, but my bow-legged arthritic knees are in full effect, so I kind of hate them. Having arthritis when you are still young is crazy. I know what all the old ladies at craft fairs are bitching about now. A large part of the reason I started going to college was that a lifetime of manual work has begun to take its toll, not only emotionally, but physically as well.

Having a willing mind while being betrayed by your body is a weird feeling. As kids, most of us bounce around like we are made of cartilage. Now, sometimes my knee gets sore from driving my car and working the clutch. To counteract this, during the school year, I never use elevators. I had a class on the fourth floor and my broken-down ass hiked up and down those stairs every day. It was a nice little exercise and accomplishment to get the day started. My knees feel less shitty during the school year, I swear, but maybe I’m nuts.

To any younger readers, you don’t just go from young to old. There is this point, I guess what we have learned to call “middle-age,” where the young think you’re old and the old think you’re young. That’s why people my age, millennials, gravitate towards each other. I think every generation does this when they reach their mid-30s and 40s. When you have no home, you go back to what you are comfortable with. It is honestly freeing and not nearly as scary as it seems like it is going to be. Furthermore, my wife, who has known me since way before these adjectives would ever be used to describe me, has referred to me as “wise” and “mature.” She frequently comments on how well I have put myself together. These traits came with age. I couldn’t just will them when I was younger.

My point? We are all fine cheeses and wines, folks.

In the case of millennials, we congregate at some barcade/brewery in a gentrified mill town and next thing you know, there are ten dudes in flannels and a bunch of hippie chicks hanging out. Man-buns wobbling in the wind and the smell of triple IPAs on our breath, we march on with no age to call our own. Do you even know any Nirvana songs or do you just wear the shirt?

Enjoy the rest of the summer, folks. I know I will. Until next time,

JTC