A Fat Tale

after talking to Tamara this morning, I thought over what she said. And so I dedicate whatever this crap will be today, to her.

I have never been good at the love story chronicles. Any time I have ever put myself to write something about love, it usually comes out as a disgusting attempt. I did once write two pieces for a prose composition class my freshman year at NYU that could actually be considered autobiographical love stories.The first was a piece for an assignment for Professor Goldfin, where he asked the class to write about 5 pages or so, double-spaced, about something we were passionate about; i.e. a hobby, a person, a type of food, an abstraction, etc. I remember writing a really shitty first draft about escapism. How I have trouble being passionate about anything and that I use television as an escapism to avoid reality. Professor Goldfin hated the piece and we scheduled an appointment to talk during his office hours.
When we met, he told me I was copping out of the actual assignment and that I should change my topic. I spent the next week trying to think of things that I could possibly be passionate about and came up with nothing. The night before I had to turn in the redo, I went up to see a friend. I told him about how I couldn't do the essay and I was completely blocked. After much debating, he finally told me that maybe it would be a good idea to just write about being passionate about passion, since I used to say things like that my Freshman year of college. I sat at his desk and after a brief time, I had my first draft.
I basically wrote a count of my years of tumulutous boy-traumas - there were not many, I was only 18. But I ended the piece explaining how I had been hurt many times and yet I was always willing to get myself back together and put myself out there again. Because ultimately, I was passionate for that pang in your stomach when you know you like someone.You know what I mean...the fleeting second when the top of your belly drops like you are riding a roller coaster and you are about to make the big drop on Collasus.
The second piece I wrote later that year, after I fell for that friend. It was a bit cliched, just like the first. I dont think I had really become acquainted with my writing thumb yet or thought that any one in the world had gone through what I had. But it was a more of a quiet story about how things never actually work out the way you want them to in love.

Yet neither of the pieces were actually love stories. The first was a non-fiction drag and the second was about two failing relationships that occur simultaneously based on my life experience. Maybe I figured that once I was in love, it would somehow make the entire genre easier to write about --- well, it hasn't.

So sorry Tamara. Maybe some other day. But at least I tried.........