Faded jeans

another one of my insane ramblings

The bad thing about being a writer is getting writer’s block. Nope, it’s not a myth. It’s real. And as annoying as it is, there is an even worse thing about writing full time: losing yourself in boredom.

 

I’m not saying writing is boring. Writing can never be boring. First of all, you can choose where to go without paying for gas, you can get mugged and then jailed for “accidentally” running an old lady over, and you can also meet strange people along the way.

 

Writer’s block is the only thing boring about being a writer. Being lazy and choosing to be lazy is a notch above writer’s block.

 

Sometimes, I, as a full time writer, enjoy getting writer’s block. No, I’m not insane. I’m only half as insane as a political analyst. There, I said it.

 

I find it somewhat relaxing when I get the dreaded WB. I get to lie around, thinking about random and useless thoughts while gulping cups and cups of coffee. It’s not the same as being billionaire Bruce Wayne but I got used to it. I actually love it.

 

Now hold on, you might be thinking, “What the hell is this guy talking about? Isn’t the whole theme of this piece about WB being bad and all that jazz?”

 

That’s where you’re wrong.

 

First of all, the title is ‘Faded Jeans’. That’s nowhere near the realm of WB. Secondly, if you’ve been reading my essays and short stories, you’d know that I type as I think. That means as I go along, I put it on paper. There are no copy edits done, no reread or rewrites, not even a break. That’s how low I can go. Lastly, I was given a surprise visit by my old elementary classmates/buddies/gang (Kim, Mark, I.S., and Ralph). They kidnapped me and took me to visit Chastity, my classmate, and a very good friend, since the Mesozoic Era. That was enough to rattle this impatient brain of mine.

 

As I go on, I keep on thinking, writing trails of words that at first wouldn’t seem to make sense, and make sense is not what I do best. I’m mostly known for being idiotic and insane but when it comes to socialization, I am an 18 year old virgin.

 

It’s a bit funny when the hostess is only acquainted with you. We talked and talked about our high school years, my other male friends couldn’t keep up because they were in different high schools. It would seem that I wasn’t the only one who cherished the high school memories.

 

I’ve been through a lot since 2006. Insanity, dark thoughts, losing my virginity (via mind rape), and slapping babies. I was away from WC for two years because I decided, or rather someone decided for me, to turn in my quill and ink for a nurse cap and an endless supply of stress. Being born as a writer, I couldn’t handle being away from creativity so I quit nursing and made writing my life. I was going to transfer to another college that was worthy in the eyes of all the blind vultures around me but then I remembered what my aunt used to say.

 

“You are you. No one will ever understand you. No one will ever know you. No matter how they may seem to be like you, they are not. We are all unique and that’s what makes us human.”

 

Just because people are driven by names, copyright logos, and faux reputations doesn’t mean I have to follow suit.

 

My mind had been clouded for the past few weeks. I couldn’t sleep early. Usually, I droned on until 2 in the morning. I thought about my sister’s condition, my parents, my grandfather, my ex girlfriends, my favorite people in the world, and my critics.

 

They all had different points of views. Some approved of me choosing what I wanted instead of what I needed. Others didn’t. For weeks I fought with myself, trying to come up with some sort of reassurance from myself. I couldn’t reassure myself. Not alone anyways.

 

A good friend of mine, surprisingly grew up, and made me realize what was wrong with me. He told me, “I envy you. You at least had the balls to go after your gleam. My gleam died long before I grew up. And no matter how successful I become, I wouldn’t really enjoy it.”

 

“Yes, you would.” I told him, with the gayest smile I had. “Success is only worthwhile with friends. Who’d want to fight a war against a 10 year old anyway?”

 

“A 10 year old?”

 

We broke into laughter.

 

I have had many friends, that’s true. I never made real enemies. As I grew up, I changed. A lot has changed since then, since I was a kid, since my innocence flew off to marry some hobo down the street.

 

I grew older, I became more insane, I had a lot more experiences with life compared with any valedictorian I’ve met. Acne came and go. Girls came and go. I met my sweetheart, we got along great, I went insane and she slapped me, she left me, I died. I’ve died countless of times: because of despair, hopelessness, betrayal, heartaches, yadda-yadda-yadda.

 

That friend made me realize one thing: “It’s not who I am that defines me, it’s what I do.”

 

From the day I was born to the day I will leave this earth, I will always be wearing jeans. Faded as they may be, the stories they hold and cherish will forever be a part of them.  

 

Author's Note

You can comment on any grammatical errors you see. This is a no-edit, no rewrite piece. I continually typed my thoughts down as they went.

Image Disclaimer: I do not own the image included. I just found that it suited my piece so there you go. Special thanks to the original artist.

Reviews

[Mel Stevens]

This is a wonderful piece, and because you are so comfortable writing it, let's skip the errors and just remember-you are what you are, flaws and all. I love it when you write from the heart, free and unworried, the style flows quite well.
I too, am a jeans wearer. They are a part of me, casual, comfortable, but made to look sexy with the right accessories. (not saying I'm sexy, or anything) :)

[Flow]

I understand completly writting as you go, when your in the flow it is writting at it's best. I just enjoyed the peek into your mind, no real comments besides enjoying what your thinking about.

[Jazlean]

"my innocence flew off to marry some hobo down the street."

LMAO. But in all seriousness this piece makes me smile because in many ways I can relate, but then, as you well know, I too am insane. This is one of those "put-yourself-on-the-paper" type pieces, just flown straight from you. I like these pieces, and it is these that often reveal the most of ourselves and about our life and our view, and sometimes makes us understand something better than we didn't before, as if it is all suddenly clear, though sometimes more confusing. They are honest, raw, and hold a lot of truth, and it makes me smile that there are those out there willing to share a piece of themselves and their thoughts with others, there is some strange courage in that. and I find I am always able to take something from your words, I hope that some day I'll be able to give that back.

I like how you have named this faded jeans. I am always most comfortable in jeans, its like another skin. They are like best friends, they travel, they live, they take the wear and tear of the day with you, I have trouble parting with clothes like jeans and jumpers :P I dunno, I don't have a big wardrobe and so I wear things sometimes until I pysically can't wear them any more. While they fade and rip they hold memories, like the walls of the houses you have lived it, and while I see it is a metaphor, its a good one :P beacause....

wow lost my trail of thought. anyway great write my friend! don't ever stop writing!!
~Jaz

[Bear]

I like it... probably due to the fact that I'm crazy too!! Faded Jeans.... I have a pair of faded and paint covered jeans that must be 31 years old, here in my apartment.... no, I don't wear them anymore although I did get the ripped, patched together, hole invested, held together with ancient paint Faded Jeans, onto my then, 35 year old body and even got them zipped after not having worn them for 20 years or more. They were a pair of jeans I worked in while doing summer stock theatre at the ages of 12 and 13; yeah, old them pants are, and they are these days thumbtacked to the wall "on display". Faded Jeans... your memories brought back a few of my own... Thanks!! Bear