stories

There is no story that is not true.

—Chinua Achebe, Things Fall Apart

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You’re Not on My Mind, You Were Just at That One Thing Once

I think my biggest problem here is going to be not writing about people.  You might think, “Why is that a problem?  Just don’t write about them, duh,” but it’s not like that.  My life is marked by the interactions I have with people.  I don’t remember events as much as I remember the people who were with me.  And if people are going to read this blog (which I hope one day they will), then I can’t very well write about my best friends or the people I hated in high school.  I can’t even really tell stories about people, because whoever is in the story will know.  I don’t think I’ll be able to escape it completely–after all, the people around me shape how I see life–but I’ll do my best.  Just know, if you recognize yourself in any of my writing, that there are no three-layer deep messages or meanings, and you’re no more special than anyone else.  I probably just thought the story was interesting enough to write about.  Please don’t make judgments about me or anyone else, and if I write about you and you want me to take it down or take you out of it, then just let me know.  Don’t secretly hate me then spit in my drink next time you see me or something.  That wouldn’t be nice.