Still Figurin' Out Who I Think I Am

This one's about those dancin' days.

30DBC PROMPT: "Are you homesick yet, campers? Write a letter to those you've left behind on this adventure."

So this is what WDC looks like first thing in the morning? What's up folks? Who writes these prompts? Oh, I did . I hate coming up with prompts, and these types are my least favorite to write for, so go figure. But I guess since it's Lyn's a sly fox and I who are runnin' the show this month, I don't really need to impress the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS"  crowd...besides, I still have to catch up on the first week of entries. You campers are a kickass bunch!

I never understood the importance of writing letters to home when I went away to summer camp. By the time I got down to it and mailed it off, I was home before the actual letter got there. And what good would it have done? "Dear mom, I miss you, this place sucks, come save me". Pointless. Being away at camp was more a vacation for her than it was a "growth experience" for me, and once I got over the homesickness I didn't want to leave.

But letter writing in itself is a lost art. Think about it...now, we communicate via email, which is nice and convenient, but fuck that! There's something to be said about the time it takes to hand-write an actual piece of descriptive narration about what's going on in your life. A reason to look forward to going to your mailbox besides bills and catalogs and crap. There's a certain emotion in everyone's penmanship that adds detail to words...something you can't derive automatically from a bland form you see on your computer screen. Oh, I can tell you how pissed off I am, but you can see it in furiously scribbled paragraphs. The way the letters slant, the "I don't care" smudge marks of ink, the "This needs to be done and I'm doing it" intensity. Ballin' out on a page or six...it's a good thing.

I suppose if I were to write a letter, and I just may, it'd be to my ex. I'd want her to know I was doing well, going back to school at the end of the month, and I'd return a bunch of pictures of her she packed up when she unceremoniously booted me out of our house. Part of me is like "Fuck that bitch for doin' me like that! I lost a lot of important stuff!" and the other part of me is like "Take the high road, relax, everything happens for a reason". Well, I'm still not seein' that reason, but it's definitely time to move on, and I don't even know if she's still at the same address. On the off chance that she might see this, Jess The CWC, hit me up to figure out what I should do with the pics of yours I don't want/need anymore. We don't have to talk about anything else.

I feel sort of refreshed that I bled that out on unemotional terms for the internet-accepting device of your choice.

MUSICAL BREAK!!

I'm so jacked for taking the opportunity now to get a halfway decent letter in "Barrel of Monkeys" , you have no idea. And I get to end it with another letter that's so uncommon!

This song takes me back to the late 90's...my clubbin' days. We could get stupid on a dance floor because we were late 80's kids and we thought we could dance. People used to lose their minds to Fatboy Slim...I can't even imagine what kids in bars listen to right...about...now.

If you need lyrics, you need help with life.

THE DAILY BOX SCORE:

This week is the Erie County Fair! Awww, sonuvabeach....I love the fair! Games, smells, lotto tickets, creepy vendors, all of it! I won't get there again this year. Gotta see if CVS across the street still sells them Planters Salted Caramel peanuts...opening that can was like smelling the fair all over again.

I'd be remiss if I didn't mention this guy  . He's at the Erie County Fair tightroping his ass off for the masses. Baller level 10+, I figure. I'd puke first if that were my job, but it's his passion.

Alright, it's early enough that I can take a nap or treat myself to a breakfast sandwich. I'll let you figure out what my next move is. Peace, right about now, and GOODNIGHT NOW!!