Writing just to write

I’m not exactly sure where to begin, or where this is going. It’s been a while since I sat down just to write. Yes, I realize I write for, I guess you can call it a living, but not that kind of writing. Writing to empty my brain of all the shit that has been piling up in it.

It’s been a shit year or so. I finished up at Central Michigan University last May, and nothing seems to have gone right since then.

You finish college expecting things are going to be better; jobs, moving out on your own, meeting new people, basically enjoying life while you’re still young, but this time with more money.


I finished at Central, and had no jobs lined up, no real prospects for one, and so I moved back in with my parents.

Oh, and the girl I thought I was going to marry, and who I had been dating for near two years broke up with me because she was in love with a city more than she was me.

Fuck you, Chicago.

And so I started applying. Applying to anything I thought matched my degree, and skills/experiences. Working at a sporting goods store to make some money, trying still to find something full-time so I could finally do my own thing.

Eventually I got a call from Michigan’s largest media company for a gig writing about high school sports, yay! We’re sorry, but there is no chance of this job turning into a full-time position. Oh.

And so I kept working there, still am in fact, while doing some side things to make ends meet, and still applying to as many jobs as I possibly can.

Remember how I mentioned earlier that every job that I’ve applied to I thought matched my skills and experiences? Yeah, in the year plus that I’ve been doing that, here are how many phone calls I’ve gotten back in that time: three.

Imagine dealing with that. Every day you apply to things you feel you are best suited for, and you get three calls in roughly 14 months. You tend to stop caring, and applications just feel like going through the motions.

The first one, again for a part-time spot FML, I got lost on the way there in a blizzard, and ended up being 10 minutes or so late because of it. And then while there, a girl who I had a class with at CMU, a class with maybe 15 people in it mind you, works there. Cool maybe an in! No. A girl who I saw three times a week for roughly three months, and she looked at me like I was some foreigner who wandered in to ask for change.

Two: A TV station in a nearby, awesome city and I thought I did well in the phone interview portion. Guess not, never heard anything after that.

Three: A TV station in a decaying rust belt city. Nailed the phone interview, got a call to come in and interview in-person. Thought I did well in the interview. Said they would call in a week or so regardless. Waited a week. Then two. Nothing.

And to make matters that much worse, while I was left waiting on that job, my parents sold their house, and had to get out in two weeks. I should mention this new house they bought is half the size of the home they had before, so yeah, no room for me.

Surprise! We’re moving, find a place to live, oh yeah you don’t make enough money to live on your own close to where your job is!

At this point my thoughts are, “How can life get harder, it surely can’t get lower than this right?”

“Hey if you get a chance, give me a call. Grandpa is in ICU and you can talk to him before he goes.”

That was the text I got from my mom on June 7th on my way back from covering the golf state finals in East Lansing.

I cried the whole drive home, only stopping to drop by my office, quick write a recap of the tournament, and tell my bosses what was happening, and that I wouldn’t be in the next two days.

When things get the worst is maybe when things start to get better. At least that’s what I had thought, because I had been talking with a girl. A girl who I had known, but didn’t really know. And once we started talking to get to know each other better, things just immediately clicked with us, and I immediately had a crush on her.

We set up a time and day to hang out, ironically the night of the day of my grandpa’s funeral. It would be a great way to help get over a rough week.

It was one of the best nights I’ve ever had in my life.

We clicked all night, didn’t have awkward breaks in the conversation, laughed, took her on a tour of my boyhood in the area, watched an amazingly shitty movie together at my new apartment, and then spent roughly four hours holding each other. No sex, just a great night in each others company.


There’s always a but because it can never be easy, and I respect the hell out of her for saying this and being upfront, and I completely understand where she’s coming from, because I basically just typed it all out in the previous 900 words.

She said she’s not looking to jump into a relationship right now because of everything going on in her life right now.

I get that. I respect it. I understand. And I told her that. First, I flat out told her that I really like her, but I also told her I get it, and that I don’t want to pressure her into anything, or make her do anything she’s uncomfortable with.

But damn if it still isn’t super disappointing.

Honestly, this one bums me out more than I’ve been bummed out in a long time, and I just don’t know what to do or think at the moment.

Again, I don’t to bother her, or pressure her, or make her uncomfortable. But at the same time, I don’t want to end up in the “friend zone.”

And so here I am, typing this up at work because there is nothing going on, and I’m not sure any of the five people in here tonight even know my name.

I’m not looking for sympathy, or pity, or whatever other emotion this stirs up in you as you read.

I’m just writing for the sake of writing. Writing to clear my head, and get all the shit that’s in my head somewhere else, because I can only bother the three people I chat with most on Facebook chat so much.

Writing because my best friend and former roommate lives three hours away, and if I get to see him in person, it’s been a good month. Writing because my closest friend, who knows more about me than anyone save my parents, lives 45 minutes away and is dating a guy, and can only deal with my shit for so long while catering to her own things. Writing because my closest friend actually in town is basically the same situation as the one 45 minutes away.

I’m sorry for making you wade through 1200 words of me rambling, and if you skipped big chunks, I don’t blame you one bit.

But I had to do it for myself. I had to do it just to try and keep calm, and to avoid breaking down at work, or in my car like I’ve nearly done so much over the past year.

I’ve always found the hardest part of writing, no matter what medium, poetry, TV, sports, etc., is trying to write a strong ending. You want something that is going to stick with the readers, or leave a lasting impression.

But that’s insanely hard to do when what you’re writing about is nowhere near done.

Thanks for reading.



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