Ben Bonkoske

In other news, a girl I dated in the sixth grade is getting married. It could be her twin, but I feel old. I once knew a girl who was so in love with herself that every boring story had the remarkable spin of out-of-the-ordinary. I don’t like her anymore. I think that is whats happened to me. I was a very arrogant young man, and just like how young love will pass you by, it gets a little old. It is hard to see all of the things wrong with yourself unless you look into a full-length mirror. I don’t get out much. I talked with an old roommate who lives under a tarp now. It was a joyous dialectic discussion. Yes, great ingenuity from a hermit and toad. I wonder how many discussions I’ve had sounding like an idiot without even knowing it. It is better to be blindly kind than perceptively pretentious. I am always caught somewhere in the middle of not giving people enough credit, and thinking the world of them. The longer I go on my self-help journey to disappointing isolation, the more I realize how it is best to expect less. One human alone can’t accomplish as much as an institution brainwashing an army. That being said, I am convinced I am an inadequate writer and student, and more than likely, lover. If things had gone on as they were, with consistent heartbreaks and bad jazz, I don’t think I would be in the position I am now, to love correctly. Love is messy, and my emotional affairs are like a Pollock painting, but I am not drowning in my own insecure tears. Instead, they are tears better left to dry up and try again. I am not old. And I am not in a rush to grow up. I am in a rush to start making a change. An army of one. I do a lot of sadistic crap, but for some reason it makes me feel like I’m on the right track. The less we enjoy life, the more we can inspire ourselves that it will be alright, easier tomorrow. But hot damn, I am dopamine deficient. I’m a much slower runner than I was, but I am going to go twelve times as far. Winter is on her way, and I don’t anticipate I will feel warm about everything in a way I’ve never unveiled. Nevertheless, I pray that change will come. That I will not be ashamed of that mirror, and the longer I stare into the abyss, I will continue to float in space, untouched by low expectations and self-hatred. It is basic math.