There is a common misconception that teaching is difficult. It’s not. The act of teaching is actually incredibly simple: listen to what I say, write it down, and memorize. The challenge comes when I’m forced to stop what I’m saying to negotiate the release of a rubber band pulled taut by the amateur marksman

My bike was stolen and I got it back. You’d think a story like that would be evergreen, easily incorporated into any conversation. Turns out it’s not and I keep getting asked to “please stop.” So to be sure nothing is lost to the stifling and ungrateful, I will document exactly what happened. As

Sometimes (every night as I’m falling asleep) I think about what life would be like if I could sing. This fantasy contains a few key elements such as: becoming a bitch, putting up with both nothing and nobody ever, and burning most all of my bridges (friends and family, I don’t play favorites) to

I have become physically ailed and nobody cares: no thoughts, no prayers. After a bench press of nearly 10,000 pounds, a weight I can usually rep quite easily, I lacerated my tendons from my spinal column (I think). Now as I sit in this rigid state, with my back practically split in two, I

I recently went out to eat with a group of people (not bragging) and was the last person to get my food. This moment of solitude I experienced resulted in an outlook on life not unlike that of Thoreau after his two years in the wilderness, or Chris McCandless before he ate those berries.