Selected journal entries from my crazy life


4. 4

Saturday, August 4, 2013, 1:20 am, Sacramento CA

I was downtown tonight. On a saturday. My friends parents have a loft down town they hardly ever use so we were there the three of us. One of us was hungary and so we walked a few blocks to get food. We walked past all the bars and night clubs filled with attractive young people and there dates as well as unattractive young people wishing they had dates. It was later when we were walking back and the youthful people were more drunk and began spilling out onto the sidewalk and out into the streets stumbling about, that I suggested to my friend that we stop for a drink. I had $100 in my pocket, even offered to buy him a few. He said no. That he was tiered and wanted to go home. Thats when I died. The saturday night was so close yet miles away. I emotionally died and drove home thinking that I must write and finish my book and extremely motivated to do so. Then I thought why? Why does sadness make me crave writing? I then thought of how writing makes me crave sadness and I realized that I was tortured. If I do ever finish this book it will be because of sadness. Without sadness the pen moves not. No pain no art. Maybe I just need a drink.

-Ryan Patrick ​

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