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Titles Are Hard

A year ago today is when I received the call, which led to me to writing about a girl running through an art show in her wedding dress, and away from unrequited love, and into the arms of a character that would be resurrected at least two more times that year much to her dismay. Stick figures on whiteboards trying to figure out which path to take, I still don’t understand how she could think he was invisible just because of the time travel. Everyone knows that’s my specialty. It’s how I became friends with Graham Cracker and The Breakfast Solid 4-Hour Lunches Club. Those boards ultimately ended up graffiti’d by the lines we hate. Guess I’ll go deactivate? Get me that Dou-ude in Sales? A small corner was occupied by the restaurants we could never pick, but when we did, I was told that I took too long to eat. I took that as a compliment. People say it’s the only time I got with girls. Speaking of which, remember that web pilot? It was my first producing gig, but if there’s anything I’m used to, it’s shows unbecoming of their name. Joke’s on me though, as the title above didn’t actually lead to anything, other than scripted lines suddenly becoming a reality. No surprise that the most quoted of us all was us that quoted us the most, but we lacked all them dreams. I once made people believe that I wrote Masterpiece. I miss the days of pepperoni monologues, attributed to one of you, but delivered by another one, like it was the best of times and the worst of times, and real Dickens’ behavior. Speaking of which, I wish that we had gotten close and I hope we’re close. That’s more a generalized statement about the passage of time and how quickly it goes, where one minute you’re sitting in a room discussing your personal lives for hours on end, and the next minute, one of those people is not as prominent. It happens. People connect with other people and move away. It’s not their fault. That’s show business, but I think I’m in the tell business. Hard to believe I was supposed to be the Future version of a Present man that made the one choice to differentiate our similarity past appearances. Is it heartbreaking? No, this isn’t the parking lot, where my car was towed, but that adventure took us all the way to Phil’s, and it’s where I realized that maybe she’s just not that into you. A lot of you are reading this like, Uh, only you would take shared references and make them all internalized. These are not our memories. These are filtered through your crazy mind. A lot of us actually had a good time, and we learned new things, and had experiences we’ll never regret, while all you did was ruin $@%\/! Ain’t that the truth. I kind of got to direct, but indirectly never did anything but take ten minute breaks, just to walk and talk down hallways and meet up with some friends who wouldn’t switch into Monday’s class. Lord of Spies is still in development, like everything else I’ve ever pitched. Since the middle of June I haven’t actually written a script, even though I’ve still got leopards to chase, and children to make weep, not to mention the real-life Paint by Numbers will probably be the end of me. Sheeit, hasn’t this gone on long enough? I still owe several people apologies. To the one that let me in, I’m sorry I was a disappointment. I’m sorry my soul on a story about soles was never properly documented. The same goes for a banana trying its hardest to be broccoli. I let you down, like food guide history. Your sketches and props were integral despite what they say. I’m sorry I was caught up in my own pyramid, and couldn’t save your work. Thanks to all for being a part of it. I’ll never forget the time we shared. I’ll never forget the things we did, and didn’t do.

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