On Life as a Sarcastic Fringehead

Eric Ellisor. I don't even know who this guy is. I opened one journal last night and this is the first thing I found written in it. My handwriting was extremely neat and there were no edits. This means that this version was probably version #106 or something like that. I can tell it was written during a time in my life when I thought every decision was a moral one that cemented my character. Thank God I grew up. These days, I make decisions all the time, sometimes major ones, just because I feel like it. No angst, no heavy thoughts, just life as it comes. Much easier, for me, that way.

I keep finding references on pages in other journals to "finishing it on the computer" or "printing it out at Mom's". Meaning: I've lost a lot of shit over the years. I don't have any printouts pasted in my journals (that I've found so far, anyway) and I definitely don't have any leftover 20th century floppy disks from which I couldn't even access the data today if I wanted to. This story survived, apparently, because it stayed hand written until its completion. And it's not even complete, quite contrary to what I was saying on the following pages about being so happy that I've finally finished something blah blah blah.

Read and see what I mean. Even when I think I'm finished, it's a frag. A long ass frag, but it's still only a beginning. One day, I'll see what else I can do with it.

I don't think the Rachel in this frag is the same Rachel from the Marshall Molester frag. I guess, for a few years, I liked the name Rachel for female plot devices who serve as the moral compass for their male relatives.

Since it's such a long frag, I think I'll divide it into manageable pieces. I also discovered it has a title: Headlights. Good Lord...