Letter to My Mother: 6/29/91

Wow, a famous poet picked up on my last blog entry and put it up on his blog. Kudos to him for realizing great genius, and negative kudos to the giant cabal of hipsters who threaten me with their fancy shoes and highly questionable taste in literature.

In any case; going through old letters and pictures I am reminded that I've grown up a lot since I was a child, yet I haven't really changed at all.

Case in point:

Letter written to my Mother on 6/29/91.

Dear Mom,

Last night I got 2:45 of sleep. I don't feel well, in fact I feel horable, it's not pscosymatck. also, I'am very incomfble. tell me went you're home so i call call you! Oh, I forgot I cryed softly last night no one heard me! I HATE camp! The working part is easy so I won't lose wight.

Love Matt,

As we grow up, we become retarded, idiotic emotionally stunted versions of who we were. We forget all the idealism and eager passions that made us children, but keep all the quirks and neuroses.

It's like life is a canvass; childhood is the outline and adulthood is filling in that outline, except some areas get a cursory broad stroke and some are filled in too much. You can spend your life trying to even it out, but in the end you get a really, really shitty painting.