The sequence has been initiated

It's a continuation. I had a class so I could not finish the last one. By the way, if you have never been to mcsweeneys.net, go there. Because I'm your mother that's why.

For my creative writing class, I had to write a seven page non-fiction piece to be workshopped. Awkward sentence, meet apathetic writer. I chose to write about my marriage and upcoming one year anniversary. It was no sweat writing it, as I have been planning on doing it eventually, but not for class. The problem was length. I had to leave a lot of issues undiscussed and a lot of questions unanswered to fit it in seven pages. All in all I was proud of my work. The problem arose during workshop. Nobody wanted to discuss my writing, only the events and relationships in my life. It turned in to a lengthy series of personal questions involving my relationships with my mother, my father, my wife, her father, and myself. Most of the questions were not that bad, but then they just got away from the piece entirely and sliced into childhood experiences and deep seeded feelings. I faced the conundrum of either being a kill joy and stopping the questions or just sucking it up and taking them as they came. I compromised with myself and just gave ambiguous answers to too-personal questions and ended it by giving an answer to a question that the entire class uncomfortable. It really bothered me that my writing was cast aside in order to allow ten people to dissect my personal life. It's like going into a coffee shop, ordering a cup of coffee, drinking it, then raping the waitress.

Excuse my language, it is but a quote. There stood a girl on a sidewalk, holding a bicycle upright and staring at me. I wondered, what is she doing? I looked away, then looked back to see her still staring. For about a minute or so, which is a long time to be stared at by a stranger, of looking back and forth to check if she was still staring (which she was. I mean she just stared for like, two minutes), she yelled at me, "What the fuck are you staring at, you dumb bitch?" Just thought I would share that with you guys. I don't think most people realize that in order to notice that someone is looking at you, you have to look at them. Don't get mad at people for looking at you, it is ridiculous.

My parents are having golden corral bourbon street chicken for thanksgiving, instead of turkey. Wild Turkey is a kind of bourbon. Bourbon is a street in New Orleans. There is a town outside New Orleans called Thibodaux. My wife is going to spend spring break in Thibodaux without me. But she will be at thanksgiving with my parents and me. We are having bourbon street chicken from golden corral. It's a small world.

Homonyms are fun! Cats hack up their fur with their mouths, I hack up cats' fur with a machete.

I've got a rumbly in my tumbly and no food at my abode. That, my children, is slant rhyme. I honestly do not know what is going on about 60% of the time. In lieu of a question, advice: Don't hack up your fingers with a box cutter.