*beep beep beep beep beep* : the alarm rings and rattles against the metal locker converted into a nightstand. peeling the sheets off his skin like dried glue off a hand, the man sits up in bed. *SLAP* the man slaps himself across the face and a guttural moan follows *UGH* as he tries to wake himself up. he drops from the bed to the icy floor, chilled by the winter winds of the open window. his toes curl in protest. its 4 a.m… naked feet slap across the room to a door with rusty hinges that *creaks* in use. down the hall the slapping returns, his whole body feeling the self-abuse of an early-riser. stinging white-yellow light clears the dim and dark that filled the communal bathroom space. *BZZZZZZZZ* sounds the toothbrush. the man’s chin rises with his eyes and the person in the stained mirror is somewhat recognizable with his 5 o’clock shadow, disheveled hair, and pained face. It’s time to fight The Sandman.

If I could print my photoshop file on anything, I would print it in the shape of pasta. Just like alphabet soup or Spongebob Squarepants shaped macaroni, I would want my photoshop work made into unique gluten based seminolla strands. These would undeniably be the most popular pastas on the market, creating an international fad that would eventually insinuate mass hysteria as crazed citizens carniverously ravaged tiendas for my prized product. I would, of course, need to go into hiding. Solo. Even my family would be after me for the recipe. The world would slowly dissolve into chaos and myself the lone maestro of its destruction. *glass shatters*… the windows upstairs have been broken. The sound of noxious gas fills the bunker. They’re here. They’ve found me. The only way to destroy the recipe is to destroy its creator. I pick up the gun. Cock it back… I’m so sorry.

And that’s why I don’t print my photoshops on pasta. The world isn’t ready.

Next month I hope I’ll be flying solo to Colorado to climb some big ass rocks… they’re called 14ers and they’re over 14,000 feet in elevation. PRETTY COOL. There’s a lot of avalanches, lightning storms, lions/tigers/bears(oh my!), and rock slides that all have a likelihood of killing me, and I AM PUMPED. If I die that’s ok because I’ll die an adventurer. and if I live I’ll be a dope adventurer. I think all adventurers are seeking failure, but hopefully I pass this first major test.