I've expanded my creative endeavors into writing.
Soon, my first published book will be available to purchase.

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Abstract

Pages 1 & 2

“Uggghh, what… the fuck?…” Arik mumbled into the pitch black darkness of his room as he slowly gained consciousness from a forgotten night's sleep. 

It was 7:19 in the morning which meant the alarm on his nightstand had been blaring for nearly twenty unnoticed minutes.

“Fuuuck.” he whispered again at the mere thought of being awake.

The alarm sounded like a ship going under and all hell had broken loose onboard the metaphorical ill fated vessel. The shrieks of the ship's horn were tearing at his ears, splitting his head down the center, and squarely between the eyes. After a couple or failed attempts, with blurry and crusty eyes, he was able to silence the dreadful tone by dropping his hand on top of the cheap plastic clock. Landing so hard, nearly cracking the casing and causing it to fall to the floor. Arik was buried under layers of sheets, clothes, and discarded pizza boxes. The room was frigid. So cold it smelled of ice or snow and the mucus in his nose was frozen solid. The old and splintered windows in his tiny dark bedroom were losing the fight with the blustery winter weather that was trying to slip in through the many cracks. If there had been any light in the room, he would have seen the puffs of icy breath coming from his mouth. With a small amount of clarity and minimal effort, Arik could fix all this from the relative comfort of his bed but the raging hangover terrorizing he every thought was too much for him to gather himself. The not-so-subtle headache blurred his focus beyond anything more than a glimpse of a synapse firing.

“Some other time” he thought as he lay sprawled across his bed. 

Januarys in Wisconsin can be a ridiculously brutal and an exceptionally cold bitch. The winds add more to the hostility of winter when your home sits near a small frozen lake with little to stop the elements from relentlessly onslaught. With zero motivation to move, Arik laid there, thinking to himself, “Why hadn’t I chosen Costa Rica to live this time around?” 

Since he was a young adult (many, many years ago), he had moved around the country looking for a place of solitude to call home. A bunker to hide or burrow away from all the self-inflicted nightmares that were chasing him. He’d literally had the world to choose from, but halfway between Madison and Milwaukee Wisconsin was where his ass had landed. The move from Houston had been out of necessity but why he’d chosen this sub-zero hellscape was anyone’s best guess. Maybe he was drunk the night he chose this small lake home (laughing at the name Koshkonong a little too hard). Maybe he’d let a little guilt slip into his consciousness and this was his own way of punishing himself for his not-so-great deeds. Maybe the combination of the two drove this poor choice. No matter what had been the driving force behind his decision, he detested everything about this northern middle-america tundra. 

“Fuck… fucking, fuck!” he said out loud while testing the versatility of the word. 

and sooo the book goes... 

Chapters

PROLOGUE: Guilt(y) On All Counts

Tuesdays Are The Worst

Wednesdays Are Marginally Better

It All Started On A Thursday

Wednesday Can’t Move Fast Enough

A Wasted Wednesday Evening

The Thursday Morning Things Changed

A Thursday Full Of Surprises

Goddamn Fridays

A Friday Evening Fucked

There Is Something About Saturdays

Some Shit Saturday

A Bloody Monday

The Monday That Cost Too Much

The Absolute Worst Tuesday

Fuck This Tuesday

A Bull Shit Wednesday

When Wednesdays Never End

Thursdays Suck Dick

The Thursday Shit Shifted

I Don’t Fucking Care

Thank God its Friday

EPILOGUE: Innocence In Atoms?

About the Author

During the day I'm around but may be in meetings, working on a new painting, or just not available. If I don't answer, I'll get back to you as soon as I can. 

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