The first step in cleaning is through the doorframe

So welcome to the inaugurable blog of Star Maps of Roanoke. I don't really know why I chose to name my blog this, since there are never any celebreties here except maybe a random Iraqi architect supposedly huge in her own world since she was drunk and rambling like a half-squashed polecat searching for a reststop first-aid on 81, but I guess it comes out of the same reason why I decided to write this blog in the first place: boredom, the vacuum left by excitement when it moves to sunnier climates.
Since moving home (and for those of you who don't know, yes, I've moved home because the Orlando economy gave me nothing but fruit-picking jobs in humid groves where English was more used to a cueball than a larynx) I haven't done anything. Ok, I exaggerate a bit, I've read through all my old papers from school and re-reamed the professor's comments in sharpie and I've organized the garage and (still tiny) attic into what seems a good system of order, though I didn't make a list or coding system so it could all just fall apart if/when Christmas comes around and we forget how I put everything. I've also tinkered with the Volvo (the old Chrysler was junked soon after I got home, its gaskets swiss cheesed through and the oil that leaked into and then burned under the pistons finally took its final toll), reinforcing the jerry-rigged muffler bracket I worked on last Christmas break and generally detailing it since for some reason the Swede's know how to make a sturdy, all-be-it quirky, powertrain. Something to do with jets I guess, though I haven't heard anything about their Air Force capabilities since I dunno when.
But besides that I haven't done much, to get back to my original thought, so I decided to start this little mind-dump where I can unload all the junk of my days and odd thoughts and maybe organize my head a bit better to deal with this ridiculous ennui (boredom, for those of you who don't know; I learned it, weirdly enough, when I was down in FL, talking to a balding guy in glasses at Paddy McGee's in Winter Park, where I lived near UCF campus because it wasn't too bad a rent and the chicks man, the chicks, who started a conversation after I bought a Guinness because no one else was, all of 'em springing for craptastic Bud's and Miller's, and it came up he was a lit prof and I talked about how bored I was, being between odd jobs I was picking up since the band I was supposed to write for broke up as soon as I got there, and he called it 'ennui').
Mom keeps hassling me to get out and get a job (what's new, right? God, every kid's hearing that same mantra, another word I learned from that bald guy, whose name I can't, and probably never will, remember, unless this blog serves to clear out some space and dust out the cobwebs where that set of syllables is caught and struggling like a tar-babied rabbit) and I'm thinking about it, but I just can't get it in me to mosey over to unemployment where tall Bantu-Somali emigres jabber quietly and jostle oddly and men in beards scraggly as New River weeds after a harsh spring melt doze in hard plastic chairs. Really, I have nothing against these guys, since I've never met them nor probably will I, until I get my 'lazy broke ass printed with the couch's pattern,' as Mom says in here more heated moments, to that place, but I don't feel like walking (since Mom's out doing errands until Mel gets done with winter track practice) all the way to Valley View through a 'wind chill advisory' to grovel to some fat woman chafing to get out of her small chair and put her curlers in and sink into a stupor in front of Pat Sajak or Brent (kilo)Watts' dim, if even there, smile.
Didn't mean for this to take such a pessimistic turn, I planned on being chipper and spritely to welcome this new endeavor to the cybersphere, but I guess it's just a snapshot of my mindset, and, to end on a simple maxim, 'better out,' here, on the blog, that is, 'than in,' or, simmering in my bored mind, boarding itself up against the gale-force excitement of menial labor, waiting to boil over onto the dinner table like an overly unwatched pot.
A better blog next time, I promise, and thanks for reading.
Welcome Matt out.