I appreciate you.

Okay.

So, with a little under an hour until I head off into Northern Indiana with my father, I figured that I'd just sit my unhappy ass down right here, right now, I type whatever fuck comes into my mind.

I chose the word "fuck" because that is the EXACT way I feel about everything that is about to happen.

As I've posted about million on my Facebook wall, I will not be able to spend time with people that I actually care about, as the ball drops onto the new year of 2011.

And since I've little time to give my 2010 synopsis, I'll have to do my best to nostalgify (no...this isn't a word) myself.

2010 was fucking weird.

I began the year at Adam Friedman's house, and I'll end the year by the Tippecanoe River, about ten minutes away from Brookstown, Indiana.

I think that if I had to go through 2010 again, I would die.

Actually...I think I DID almost die a few times in 2010.

I lost a few best friends.

But then I made some more best friends.

I traveled all over Indiana.

Southport, VU, Acton, Bloomington, Waverly, and other such travel areas that I've yet to figure out the names of. Probably because I was too tired.

I had my heart broken. Twice. I think? Either way, one of them contributed to wanna of my near "passings."

Well...maybe it wasn't broken. A sprain, maybe. But not completely broken.

I saw Wavves.

So. Much. Food. More notably, McDonalds.

I danced a lot.

I smoked a lot of cigarettes. Never again.

The best friends that I had lost, came back to me. Now I'll be going into the new year with the best set of friends ever.

Coincidentally, I'm also starting off this year like I did last. Without a job. And without a girlfriend.

Except, the job thing is kinda under control. As for a girlfriend, I dunno. I'm waiting.

I never had that kiss I've always wanted. Where the guy and gal are close to each other, and the gal puts her hand on the guys face, as if she could draw him any closer.

Didn't happen.

I saw some good movies.

I laughed a lot.

I cried a lot.

I worked my first job.

I got fired from that same job. I'd do it all over again too. IDGAF

I started college. Then two months later, Marian accepted me. I'll start there my sophomore year.

Notre Dame beat USC.

I graduated from high school.

This is so chronologically out of order.

I really want to thank a bunch of people for making this year so fucking weird.

Wesley Wren, you motherfucker. You're such a good dude. At least I hope you are. You contributed to a lot of what I went through this year. Don't knock it 'till you try it.

Chloe Fox. You also helped me a lot this year. More than I could ever imagine. I can't picture moving forward with my life without you in it. We'll be going to Marian together. Let's go Knights!

Adam Friedman. Broda. I love you more than any man should ever love another man. I'm okay with this. You and I went through a lot of shit. But now...now we're broda's again.

Dustin Arritt. Unfortunately, you'll be down in VU. But I'll visit. I don't care how lost I get. We've been best friends since sixth grade. Let us not forget what you and I went through only a few years ago. But I've got your back. As long as you've got mine.

Gage Harris. I'm surprised I have anything good to say about you. You saved me from my ulcer attack. I will forever be indebted to you for that. 10 plus years baby. YOU CANNOT BREAK OUR STRIDE.

Did I forget anybody? Oh well. I haven't the time.

Amelia Todd, Laura Haselwander, Yesica Rosales, Davis Williams, Dusty Bracken, Ryan and Emily Bradley, Kim and Dave Willoughby, Kara Brenneman, Eileen Weber, Jeff Yager...and whomever else I haven't named, thank you for everything you've ever done for me.

I love all of you with everything I am.

And as for 2011?

Fucking bring it.

Oh...and take the test.

Christmas Eve

I've been going through a serious case of writer's block lately.

Maybe it's because I'm not staying up for two or three days at a time.

I dunno. It's whatever. I'm just glad Christmas is almost here. I like to see people be happy and stuff. And things.

Anyways, Merry ALMOST Christmas you guys.

I just wanna point out a few people that I hope have a wonderful Christmas day.

Wesley, Adam, Dustin, Dusty, Gage, Laura, Chloe, Tori, Kim, Dave, Logan, Austin, Kaden, Snickers, Eileen, Stefanie, Daniel, Katie, Yesica, Abbie, Aaron, Chuck, Alexis, Amelia, Andy, Ben Miceli, Ben Wernz, Brittney, Brian, Carolyn, Emily, Ryan, Brock, Chris, Connor, Kevin, Davis, Eduardo, Armando, Gabby, Deb, Mark, Hanna, Jeff, Judy, Sarah, Sara, Kara, Mum, Kelly, Kristen, Lee, Lissa, Marissa, Matt Glant, Matt Timbs, Russel, Schilling, Shelbi, Shelby, Susan, Tasha, Thomas, Trevor, Tyler, Kaitlyn, and Zach.

Hopefully I'll be able to kick-start my brain here pretty soon. I miss writing for you guys.

Be safe.

And again, Merry Christmas.

I used the word "Christmas" four times, and it almost seems like it's too much.

The Hunter

I really don't have anything to write about.

I think I'll just talk about this guy.

Wesley Wren.

I love you.

I'm not going to write anymore.

Foff.

Oh, and I should be finished with the story that Chuck Bronson helped me with later today.

I think I mentioned it in my last post.

Anyways. Wesley is a good guy.

If you wanna text him, his number is 317-911.

Twitbook

So I have a Twitter account now.

I know, it's not that important.

But what IS important?

I'm almost done writing this little short story for my blog.

Chuck Bronson helped me with it.

UNFORTUNATELY

I am being forced against my own will to attend church tonight. So I doubt it will get done before six, which was my goal.

Also, I have a bad habit of exposing my problems to people at the worst possible times.

I have. I will. I am.

First of all...

Are the St. Louis Rams really in first place in the NFC West?

Or I as I say...

"NFC Worst? Hahahahaha."

No. I'm kidding.

But seriously? C'mon Seattle! You've got TWO highly touted Notre Dame players on your team! Step. It. Up. I hear that Curt Warner was willing to sign on. He's like fifty years old though, so don't push the man.

I bet everyone is really confused right now.

Curt>
I dunno. I'll talk to Wesley about that.

"Dude, KURT Warner. Hands. Down."

Why the fuck is it "hands down"?

I guess phrases like that never usually make sense.

OKAY CALEB FOCUS

So I'm really loving this Christmas spirit going around Indiana right now. More notably, down town Indianapolis, since I spend so much more time there.

And by "there," I mean like ten minutes away from my house.

I set my alarm for six o'clock this morning.

I decided that I should start taking a nap between 2 and 5:59 in the morning. That way, I don't feel weird when I've been up for four days.

I woke up and made some coffee. Fucking...coffee. It's becoming that line for me. I can't cross that line. I'm one cream and sugar away from, "Yea! I'll have a double shot espresso latte frapacaparapatapamochachinoooohhhhWHATTHEFUCKAMIDOINGHEREDEARGODSAVEMEFROMTHISBEANHELLFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!"

Anyways.

I wanted to be up this morning. Because lately, I've been staying up and writing down all of my thoughts in my note books. And I usually find myself doing most of my writing in the hours when the sun is coming up.

I like it.

It's making me mold myself into a person I want to be for the rest of my life. It's making me comfortable in my own skin. It's making me wish I would have done this during high school. Things would have been so much better.

I'm starting to appreciate myself more and more. Before this, I would have found some way to burn myself.

But now I like myself. I like what I'm doing. I'm liking what I'm going to BE doing. I'm liking the fact that I've surrounded myself with wonderful people.

Sorry...love.

Eventually, I'm going to dig so far into my brain, that I'll be able to make everything better. So much better. The best that it can be. And you guys will be a part of it. Because I love you.

I'll just keep on writing in my note books.

I'll just keep on pushing. (Ahh. Running with the devil.)

I'll just keep on making things better for myself.

I'll just keep on making things better for you, darling.

For you, Wes.

Mother.

Gah.

I've rewritten this stupid blog post about a millions times. I can't get it right.

Fuck.

Last night, my mother bought me a new thumb drive, and transfered all of my saved files from my old computer onto it.

I pulled up the files onto my laptop.

So. Many. Papers.

So. Many. Pictures.

Ffffffffffffffffffff-

Everything was on it. From 2006-2010. Every picture and paper from high school was on this thumb drive

Article summaries from my freshman year in Teverbaugh's class.

My "Evolution v. Creationism" paper from my sophomore year in Hunter's class.

My WWII project from my junior year in Cunningham's class.

My "Thank You" letter to Eileen Weber from my senior year.

Old pictures from my Myspace before I deleted it.

Then I happened upon my "Grad file."

It was a saved file from some writing I had done the night after I graduated. I remember crying a little bit I was typing it up. And I cried a little bit while reading it again.

It consists of two entries.

One was a rehash of the night I got home from graduation.

The second was a quote from Wesley Wren.

After I had gotten home...

"After I had gotten home from eating at Steak 'n' Shake with Adam and Amelia, I went and sat down at my dining room table.

I had my certificates, my diploma, the diploma cover, and the cards that Kristen, Chloe, and Tammy had given me.

I read everything over and over again.

I wouldn't even read the words sometimes. I would just look at the paper itself. Like the quality of the paper, the little gold seals they used, the border, anything to keep it from ending.

After I had read everything, I put them in the wafer colored folder that the school generously provided for us.

Then I stared at my opened diploma cover, with the diploma inside, and that little plastic protector thingy.

I remembered EVERYTHING from my four long years at Perry.

All of the friends I had gained and lost.

Love, hate, acceptance, achievement, failure, appreciation, awkward sexual experiences, teachers, growing up, learning, crying, laughing. Pretty much everything.

I closed the folder, rested my head on the table and cried a little bit.

I love you, Perry Meridian High School. I love all of the friends you've given me, and all of the teachers you've let change my life.

And most importantly, I love all of you guys.

Honestly, I truly love all of you.

Some of you deserve apologies from me, and some of you deserve my heart.

I will never forget any of you."

Wesley Wren...

"Words will never express the absences that our parting will create. I'm gonna miss you pal, please keep in touch."



I just wanted this to be on here.

It has a lot to do with you.

I wanna address three things in this blog.

I mean, I really want to.

I reallyyyyyyyy want to. Too? Two? Twoaaaah.

"We've got two minutes...twoaaaah."

I fucking love the Pacers.

I'm going to look into my notebook, and type up condensed version of what I've written.

*backtrack*

I thought I was going to address some things?

No. I'd rather not.

I'd rather talk about how I shove all of my hand into my pockets, instead of having just my four fingers in with my thumb hanging out.

"...instead of having just my four fingers in with my thumb hanging out."

You know where I'm coming from.

Or how some people just have their thumb support the rest of the hand.

That looks really gay. Unless you're posing for some kind of magazine.

But no, guy at the mall with a beanie and fake aviators and the Ed Hardy t-shirt on. You look fucking stupid. Stop that. And your jeans don't look cool...just because they have rips and tears in them.

Tears=Those are his boyfriends pants and he was crying on his lap the other night.

But anyways.

Entire hand. In pocket. Looking cool.

Instead of handshakes though, I elbow bump.

Sometimes I like to keep weird things like pills, thumb drives and pieces of a note that Brittany Woods threw into my book-bag during our freshman year. And when I'm in an elevator full of people, I like to scream "I AM IN HELL FOR THE VERY LAST TIME!" Then I'll throw the stuff in pockets at people and leave on whatever floor I'm on.

So I liked this girl. I think I still like her. Yea...I still like her. But she has a boyfriend. And that really sucks. But I'm not going to stop being nice to her just because we can't date.

Woa Doctor...

I'm not sure we would have dated anyways. I run away with feelings. So, I think I'll just backtrack and stand where I'm at.

I really hate that I'm not any girl's "type." I'm not skinny. I'm not good looking. I'm not a hipster. I don't drive a cool car. I'm not really good at ONE thing.

Instead...

I'm working out. I'm at least interesting looking. I know Wesley Wren. I have a nice truck. I'm semi-mediocre at a bunch of things.

I'm Caleb Shane Tucker.

"You got to take me, as I am. Or leave me, the way you found me."

I just got all serious.

I think I ended up covering those three things.

I think.

I really like writing. And I really like that people tell me that they like my writing. I get inspired.

I wrote this because Laura Haselwander said so.

Take the test.

And then after you take the test?

Future husband=Present husband.

I wish I had a "Funk Button."

I would push it, and everything would get funky.

"Because when I get down. I get down. I get down all the way" *sung to the tune of Jingle Bells*

I can't tell you why.

I'll be writing a pretty extensive blog entry tonight/this morning.

I think my heart broke, but it may possibly be a sprain.

Yea...there we go...I have a sprained heart.

Or something like that.

But anyways. I gotta get some stuff out.

Also, Wesley Wren saved me tonight.

Thank you broda.

I'll be back.

I feed tigers.

This is going to be a relatively short blog.

What does "relatively" mean?

I guess it just makes me sound smarter, or whatever.

So it's been almost a year since I officially became an adult. And i say "officially" by non-official standards, considering that I won't really be an adult until I'm twenty-five.

But this morning, I think I took another step in reaching this adult whatever it is.

I made coffee.

I know. What's so special about making coffee?

Well....

That's the point.

It's NOT special. It's not supposed to be. I'm just making coffee for myself.

But you see, this is where it begins. This is how you train yourself to be awake every single morning for the rest of your life.

It's not like I went to the gas station down the street and fixed my brew, or went to Starbucks.

Fuck Starbucks.

I measured how much water I needed, measured how much coffee I wanted, turned on the magical machine, and six minutes later...I had coffee.

I guess I just felt weird. Sitting at the kitchen table by myself. Drinking this...bean water.

I'm not ready for this.

Can I live?