Wednesday, March 08, 2006
I’m not sure if the following counts as an update or a rant. The only thing I know is that I should be posting it on Group Hug, rather than on the blog. But here it is; for some reason, I just don’t give a fuck. Enjoy.
I’ve been in a really foul mood since coming back to DC in December, and the frustration is starting to crest. I feel something is about to break, and I have no idea where I’ll end up once the dust settles.
I’ve put aside the work I’d been doing on the 1995 novel, and begun to focus exclusively on the 2005 material. It’s closer to where I am now, and it kept biasing the other book. I was trying to keep the 1995 novel in the style/mindset of the 20 year old me, but my current problems began leaking into the 1995 story-line. It got ugly.
Personal issues are like bowel-movements, there’s only one thing that you can do once they start to come out – sit down and get it all out.
The 2005 writings are sporadic shotgun narratives with no unifying narrative structure, but excessive overlapping themes. They were mostly written in the middle of the night when I ran to the computer when I was too wound-up to get to sleep. They tend to surprise me when I read them later. They’re not nice, but they always hit the raw-nerve of truth.
I feel petty when I’m reading them later. I’ve got a great job that’s very fulfilling, and a nice house in a good neighborhood. I’ve got more material shit than I can handle: stacks of books – unread, and piles of DVDs – unwatched.
I’m one lucky son of a bitch, so why am I up at 3 in the fucking morning on a work-night drinking Bookers neat, smoking like Auschwitz, and banging away at the fucking keyboard like it punched my Mom?
Well, my personal life is a huge smoking train-wreck. Hell, whose isn’t? At least I don’t have a wife or (God-forbid) kids to keep me tethered to this shit.
Well then, what the fuck is wrong?
I don’t know; it’s as simple as that. I know that I’m not happy, but I have no idea what I want to do past next week. I feel trapped. I see my life playing out before me like a bad made-for-TV movie, and there’s little that I can do to advance the hackneyed plot.
I want to put everything that I own into storage and run – far. But where?
I think it’s just this age, and all the existential bullshit that comes with it. It’s time that I’m supposed to make the ‘serious’ decisions about the rest of my life, and I couldn’t be any more unsure (Craig touched on this topic briefly, but I’m not gonna drag him into this shit-storm). The question is: What’s worse; dying alone, or being miserable everyday up to that death?
Sometimes I just want to take the easy way out… and find religion.
Wow, that should just about do it. I think that I’ve alienated just about everyone that will read this. Another job well done.
For anyone who's left; here's a treat for putting up with all of my bitching.