That Serial, a quick digression

(WARNING: This post is boring.  You have been WARNED)

So, clearly I’m writing this Other Man thing to explore some of the feelings and confusion I have about that whole episode, and possibly get some control back over how messed up I’m feeling these days.  But the big challenge for someone who writes about messed up things in their life is keeping it entertaining and relatable (that word doesn’t exist, apparently), and above all interesting.  And a big way to kill that is to lose interest yourself, as an author.  Which I’m feeeeeeeeling about the topic.  My friends know I’ve rattled on about that shit for FAR too long.

But does one lose interest because the material itself is dead, or is it more insidious?  I think choice B.  I tend to get suddenly turned off of writing projects after living with them as exciting potentialities for a week or two.  I’ve got a couple half-novels ghosting around my computer that I’ve walked away from because they’re all just so fucking boring.  And isn’t that just so fucking convenient?  Fishy.

The easy part of writing, and a whole lot of other creative pursuits is a lot like the best part of romantic relationships.  That hyper-focus rush of excitement and promise and butterflies during the first couple days.  Or couple hours.  Whatever fraction of the hypothetical whole we mean when we say the honeymoon phase. Personally, I feel more alive and just plain in control of my life when I launch into something that’s feeling exciting and important and difficult-but-doable-because-I’m-so-amazing.

But then that feeling vanishes for a couple of days.  I’m trying to pay attention to when that happens so that maybe I can figure some shit out.  I don’t want the easy answers (fear of failure, fear of commitment) I could pull out of the intercraps with like one google search.  I want to FEEEEEL what’s happening inside.  And work through it.  And see what happens when I finish something that’s suddenly gone all stale and crusty.  We’re now solidly talking writing project and not romance.  Or whatever, I guess.

End pointless aside…… now.

This song is fucking great.  Thanks for reading, it’s your reward (the embed ain’t working… I’ll fuck with it tonight-ish):

So here’s the new deal

Guess what, chumps.  I quit my job.  Yep.  I’m taking my life’s balls in my hand and running with them.

And none other than Taylor Swift is totally FEELING ME:

Wait. Why did I quit? Fuck you for asking, we should ALL be quitting our jobs.  Seriously.  Aren’t you just miserable?  Like every fucking day?  I know almost every person I just left behind sure as hell is. Continue reading So here’s the new deal

Oh hi There Old Friends

So where the hell have I been?  What the fuck have I been doing? (no one asks).  Well I’ve been getting my dick sucked every week (figuratively) in a writing class (with whom I can now officially never share this blog), doing some writing for that, and putting my nose to the grindstone at work.

What? No “real” pussy? Surely you’ve been absent from the narcissism blog because of all the fucking tail you’ve been “up in.” Right? (that’s you asking me right there.  that’s generally what you sound like, I’m serious.)

Ok yes I got a little pussy.  Continue reading Oh hi There Old Friends