Monday, October 24, 2005
[Rough] Draft Dodger
I can’t believe that it’s already been 2 weeks since that damned marathon! I trained for that thing for almost a year, and it’s over. It’s just over! Somehow, I expected to ride a high a little longer than this. But already the whole experience feels slightly disconnected from the rest of my crapstacking existence; it also feels like…and I knew this would happen, and I am trying to silence this nasty little buggery voice…but, yeah, I can’t deny that there is a part of me that feels as if I could do it, then anyone could do it. That’s wack. Why can’t I have an unqualified moment of triumph?
But really, I’m already bored with the whole thing. I’m ready to do something else hard. Like, finish this dissertation. Complete one of my [many many uncompleted] screenplays. Work on the show I’m thinking about for the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Lose some weight (I know that’s a banal and fairly wack goal, but I’m not denying that I’d like to be a little less chili and little more broth by the new year. Especially if I am going to be wintering with Varras, which is looking increasingly attractive a prospect). Continue to not smoke.
Oh, just mentioning that sweet, sweet nicotine makes me shake with desire. Oh, I miss it. I miss it. I misssssss it. Smoking was my favoritest thing, ever.
Whatever. The point is, as I read more and more things online, and as I werestle with this unwieldy chunk of writing that takes up 95 percent of my psychic real estate, the less I get interested in my own confessional prose as displayed on this fine, fine blog. Screw all this narcissistic, self-absorbed, self-congratulatory, solipsistic musing. So, from this post on, I am going to be writing [probably] less frequently – maybe one post a week—but the writings will hopefully be more substantive. Now, I am still pretty sure that the only people reading this thing regularly are Orlando, Fergus, and Bernie…I know that Chaput makes the occasional appearance, but as I don’t have any hot news a la Perez Hilton or datalounge, she is barely able to fake an interest. And who can blame her? Likewise Teri, who is only waiting for me to deliver on the hot hot miniature farm advice. Well, Teri, I’m sorry, but that’s not how I want to make my money, anymore.