Oh shit. I've started a blog.
I am terrified. I guess I am a bit excited too. It is sort of like the feeling I would imagine accompanies picking a fight I am probably going to lose, but there is the slight chance that I might win, and getting the shit beat out of myself is an accomplishment of sorts. Also I am full of shit and getting some of it beat out of me sounds cathartic.
Three days less than one month ago I quit my job. "You quit your job with no other job lined up in an abysmal job market. That sounds like the very soul of stupidity." I agree. My intention was to read a lot and write every day. The reality is that though I did read voraciously, I barely wrote every other day. I did write something I truly appreciate and believe is fairly good but honestly, ONE WHOLE MONTH AND ONLY ONE THING WRITTEN THAT I CONSIDER GOOD. WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING?
I know that I have been awarded a unique opportunity. My wife has a salaried job which earns more than double what we were making when she was student teaching and I was the sole earner. In fact, she was the one who suggested that I quit the job that was killing me (though my soul had been screaming for release for quite some time (I am continually surprised, though as she surprises me daily I should probably begin to expect it, at the amazing reality of healthy relationship. How was she able to verbalize and make possible that which I was completely unable to consciously grasp?).). I have an amazing amazing wife.
I have waited until now to start a blog because I did not want to have a reason behind my writing except to write. I did not want to become a slave to affirmation. I did not want an audience. I did not want to succeed (uh, i probably mean fail, but my pessimism can only accept success as delayed failure so it is really all the same to me). I have, however, become a mite delusional. I believe that it is a side affect of the lack of normal daily interaction known as "a job". Or maybe it is because my writing is so inherently masochistically narcissistic that I have found myself to have created an internal hell to replace the nine to five one I have so recently escaped (see, that right there is a product of this particular insanity. I have no idea what I meant by this paragraph.).
Anyway (oh and by the way I find that I often begin paragraphs with "anyway" I think that I am either attempting to convey my absent mindedness or am lazy and can think of no better transition than anyway), I decided, at the onset, to eventually post that which I have written. It turns out that "eventually" happens to fall on "right now" this year. Hopefully I will continue to write. I will intersperse the old with the new and since I have come to fear my written word I hope that I will succeed in the new category. Otherwise, this blog will be short lived (by the way keep your eyes out for day three; that is the thing I wrote which I actually love. If you don't like it, I will survive he said with an obvious need for affirmation. . .).
I would like to take a moment to briefly describe the situation I find myself in as I write this (not existentially or anything simply what I was doing before I started up the computer because it is odd enough to be notable). I am sitting in my garage drinking crappy beer alone (oh for the times of drinking great beer with friends) and working on some new sculptures. I am wrapping a baby cabbage patch doll with cellophane and subsequently with clear tape in order to create hundreds of ephemeral baby shells which I will then secrete (or maybe secret or maybe both) about the town in a blatant act of guerrilla art.
4 comments:
what a tease. all this talk about what you've written and not even a peek.
let's hear it for silly soul stuff. unemployed for sake of deep breaths and good circulation.
ps - what are you reading?
Yea, I'm an asshole. But that is fun sometimes. I am currently reading "The Message in the Bottle" by Walker Percy (a series of essays he wrote over a twenty year period. I am reading it slowly because it is a horribly rigorous look into semantics, semiotics, the meaning of our humanity and how we grasp this, with a focus on how language affects, designs, and creates all this). Also the latest in the Dresden Files by Jim Butcher (this is escapist fiction because I often need to escape my mind or I will fail to function). Also I am reading "The Sirens of Titan" by Kurt Vonegutt Jr. (I have developed the habit of throwing a Vonegutt book into my reading every five books or so and will be very sad when I exhaust him). Finally, though this can only barely be counted, I am reading a course packet and some novels for a class on Literary Theory I am sitting in on. I tend to finish a book every two days or so, thus, this list will no longer matter by sunday.
call me on my cell cell for guerilla art fun. It can't be truly guerilla with only one person fighting. That's obviously inaccurate, but I want to make things out of wire so I can be just like you.
PS
welcome to society, high society
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