Well, I might as well get this started. I am wired but unfortunately not inspired. More like indebted. Uninterested. Like driving to work. I’m choosing to see this as a positive but hang tight, buckaroos, it could get goofy.
The last month – February 2018 – before my lease ran out & as long as I figured my bank balance would hold out, I just stayed in my rental in Jefferson. I’d leave to go see the ex & walk on the levee, or go see my boy & get my medicine. That was about it. The only time I was legitimately as cool & groovy as I was the December I took off between jobs before everything went to shit.
As an aside, I had a real bad moment there, 7 or 8 years ago, when the world was going against me & the walls fell, & I can’t for the life of me remember what it was. I must have stayed constantly blazed when I wasn’t trying to scream out the rest of the world. Anyhow.
That was a good month, & it occurred to me while driving around with Otis in the backseat just to check out a dog park in Mid City that if that was my life, it’d be one I’d have no problem living. It was, in fact, why I thought to become a writer in the first place. Beyond the books that caught me or the authors of any stripe or definition that inspired me, it didn’t look like hard labor outside.
Part of it was wanting to be Lewis Grizzard & part of it was wanting to be Colin Wilson, but all of it was to not have a job where I did any physical work but did go to different places & see different things to do it. What I tried to ignore then was that you really can’t do it on your own just through writing. You were either born into money & privilege or had someone who either supported you as part of their scene or you screwed over, you selfish prick.
Or they starved or couldn’t keep the lights on. Worked themselves to death or madness just to keep up. Died young. That’s just how it is, man, & it’s become increasingly so as the Earth has rolled on. Making a living as a writer is a capital “P” Privilege. There’s nothing wrong with that, but someone has to work a real job to pay the bills.
I never wanted to acknowledge that until I did, & by then I was confident that I was never interested in getting in one of those situations. Seriously, I don’t know how y’all do it for six years, much less 44 years. I thought that since I was just going to be responsible for myself – hell, no, I don’t want no kids – I could make it work.
And, boy, did I let it grind me down. Undoubtedly much of it had to do with, quite frankly, the herculean amounts of marijuana, the good-good, I smoked those two months. Not judging, but it is what it is.
Anyhow, I tried writing in the first month, more like one of the books I never wrote. Some of it was on this blog or Tumblr or Facebook – I ain’t going to lie – but most got deleted. It really wasn’t worth saving.
Whew. Got distracted there & lost my train of thought, so we’ll move on. Should we, though? I’m not really up for the news, for it is Dumb. It’s entirely possible the blood-thirsty jackass that is Secretary of State won’t be able to stop the conflict with Iran that could result from the dumbass way the damn fool we have as President has been handling the whole situation because he’s still pissed off at the black guy because the black guy fought back. Before Trump became a Birther long after that should’ve, he was known mainly for being a tacky horndog feuding with a comedian-turned-yet-another-daytime-talk-show-host celebrity. That’s fucking depressing.
Jesus God! I turned the AdBlocker off for the first time in I don’t know how long, & I had no idea the ads on YouTube was this bad. I just saw one selling an electric razor so a dude could keep his balls well groomed. I had no idea such a thing even needed to exist. No wonder.
Otis is pouting at me. His day starts at 6 a.m., ends at 8 p.m. & he can stay outside or come in whenever he wants. He feels this is insufficient. He’ll deal. He is going to be awful if I ever try to put him back in an apartment or small house where he can’t come & go as he pleases. If I ever do move again during his share of the ride I may leave him with Momma & take Bounce. He’d watch after Momma.
A little maudlin, gang, but hey. We’re all friends here. I’m going to go & ahead & say it: when do we get the reboot of sword-&-sorcery Conan knock-offs? Did the new Conan & the John Carpenter movies tank so bad it killed off the genre? Granted, pirate movies really didn’t last past the Pirates Of The Caribbean films. The Dungeons & Dragons-inspired movies didn’t do that well, either. I guess that answers the question. Still, I’d like to see the Dead Wood version of that, but that stuff admittedly quickly got Deathstalker terrifying. The third one isn’t that bad & the second’s a fun movie in the right mood. That first one, though, whew boy.
I need to wrap this up. Got to see the Doctor tomorrow & we got plenty of stuff to talk about. Getting old is a drag, children, enjoy the ride.