Everything is wrong with me
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
 
deadline = deadbeat
No blog posts this week, though I might be able to churn one out for you on Friday. I am sorry about this, but I have a major, major deadline that I’m working toward tomorrow, which may extend into Thursday (though I hope not). Then I’m off to Seattle on Thursday night, returning to NYC on the following Tuesday. So it’s possible that you may not hear from me until Wednesday, February 8.

But hear me out! We have some big things in the works here, so I ask for your patience. The blog will be back in full swing on February 13, when I return to work. This is not because I write the blog at work (Hi, Mr. Employer!), but because I will once again have some sort of regularity and routine to my life (and my big deadline will have passed). This laying around all day, masturbating to the same fucking porn clips, and not seeing any other people for days at a time stuff is stifling my creativity (at least blog-wise).

So give me some freedom on the last few days of unemployment. If it’s any consolation, I promise that I’m gathering a store of, um, stories to share when I do start blogging regularly, and in no time you’ll be reading again about how much I suck. And, let me tell you something, if I’m learning anything from this whole “deadline” thing, it’s that I truly do suck.

Actually, and maybe this is the masochist in me, but I’ve forgotten how exhilarating working under a deadline can be. Sure, I have deadlines at work and stuff, but c’mon – who takes their job seriously? I learned in college that I can work under pressure, but even then I didn’t care so much about the Popish Plot or how the health(s) of Woodrow Wilson and FDR affected their policy decisions in WWI and WWII, respectively. No, my focus was more on, “Nicole’s friend is coming up to visit this weekend and I am totally going to get her shirt off.”

And in college, papers had a page requirement that I was obsessed with: under any circumstances, even if I had to write the same sentence two or three times in a row, I was getting that fucking paper to seven pages. You can take that to the bank, Professor Bitch! Now give me my B, B-, or B+ already so I can go to take some Stackers and get fucked up at MaryAnn’s!

But this writing a) I actually care about; and b) I can not force. Sure, I have certain requirements as to length, but that’s not an issue (I’m never at a loss for words when it comes to writing about jerking off in the shower). The major issue is making it as “good” as I can. And you can’t force that; you’re either feeling it or you ain’t. And this bothers me. I guess this is what “responsibility” is. I figured I would have to learn about this someday, but I was hoping I’d do so after death. Oh well. Still, there’s something to be said for sitting in front of a computer from 10pm until 5am, debating with yourself, “So, should I use ‘poo’ or ‘poop’ here? I like the brevity of ‘poo’, but I like the extra umph that ‘poop’ gives you. God, my parents must be proud.”

Anyway, I’m rambling here. Again, I apologize for my lack of posting. But I won’t apologize too much, because pretty soon I’m going to rock your fucking world. So for now, send me your disdain, and I will accept it. But also send me some good vibrations, because I need those also. (And know that I’m thinking of you quite often – this hasn’t been easy for me either.) Until then, godspeed, and we will speak soon.

[Wish me luck on my flight to Seattle. Six and a half hours! This better be worth it. But I feel like my old roommate Ben and I are just going to spend 96 straight hours drinking cheap beer and ordering diner food for delivery in his apartment.]

[Actually, that sounds kinda good and would be worth it. God, I am so easy to please. Except for all the weird sexual stuff I’m into, what with the blood and biting and feces and all. Moving on…]

[And if I die in a plane crash, know that I will be satisfied that one of the last sentences I wrote on here ended with “blood and biting and feces.” If it’s my time, I’m ready.]



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