Skip to main content

Now I know much better.

I think I have writer's block. Probably. That or I'm just fabulously uninspired these days. That's a thing that happens, I guess, with some cyclicity. I tried to sit down and write about zombies the other day. It didn't go quite as well as I hoped it would. Lots of writing, erasing, rewriting, and erasing. I remember when I sat down and wrote fifteen pages in one sitting. Now I'm under the impression that it's a good night if I can sit down and write fifteen words that stick. All of the ideas are bouncing around up there, it's just that I can't get them to precipitate the way I want them to. My sounding board has up and left. I've lost my ground. Which, I guess, means it's time to start a different project.

Maybe I'm just working too much. Too much work, not enough outlet.

We made $150 playing the street corner on Saturday night. Just an hour of playing. And I busted the drumhead. Split it wide open after the first song. And yet, things still went well. They thought that was the coolest thing. Someone tipped us with a six-pack of beer. Leslie came and danced with us. Someone tried to patch my drum with duct tape while I was playing. Also made $20 after the split. And, most importantly, had a lot of fun. It makes me wonder, really wonder, why I would ever think about doing anything else. Besides, you know, play music all the time. That would be a fulfilling life.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

You ended weak, but you started.

This is something I feel very strongly about. So strong are my emotions about it, in fact, that I have haphazardly drafted this singular post about it on the fly. I hope, for your sake, that you are seated as I deal with this incredibly important social issue and say controversial things--the likes of which give women the vapors. Shorts. I fucking hate shorts. I hate them because you can't look cool in them. Think about it. Have you ever seen an action hero save the world wearing shorts? No. Action heroes wear pants. Men wear pants. People who save the world wear pants. Pants, pants, pants. Nobody wears shorts excepts, like, stoners, lazy guys, and dudes. And bros. Those archetypes do not do adventurous things. Indiana Jones? Pants. Robocop? Pants. Flapjack? Pants. Bear Grylls? Pants. Australian stereotypes? Shorts. Australia really likes to try to censor their internet content. That doesn't sound so awesome and/or manly to me. To prove my conclusion that shorts a

And I hope they burn in hell.

I am really tired of living with or near people. I hate having a roommate. I hate coming home after a long day to sulk in my room only to find myself in the company of a noisy person who likes to watch sports talk shows with the volume too high. I hate living next to people that can use my bathroom. I came back to the dorms this weekend to find my sink covered in hair from somebody shaving and knocking the razor in it. It was black hair. I didn't shave and my roommate doesn't have black hair. These are people who seem to have no problem peeing on the toilet seat and leaving it like that. They are animals and I hate them. But, regardless of my unrivaled hatred for the subhuman cretins with whom I involuntarily share my living space, I pledge not to do anything aside from be passive aggressive. I won't put bleach in their contact solution, I won't secretly take chemicals from the lab and mix it into their mouthwash, I won't put my bodily fluids on their person

No, Holmes, no!

All I ever think about these days is how much I have to/want to study. I hope that's not how I have a good time, now. Would I rather go hang out with peeps or would I rather sit in and study? It is a difficult question to answer. Just a couple more days and then I can focus all my energy on the next greatest idea I've ever had: iconic detectives and sharks.