All this feels wrong. Every sentence gets deleted and rewritten and shitty. My work voice has overtaken my creative voice absolutely; I mean, I just used a goddamn semicolon in a blog post. This isn't the New Yorker! Or Highlights! This was Exit Theory. It all used to flow so naturally. Honestly, it feels good to get all this out and admit how awful I am now. Blank slates are always good, right? Blankness, or the inherent blankicity of things, seems to be a common theme I've touched on twice in two paragraphs. Let's make it a blog post!
I get wrapped up easily in appearances. For years I've tried to impress people by doing what I think they would want me to do to impress them. Read that sentence again, and hit yourself with a hammer. This is how I thought, and it's how a crazy person thinks. These rules which seemed so important are actually very dumb, and were always this way. It's a lot like trying to recapture the "good times," as nebulous and treacherous as those can be--things today are smaller, and more insignificant, and how didn't you see that before, you dummy?
One could spend time focusing on the past, and mistakes, and shames. And indeed I do, and often, as I find myself startled awake just before dozing off, remembering how I accidentally shook a man's hook instead of his left hand. And that's just a "for instance," but really, that's the kind of thing that shoots into my brain right at the moment of slumber. I suppose it's better than a gun? It's certainly no less startling. But again, these are the types of things a person--a bearded, lazy, out-of-practice, back-in-the-game idiot--needs to embrace.
Regrets just get to be so much baggage. So, I'm going to say goodbye to my old way of doing things. I'm going to bite into the neck of life and shake the shit out of it until I feel confetti or whatever courses through life's veins dripping from my chin. Bring it on, huge Blogger work space. Time to see whose proverbial penis is the biggest!
