I see a new morning.
Bright and fresh and ready to be conquered. I feel superior to most, I feel like a champion! NOT. Today, I feel blah. It's a very nice day out today too. Maybe I'll go out for a walk. Putter around. Pick up a decent can opener. I make my cup of the bean, turn on my computer and wait until she boots up. I am thinking of a new day, and how to change it from blah to rah. I need a motivational speaker in my pocket. Whip his ass out and talk to him when I need him. I guess others would say that's when you need a good relationship with god. I dunno. I think god is mad at me, personally. Others would say, I would need a hobby, but I have a hobby.
I edit my novel. That's the biggest hobby you can think of. Sitting around, reading the work you've created, and if you made as dismal a work as I have, you'll understand why I'm down in the dumps. My book is depressing. You may wonder: Who would want to read a depressing book. Waitaminute. I didn't say that it didn't have action, suspense, and adventure, I said it was depressing. There is a marked difference between this and just plain...depressing.
But it has got to be done. I have got to finish it. And then I can just sit back and work on the business end of book publishing. Something that I have always neglected. Something that I have always withdrawn from. It's just not as exciting as creation. It lacks a lot of the action, adventure. It's just one rejection letter after another. It seems the same as with my damn job resumes. There just aren't any jobs out there no more than there are book publishers out there. Well, my boy, what does that mean? It means that I'm stuck.
I'm stuck between two rocks and two hard places. I am cramped for room. There is no escape. My life is trying to choke me, to finish me. But I still survive. I still hold on. I still continue to fight, because that's how I do. I'm good like that. I'm going to keep on trying to kick ass until one day my foot connects with some ass. That's the game plan. It's the jail mentality. While I'm incarcerated and treated like an animal, let me train, get in in shape, rethink my mind to fuck up motherfuckers when I get out, so that when I do get out, and encounter motherfuckers, I can fuck them up.
You have to be an animal to survive sometimes, and those refusing to roll over and play dead, will become such over time. I'm a survivor. I will eat you if we crash atop the Andes Mountains and you die in the crash and I'm alive and starving. I swear, I will eat you from head to toe. I will be the one that escapes the haunted house in one piece before Satan sucks the entire building into Hell. I will be the guy left on Night of the living dead, with the hot chick even after all of the other dudes are eaten. I'm not fucking around. I don't want to die until it's my time. And I'll know when that time is. It's coming soon, this much I know, but until then I'm going to keep on plugging away.
The door bell rings. Now I ask you. Who in the Hell is ringing my doorbell? I stand up and check. It's Snow White! Holy Shit! I'm supposed to have an apartment inspection today. I let her in and she walks around, asking questions. I answer them. That's how I do. I'm good like that. It takes five or six minutes for the entire inspection and to sign a few forms and she was gone. That's the only company I've had in my room for months. It's just me in the space pod. I realize that now. I'm alone here.
I have to get out more. I have to write less... whoa... now you're talking crazy. I have to type a ream of paper every day or it's not a good day. Write less? What the fuck is going on in my mind? I must be going crazy now. Talking about writing less. I need to get my shit published. I need to get people to look at my work and put it before the masses. I need to work harder on the business end of publishing, like I said, and get the job done. I think I can do this. I think it'll be easier than trying to get a job in this depressed economy.
Like anyone, I just need one chance to show my shit. One chance to shake my bacon. The sun falls on another day spent in the space pod. I really have to stop this shit. Tomorrow is Monday. I'm walking out just for shits and giggles. Just to get some fresh air. Well, I do that shit every morning at some obnoxious hour and go shopping. I don't think I have to go shopping tomorrow so I'm good. So I spend the day, alone, typing, not really here, because my Novel has me spanning the galaxy, traveling the Orion Arm. I am happy. But a little low. My spirits are dragging. It may just be the novel. It could be weighing my heart down.
Big K pops up on IM. Suddenly. Right in the middle of my editing. I don't want to talk (write) to her at first, I'm busy and she seems like she's in too happy a mood for me. I multitask and I continue to edit. She is still interested in my car, still wondering how much things will cost. I give her figures off the top of my addled head, and then we talk about life in general and I let on that today is a bad day for me. I'm not in that great a mood. Mood? That was like a switch to her. She was suddenly a motivational speaker. She got me wound up in no time. Suddenly I was on the ball again. Back to my old self.
I was surprised. Completely. How a few good words from close friends can uplift the spirits. This was good. It was a great day, she was going out for a run! Take care Hobobob!! Take care, Big K. I smile. She made my day.
Night creeped up on me quickly, and before I know it, I'm in the dark again. Not that there is a lot of light in my room to begin with. But the night is traveling through again, and it will find me up. I shake my head. It's like having a prison sentence. I'm not going to cry. I'm just going to do my time in stir, and get to work....on my Novel.
What a life!
HobobobSource URL: http://idontwanttobeanythingotherthanme.blogspot.com/2009/11/amoral-stories-heard.html
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