Screw it

Well, today I have apparently decided to be pointlessly, directionlessly miserable and pissed off, which is productive.

Part of it’s the fact that I don’t get any time to myself unless I get up at three in the morning. This weekend has been particularly busy and that’s fine, but it pisses me off after a while. There’s no point starting a writing session if there’s an end-cap on it. I can’t explain why, but if you understand then you understand and if you don’t then there’s no fucking point in telling you about it. I can’t start if I know when I have to finish. Especially when it’s in about a fucking hour. I’m going to have to start getting up super-early on weekends too, and I’m great company on four hours’ sleep a night.

Part of it is stress over work, the general atmosphere and the project deadlines and just wanting to be doing something else instead. Boo hoo, don’t we all. I guess I’m just impatient and want unrealistic things. Boo hoo, don’t we all.

Part of it is this God damn bag of shit taped to my stomach that doesn’t seem to have any sort of visible leak but which periodically wafts a maybe-imaginary nose-full of invisible and completely unpreventable shit-reek into my God damn face. All the fucking time.

Part of it is that I have maybe an hour today, by myself, doing what I want to do, and 1 hour in 48 is good for me and it’s one hour more than Mrs. Hatboy ever gets but she never seems to complain, and I complain all the damn time, and that makes me feel bad all over again. And I still need to go and do my walking, because otherwise I feel even worse, and groceries, and all the other stupid annoying chores I have to do. Fuck it. Fuck it all.

Just want to sit and stare at a fucking wall for a day.

Thanks for listening.

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4 Responses to Screw it

  1. aaronthepatriot says:

    Sorry to hear it man, but I definitely feel you. It’s not that you want to say your writing, your new career (toi toi) is more IMPORTANT than everything else, but sometimes it would be damn nice if the world would indicate to you that it might possibly empathize and GRANT you that it is more important *temporarily* so you don’t have to be a dick and think it/say it yourself. Something like that?

    I mean, not important forever just…top of the priorities would be nice just long enough for you to reach the next stage. But you can’t say it because then you’re a jerk for saying it. So instead…frustration. I often felt/feel this way about my vocal training. I wish there were a happy ending to that one but so far looks like the opera/soloist career is what’s in the tank, not anything else that, yes, yes, must come first, but maybe for a little while…? FML as they say.

    And as to the knowing there’s a time constraint, I think I understand although I don’t have anything similar in my pursuits. I can cram whatever into whatever time, but I know (secondhand from authors) that that ain’t how it works with writing. The closest thing I can think of is that if I am trying to sing well, and I have too much shit going on preoccupying my mind, I will not succeed. I would imagine somehow you could channel some of those preoccupying thoughts into your writing style for the bit of a book you are on. But when it comes to singing with proper technique and emotion and musicality, I need to have a clear mind so I can become the role of the person singing that aria.

    So, you have my sympathies. The causes for frustration may be different, but I know what it is to WANT to achieve something you DAMN WELL KNOW you can achieve if only, and to be prevented by LIFE.

    • stchucky says:

      Sorry to hear it man, but I definitely feel you. It’s not that you want to say your writing, your new career (toi toi) is more IMPORTANT than everything else, but sometimes it would be damn nice if the world would indicate to you that it might possibly empathize and GRANT you that it is more important *temporarily* so you don’t have to be a dick and think it/say it yourself. Something like that?

      Something like that, and thanks again. But sometimes I just get dug down into one of these moods and nothing really helps and everything is crap. I will say that I was at about 51% will to live, then after venting I was at 52%, then I took a long walk and was at 55%, then I got home and told Mrs. Hatboy we had to shoot the healthy smoked fish wok in the head for the night and have greasy fast food instead, and she concurred. That took me to 65%. Now I’ve had a good 4 hours’ sleep and feel like my old self again.

      Still, right now I am supposed to be between books and taking a break from it all, but that’s not how it works. Always something to write. And even if there wasn’t something to write, sometimes I just get overwhelmed by the amount of my life that is for other people. Now when those other people are my wife and kids, that’s a no-brainer and an easy bit of arithmetic to perform, and when it’s extended family and friends it’s still something I am very willing to do, and when it’s work, shit, man’s got to eat. But 100%, all the time … no, sometimes a man also has to whine like a big selfish jerk.

      And as to the knowing there’s a time constraint, I think I understand although I don’t have anything similar in my pursuits. I can cram whatever into whatever time, but I know (secondhand from authors) that that ain’t how it works with writing.

      Yeah, well, sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t. Technically, unless I have a whole weekend to myself or something (like I get maybe once a year), it’s never going to be open-ended. There’s always some cap on it. If I get up at 03:00, I still need to start work at 07:00 or 08:00. But that can slide a bit, it’s not a pens-down scenario that’s set in stone.

      Yesterday, though, I probably wouldn’t have gotten anything constructive done even if I’d had 8 hours.

      And now I have officially wasted enough time here!

  2. dreameling says:

    Part of it is that I have maybe an hour today, by myself, doing what I want to do, and 1 hour in 48 is good for me and it’s one hour more than Mrs. Hatboy ever gets but she never seems to complain, and I complain all the damn time, and that makes me feel bad all over again.

    Dude, I can relate, is all I can say. *sigh*

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