I’m gonna write. I need to write. Nah, I got nothing to say. Yeah, this time I mean it. I’m gonna post again! Just not tonight. My ideas are dumb. I’m gonna whine. But I need to.
The back-end of this blogging platform over the past month is littered with single sentence, untitled drafts, and bad ideas.
I’m happy. I’m sad. I had a good run. I had a bad run. I’m so tired of this weather. Where is spring?! Son-of-a-bitch, “True Detective” is an amazing show. Frank Underwood is the biggest jerk ever. (All true topics I tried to start writing about)
I was doing so well writing oddly emotional missives in January too. Then I met a her that involved good food, company, and by proxy, a life that has not solely consist of work, running, and television. Living will create disruption, especially to the emotional flow of my writing.
And yeah, I’m a little more, um, guarded too, because that particular person is reading. Maybe the word I am looking for is self-conscious? Age has actually made me so much better at ignoring that. Those opinions of others. But still. I don’t want to be misconstrued.
Sometimes I riff here, say stupid stuff for effect (No, not everything I write here is true. Sometimes, I just wanna sound stupid-witty.)
Actually, I’m sort of pissed at myself for not writing sooner, now that I’m sitting here writing after I have not posted in a month. I like to write. I need to write. Typing irons out the wrinkles in my thinking that is my rotten neurotic brain. Well, this type of typing does, not the work type of typing that creates knots sometimes.
And I get to safely practice my typo killing skills here. Typos. My bane. The cross I bear. Bah.
Sometimes it all needs to be released before my emotions spew forth in messy chunks onto someone’s lap like a man who drank too much. Oh, and running helps too. The food, the company, and the frigid winter though have led me to be a little softer in the middle. Trying to keep up with the pace group I ran with in the fall is a hard thing to do now.
And that’s making me sad too. Where the hell is the nice spring weather? This winter has been wretched.
Anyway, so, now that I’m writing this post I realize I’m sad and pissed. And content. How do people deal with being content?
I don’t know if I’ll ever get the hang of that last concept. I do neurotic, listless, restless, deeply insecure, unsatisfied, self-critical, self-absorbed, judgy, kind, supportive, and pompous pretty well.
I also like listening to myself talk, or write, even if no one else is listening, or reading.
Content, though. What does that even look like?
I’m always afraid I’ll miss out on something, so I’ll avoid it. Well, I’ll end up avoiding all the really important stuff that may lead to a state of contentment.
And yes, looking back at the last couple paragraphs, I am also crazy, and honest. Way too honest. But I have the least problem with being honest because I have the biggest problem with calculated, disingenuous bullshit.
But the time away from the blog did create a couple other interesting situations.
I got an email from some graphic designer wanting to use this 2011 self-portrait I posted here in some national ad campaign for an international non-profit.
It all sounded legit. I even floated it by someone who knew someone who does that type of work. They said, yup, legit.
Problem is, I was a little defensive in my first response to said graphic designer, grilling him for details about what my image would be used for. I think I put him off a bit and have not heard back from the agency in a couple of weeks.
If you are reading dude, seriously, I’m game. There’s something very flattering about someone wanting to use my mug in an ad campaign (even if my mother thought it looked like I might be laying in a casket. See where I get my sunny disposition?).
And then there is this person, who may or may not be reading this, who may or may not be leading to a bit of self-consciousness about my blogging on my part. They are doing this art gallery pop-up thing that I’m participating in. Why am I participating? Because I’ve hung out with this person and their gallery project sounds cool.
I am not cool. I’m the opposite. And I feel even more self-conscious now that the gallery is at hand because, well, there are real artists submitting real pieces of art into a real art show, where art will be sold. I took four pictures of a sun rise with a barge heading down a river into a bank of sunlight and fog. It loosely fits the gallery theme of “cycles.” I placed them in cheap frames to be hung.
Jesus, I think too much, probably. And if my images sell I’ll fight the compulsion to want to go out and by at least a $1,500 camera, because I am now a paid photographer/artist, damn it!
Really, I just want warm weather, to lose some weight, and experience better runs.
And as a relative recluse who lacks strong social skills, I also have a strong urge as I write this to put my dog in the pick up and drive south to some place warm and rent a shitty little hotel room and read some bad novel on a beach for a week.
In the end, I’m a simple man, really.