Yesterday evening met me with bad habits. Or, I was practicing bad habits I’ve know for too long now. This morning, too, for that matter. I get tired of the fight a lot faster than I used to. I’m showing my age. You know that spark in me you saw in the first three posts? Faded. I am who I am and who I am is hard to change in this environment.

Still, I get credit for coming here and scribbling something down. If you’re looking for something magnificent, now’s not the time. I feel as though I can barely string a sentence together, let alone making that sentence have merit. Oh well, at least I’m here, soon my writing pecks will be swollen and rippled and accentuated with a revealing t-shirt.

There are times with my woman when I can’t help but feel as though I’ve been manipulated. Turns out I’m pretty easy to manipulate. The dull feeling of uncertainty hiding some shame and guilt. They aren’t far off in the distance, just within sight. Almost stalking. Waiting for that moment of weakness.

I need her though. Just like she needs me. Tough times and our personality traits make this truth painfully obvious. The love is there too, you know. We enjoy one another’s company very much. That first couple of sentences are valid and there, but don’t think they out weigh the next couple of sentences. Cause they don’t.

So I’m supposed to write a book, huh? That’s what I said in my first super ambitious post here. Write a free novel for all to read. Write the great American novel and make no money off of it. Money or recognition. Sounds eerily like my art career. Blah, I digress. I’m just being nervous and trying to diminish my spirit or the spirit fo accomplishing something grand.

I do believe I can write something, and write something well. It’s the commitment. The lengthly practice of it. I’m the type of feller who, when into something, I’m way into it. Which is good. I love that fascination. Trouble is the burn out factor. That burn out factor has cost me a lot of accomplishments in the past. A lot. I’m sure it’s more common than just in me. I’m not tragically unique. That recognized, I have a deep reverence for it.

I am girding my loins in preparation for the burn out factor. I need to do something, in spite of myself. I’d rather have this skill set than being great at Star Craft 2. Not even great, moderately good.

Sad face.

OK, enough bemoaning. I gots me a plot to create.


Yeah, second post in a day. Pretty crazy, right? I’m a special kind of nuts. Or just nuts. Or just special.

I’m trying to augment my behavior. My life right now consists of mindlessly surfing the internet, occasionally going out to help out grandma, and abating boredom. You see, I have too much free time on my hands. No job, no social life, and no real prospects. I’m working to change two of those. The jobs and prospects part. Writing this here blog, this is the prospects part. Looking for work I have been doing diligently for the past week. In case you’re wondering, looking for work is the jobs part. So with jobs searched and the future there still barren, I turn here. At least I can control how much and how well I do at this.

I am not allowing myself the empty calories I usually indulge myself in when on the computer. Limited flash games, news, and trivial surfing. Consider this a cyber diet. I’ve done these before and all with the grace of a poor girl suffering from bulimia. The binges are gross; the purges worse. Is this purge mode? Not sure. Comforted by that uncertainty, too. I’ll just do the best I can with what I have.

So the longer plan thus far is just to do these two things, write and jobs, every week day for an extended period. When I get a job, undoubtedly things will change in that regard. Writing. I’ll just have to keep plugging away at that. I’ll look for something significant for myself in there. Something I can redirect others to when they wonder who and what the fuck I’m about.

My Second

My presence here is abrupt. My presence here on WordPress, I mean. I suspect my girlfriend and I are at an end. I say “suspect” because with us, it’s just never certain. That’s the grind.

I hurt her yesterday. Inadvertently. Deeply. Couple days earlier, she hurt me. Now, I’m putting some distance between us. She can breathe and think. I, my job in this is to look for some direction and purpose in my life. “Direction” is the big buzz word there. “Purpose” helps to give it weight.

Last night saw me having issues sleeping. Thinking about what the fuck to do with myself. The last time I was doing something with myself was Art. I’m not going to test your patience with the topic. Believe me, I can. Let’s just say Art and I are like a long term marriage where both participants need to take a break. We’re on that break.

We’ve been on that break for almost two years now. In that time, I’ve been adrift. Finances are 0. Career: menial. Social life: antisocial. My past year has been especially abstract. Goals have been severely limited, accomplishments more so. I’ve no pride, I’ve no peace, and happiness has been squandered too. Woe is me.

Back to last night and the nagging question of “What am I to do?” How do I demonstrate a personal or professional accomplishment to the world? To anyone, really.

I write.

Write what?

Don’t know. Something significant.

No, by no means is any of this significant. Yet. The plan is to grow. Write a novel here on the internet. Keep it free. Accessible. Blog daily, get a small audience, let people know me and who I am. Introduce them to the novel I have yet to start. I have no plot, no characters, no ideas, and questionable writing talent. Still, here I go.

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