It feels like I’m running in place, running another dent deeper into the ground, and now I’ve made myself sick again. Lately I’ve been doing nothing much else but sleeping. I think I got too mentally overwhelmed with things. I got personal shit, mixed with a long “to-do” list, and this damn book is going to be the death of me.
Sometimes, my brain fills with blood and anger thinking about how many hours I’ve racked up concentrating on needless worries, obsessing on useless tasks, trying my hand, desperately, toward futile goals. I suppose you don’t figure this shit out until you’re old. What the hell am I doing?? Where did the time go?
Despite the grim — albeit obviously sarcastic title of this post (you have to point that out to people sometimes), I do have some good news a’brewing. It’s big, so I’ll leave it for later down the post. This also gives me some time to hear back from my contact person as to whether I can speak about it yet. But geez, now I’m making it sound bigger than it is. I swear, this post is not going to be much different than my others. I shouldn’t have said anything. How do I get myself into these pickled predicaments? Gah.
Hi. Anybody out there? Are you still with me? Am I writing into the ether? Well, aren’t we all. It’s hard to come to terms with the idea that there’s no one there. There might be. Who are we writing to? The ether is my friend. Embrace the fucking ether!
No, it is not my birthday. Believe it or not, after wrapping more than 250 pieces of art — that’s both mine and of my collection of others’ — and I have 49 left to go.
