The Rat Burning Rubber

I didn't know what I was.

The next doobie launched me so far into orbit that I didn't know that I was a human being. I felt as if I was an alien. I lost the ability to use the computer. I struggled with some of the most easiest commands, until time passed. I floated for a long time. It felt like an eternity. I am fine. I slowly came back to the world. Piece by piece. I have to stop with the dope and do something else with my free time, like write. Write Just Write.

That's one thing that I've lost track of. My writing. I have to find the time to get busy again, and it's hard to find that time when I'm trying to figure out what my legs are. Although, strangely I faxed my excuses to FEGS WECARE. Amazing. So stoned that I had no idea what my hands did when I wasn't looking at them and the next, I faxed the damned paperwork off. I surprise myself sometimes.

I sat down and read email for the most of the day though. I didn't write until later on in the evening, but my brains could not form anything creative. I have nothing to write about. I'm just hoping that I will not oversleep tomorrow. I will be in deep, deep shit if that happens. These people at the recertification place do not take any shit from you. Nothing. They have zero tolerance to any excuses. Just come in late and see what happens.

That's why I'm not fucking around with these people.

Write. Focus on your next article, get your ass in gear. If you want to be a writer then you'd better bust caps because WEDONTFUCKINGCARE will bust caps for you. I work on the handbook, pushing that farther and farther. I'm trying to do something. I feel like a rat trapped in a corner. I'm hyper, ready to jump out of my skin but I have nowhere to go with my skinless body. I feel like I can bleed electricity. My body wants to jump and leap about. I don't know if its joy, or the feeling of being confined. I wonder how far I walked today in miles. It must have been a lot, although I'm not tired still. My body is not sore. With this kind of walking, I don't see why I should ride the train anymore. I feel that glorious.

I used to have to eschew the way because I didn't have the money to ride it, and man was I much slimmer. Walking from 59th street is only a stone's throw away from 42nd street. 42nd street is midtown. I can walk from midtown to the upper west side. DAMN! I feel good. I feel like I've done something constructive for my body instead of all the negatives. I'm not saying that I treat my body bad, I've just haven't done it this good for a long time.

I'm frustrated. A man that can't fix the Rubik's Cube of life. I'm turning the fucking thing but the colors are not lining up. What the fuck?? Sweat beads on my forehead. I'm spinning my wheels and not moving anywhere. What happened to me? Where was I going before this happened to me? Did I have a direction? Did I have a purpose? Of course I did. I just can't remember what it was supposed to be. I've lost track of all of my goals. All of them. I'm only reacting to the world and not being proactive. That's a problem because I set out on this trek for a reason, and if I've lost that, then all of this is for nothing. I'm a fraud.

Write. I've got so much finished work just sitting there doing nothing. I have to do something with it. They'll never do me any good if I don't try to move them. That's the next thing that I'm going to do, push my work into the market. When I'm looking for a job, I'm also going to look for an editor, and I have to revamp my working on getting some cable show, like HBO or Showtime interested in my series. It's a fucking good screenplay, I know it is. How does someone get a fucking screenplay looked at for development?

The tires are done spinning tires and burning rubber. It's time to take off.

Tomorrow is a new day.

Hobobob