Nothing of Value

Nothing.

Nothing of value. Nothing of any substance. I did nothing today but whine and cry and bitch over the Internet. It's time for me to get to work on the Novel and draw that to a conclusion that I am now racing down to. I'm wrapping it all up suddenly. It' is like it's imploding with all of the loose ends winding their way up and tie-ing together. That's probably why I don't want to work on it so, because I don't want to see it end. But end it must.

Further, I'm growing rancid here. I am not alive, but living. I need to get out and get to some poetry readings. When I have a day to myself I waste it, pouring it out like some kind of votive offering. I won't have many more like this. I need to buck up and DO SOMETHING. Something constructive. Maybe look for a job online. That could cure a lot of my aches and pains.

I am just growing tired of being here. Of being me. I'm just living in a capsule, shut out from the world. I'm not terribly happy. I'm always alone, always lonely. It appears to me now that I've won my court case, now that I've taken care of all of the shit that I was building up before me, I have exhausted any reason for living. It's as if I have no further goals. Nothing else to live for, other than the Internet, and we all know that this is not true. I have a lot to live for, I just don't have any immediate goals. I need rest, that's what I need. Rest from a very active vacation, and slow down, sort things out and align my newly found goals....right?

Paula is getting married. Now is the entire world upside down or what? If shit isn't crazy enough she has to show up with a rock on her finger the size of a thumb. I mean, I'm not upset because of costume jewelry, I'm just alone. There is no one that I want to put a big rock on, or more importantly, that would accept a big rock from me. I am the worst of all husbands. Or all prospective husbands. I'm a hot mess. That's the truth isn't it. Who wants a homeless man as a husband? Who want's an unemployed man as a husband? All I have is potential. Potential that I have not lived up to yet and I'm damn near 50 years old. What do I say about that? Well. I say nothing. I am the maker of who I am, and if I made a hot mess of my life, then that's what it is. I can find someone that accepts me like I am. I know I can.

Let me stop whining. The truth of the matter is that yesterday children were crying 'trick or treat'. And that's what my life is all about. A big series of Tricks or Treats of monumental proportions. I've just been receiving a whole lot of Tricks lately. But I have an answer to this shit.

The time just changed today. Daylight Savings Time baby. We've turned the clocks back an hour and for some reason, when we are on this side of the clock, this side of the hour, my life seems to fall into place. Whatever I do is one big Treat. Everything is successful, so I reach further at this time of the year and get much more done. It works for me. I call it being 'In Wack.' As opposed to when we turn the clocks forward, when I'm 'Out of Wack'. Everything is a Trick for me at this time of the year. I suck. Nothing I do works out. All the works of my hands turn to sand. I try to do as little as I can during this time simply because of this. This also causes my outlook to be more dismal. I'm fighting depression more. I'm fighting suicidal thoughts more.

Yeah, that's true. I have them. But we all do. Don't lie. You do too. You don't cater to them as much as others maybe, but you've wondered about it. It's called 'Ideation'. You wonder. If you act on it, it's called 'tendency'. I don't have suicidal tendencies. I have suicidal ideation. In this time of the year I have that a lot. I mean...THAT time of the year, when I'm out of wack. But now I'm looking up because things are IN WACK, baby! Already things are going well for me. I've been getting nothing back but good news. I don't expect to get any bad news. It's time to do things.

I think I'm getting out this Friday and go to a reading and see some friends in action, shake some hands, get some fresh air, look for a publisher. Maybe that's what I'll do tomorrow. Actively look for a publisher. Give me something to do to support my writing. Instead of just writing. There's is a business quotient to this equation that I'm forgetting, or not willing to do. I have to find an editor that believes in my work, or a publisher that will take on my work. I have to find a fan base that I can write to. Then all will work for me. Then I think when I'm out of Wack I will have enough things cemented down that everything will be in order and unshakeable.

You think I'm talking a lot of shit don't you. Well, I have all of this time that I've made for myself for a reason, to become a writer. To become a published author. To do so I have got to get busy and use this time effectively BEFORE WESHITCARE comes back with their Roach Motel and have me waste my days in there. And that will be a real waste. More of a waste than what I'm doing when I'm inactive. I hate to be inactive. I like to be productive. I like to build things with my hands and put things together in my life. Maybe I'll find a lover this way. Someone that I can sink some of this heartfelt desire into before I turn 50. Once I turn 50 they say that there is a precipitous drop in the outcome that you will find someone in your life. A lot of people are out there looking but few are finding.

That's the problem with living in this world that I'm in. There is very little finding of someone when you are alone. When you don't do anything. Maybe that now that my life is In Wack, I'll find someone when I do something. I don't know. Maybe that shit is just not that important right now. I need to get my life together. Get my act on the road.

I need to do something.
I think I'll get to writing.

Hobobob