I have a lot of regrets of course but mostly I just wish I wasn’t such a weirdo. No, really, I’m awkward as hell. I’m tall and gangly in a way that makes me not understand my body in space so I am always running into or falling over things. I am covered in bruises. I know all the wrong trivia facts and none of the right ones. When I go to parties or other events I have a hard time knowing where to place my hands or how to stand. Once I tried out a bunch of different ways to lean against a wall in what I hoped was a casual way, and I looked up to find the whole party had been watching me and laughing. I am like a little kid who thinks they are invisible when they put a lampshade over their head. Since I’m so weird I spend a lot of time ruminating over the last thing I said. I try to imagine someone saying that to me: would I think that was weird? Do they think I’m weird? Do I care? I just feel sorry for myself is all. It’s weird, being so weird.
“You just keep acting like a goddamn spook all the time, James.” -Wonderboys
Doubtless you remember my story “The Significance of the Bear,” from previous posts. You can find it here at Monkeybicycle.
And here’s a blog post I wrote for Thumbnail about writing called “Never any Money.” The message is that there’s no money in writing. There, that’s it, now you don’t have to read it.
Declared new years resolution: be less narcissistic = epic fail. Unspoken new years resolution: eliminate/severely limit use of the word “like” in both writing and speech = going a little better. That’s all kittens. I love you.