Sometimes, you have to write when you’re not feeling like writing. Sometimes, you have to do things that you don’t want to do because you know you need to. This is one of those times, but it’s been so long that I don’t feel like NOT writing. Please forgive me, but it’ll take a little while before I’m able to sit down and write a comprehensive report on not only the reasons why I haven’t been writing but also what has happened to me in the 148 days since my second-to-last post.
Obviously, my project was a failure, but I have a really good excuse. It’s a seriously good excuse rooted in poverty and machanical difficulty. You’ll love it. You’ll love what I’ve been doing in the interim. You’ll love it so much that you’ll keep reading long after I’ve ceased to say anything at all, and that’s the whole point of this. No, that’s not actually the point, but it’s close. Who really needs to say anything when you can repeatedly say absolutely nothing with such skillful aplomb, eh?
Being a skilled writer has its perks. It also has it’s downfalls, but those are mostly rooted in the criticisms associated with those who lack the skill. There’s no reason to say anything that anyone has to say unless they’re trying to convince you of something, even if that means they’re only trying to convince you that you’ve been entertained. They want you to be convinced that you needed the knowledge they imparted. They need you to believe them. That’s why they write. That’s why I write, and since that’s all I can really verify, the sweeping generalizations will just have to do.
I’ve been driving a whole lot. I’ve had some mishaps, and I’ve had some less-than-wonderful encounters with some lovely people. I’ve been living life with barely a break, but I’ve been doing little more than make and spend money. I’ve been working long hours, but the work mostly hasn’t been all that hard. Not for me. I already know just about everything I need to know about what I do for a living. That’s a bit of a sadness, so I take my spare moments trying to connect with strangers. Trying to make the strangers in my life a little less strange by making them a little more familiar. By making myself a little less mysterious to them. Some of them even seem to enjoy it, and it’s those bare moments that make the days a little less lonely and a little more worthwhile.
I told you I wouldn’t say much about what I’ve been doing, and that’s true. I’ve made and lost some good friends. I’ve acquired and relinquished a few opportunities. I’ve been considering what I’ll do next when it’s finally time to move past this stagnant period in my life. Breaking hearts and forgetting names. Killing beers and eating babies. Shooting Bambi’s mother while burning his father alive. Finding transportation that hopefully won’t break every few weeks.
Be yourself. Don’t be me. Don’t make my mistakes. You might not know what those mistakes are, but when I’ve finally had a chance to share them with you, and you’ve finally convinced yourself that I know what I’m talking about and that my mistakes were actually mistakes and not misplayed hands, you’ll be thankful that your mistakes are your own and that my mistakes aren’t yours.