I'm Tired of Pretending I'm Not Special

Sick as a dog on Friday yet screwed up all the energy I could to pretend I wasn't so I could go on a date that I knew wasn't going to be a big deal. And it wasn't a big deal. The actual date was as effortless as you could ever hope for in a first date. Aside from the fact that I was trying to conceal that I was revoltingly ill. And I had to excuse myself to go to the bathroom and vomit... and vomiting when you haven't eaten anything in over a day is always more revolting... but even given all of that, I thought the date went over extremely well.

Saturday was dedicated to getting the rest that I'd needed all of Friday. Considered going to a social engagement Saturday night, but I just wasn't quite at 100% and it didn't seem worth the toll.

So. Saturday night. Alone. NYC. Sketching out the architecture of a new script that may or may not be called "The Harrowgate Horror". Something I should have completed days before and yet the details sometimes materialize so slowly. It's maddening and I wish I could be faster. When I'm trying to juggle multiple projects, they all suffer a slow-down in progress.

But, it's quality and not quantity, right?

No. It needs to be quality *and* quantity. This is the world right now. No escape from this. (Except through drugs/booze/death.)

Doesn't matter what I'm capable of. What matters is what I'm capable of completing and putting out there. And even THAT doesn't matter if it doesn't have a material effect in getting me further along path I need to travel.

Excerpt from Gail Simmons blog about the last episode of TOP CHEF: ALL STARS:

Richard clearly almost had a heart attack when Padma psyched him out. I thought he was going to jump over the table and strangle her. He started to say, “How could you do that to me?” I’ve never met a more stressed-out chef than Richard Blais. I wish he would have some more self-confidence because his food is so good and he’s such a confident cook, but he’s such a struggling soul. He’s wrestling with his demons at all times. Poor man.

This made me laugh. The guy was a big winner this week, she makes an offering of praise to the man, and yet her appraisal of him closes with pity. "Poor man." Putting aside the fact that reality television like TOP CHEF is designed to create as much drama as possible out of every moment—and that Blais's barely-averted meltdown was the sort of thing producers and editors of that show DESIRE and TRY TO PROVOKE—there is something genuinely heartbreaking that's revealed in that split-second of television. The guy is so talented and yet there is always this voice inside of him that is saying, "Maybe you're just not good enough today."

I know I'm good. Occasionally, I marvel at some of the things I'm able to write. I will stare at the screen objectively and quietly think, "Wow, this is really interesting. Whoever wrote this has got something serious to contribute to the world."

This happens.

But more often, I am banging my head against the wall. Because I know it's not enough to be good. It's not enough to be better. I've got to shoot through the sky just to get noticed. I know I'm capable of amazing things and yet sometimes it's a struggle for me just to walk out of the door.

There's something I admire about this extended Charlie Sheen multimedia meltdown extravaganza. Everything he's doing spells "TRAINWRECK" and "spectacular failure"... and yet, he's driving his stakes into the ground and broadcasting one message: "I don't care how you see me: I OWN THE GALAXY."

Everyone is laughing at him. Everyone thinks he's gone completely apeshit. And he's taken all that attention and remodeled the derision into a crystal castle. To the point where it doesn't matter what anyone says or thinks about him. He's happy.

And he's rich.

I'd like to be rich and happy.