We Need to Talk About Malice

I know. Where have I been? What have I been doing? What's the play?

It's never been concretely defined but this space suffered an identity crisis earlier this year. A writing exercise. A confessional. A spin machine. A misdirection planter. There's always the question of who's reading this and how do I want to address them? Because I don't want to share the same message with enemies and friends and perfect strangers. That's why so many of these posts turn out so maddeningly oblique. Few things thrill me less than hearing the words, "I was reading your blog..."

I've downsized my social world. I see far fewer people than I used to. I've had to reevaluate what's important to me. What can I live with. What can't I live without.

What do I not need in my life at this moment?

I have trouble watching some comedies I used to like. The problems on a typical episode of 30 ROCK seem so offensively trivial sometimes, I can't relate. It's hard to laugh at the silly inconveniences of the well-off.

I'm still in the process of regrouping after all the failed promises of this past year. This path I've chosen, it doesn't get easier and it certainly doesn't get easier to explain to people who've never gone for broke on something that MEANS something to them deeply. I'm less tolerant of people who don't understand.

The hours on the latest money gig are long and it's been harder to write. All of it is temporary but I can't afford to not be writing. So I'm pushing myself. Because nothing else matters anymore. This is the only thing I've got at this stage. And all those things in life that regular people enjoy -- love, traveling, assorted extracurricular activities -- all of those things will have to wait for another day. All I have is my writing. One day, I'll get to be a human being again.

Gun Control

The days are so long on this gig, I can barely keep my eyes open at times. I blink and my eyes want to stay shut. They stick closed as if fighting against some increasingly viscous adhesive.

November. Midpoint of November. Next week, we are already staring down the barrel of Thanksgiving. This year is rapidly, relentlessly drawing to a close. So much I want to do, NEED to do, and I feel like I am fucking sleepwalking.

Trying to shake this off.

Cannot succumb to the never-ending waiting game. Got to keep working on new material. We have no control over the things we have no control over. Need to keep moving forward.

November. I wish I could relax into the comforting stupor of the holiday season like everybody else but it's just a reminder of everything I needed set up by now. 2012 goals yet to be met. No positive spin. It is maddening. It is frustrating.

But it just means we work a little harder.

Every day is Anything-Can-Happen Day.

November 2012

Thursday. November 1, 2012.

My impromptu, hurricane-facilitated 5-day weekend comes to an end. While some lines have been partially reopened, most of the subway lines are still shut down including the one that I depend on for this gig. But I'm hitching a ride this mourning. A whopping two-day work week. If I'm lucky.

How I've grown to *dread* the onslaught of November. The 11th hour before the entertainment industry takes a dirt nap for the year. Hope for new business ends with Thanksgiving. A great time to be enjoying radio silence.

Let's go, November. Show me some proof of life.