Since I decided to officially commit to something and set a goal, I'm failing miserably. I've never been good at goals and responsibility, because once some business becomes official and I have to do it, I naturally reject the matter in its entirety and anything within its physical or intangible radius.
So charging myself with the task of blogging daily has resulted in ultimate botchery. Now that I said I would do it, it's a fucking chore. Damn you, Holidailies, for taking something entertaining and squeezing the fun out of it.
Like if someone said, "You must drink excessively every day for thirty-one days at this same bar so you can loudly and crassly converse amongst those with whom you have one thing in common, and that one thing is excessive drinking," I would be really, really excited at first, because that sounds a lot like 2003 to me, and 2003 was fucking awesome.
But then I remember the aftereffect, which I like to call 2004, and was probably the shittiest year of my life. I was all fat and broke, living with my parents, delivering pizzas and grooming dogs and teaching ESL and getting denied into volunteer corps programs (seriously? Even volunteer organizations don't want me?). I was going to change the world until they all told me I wasn't good enough.
And then I think about grad school, and how excited I was to be there at first, and glad to be learning again, and then how after a year of it I was all, "Peace out, snatches, grad school is for trollops and shmranks" because it sucked so hard. And because I committed to furthering my education, so of course I had to quit.
So for now, I'm just going to keep on doing this Holidailies thing very very poorly and collect my "D" for "difficult or tedious undertaking," much like I did for my senior thesis on "The Rhetoric of Protest" at the end of college, a nine-month commitment for an eighty-page paper and forty-five minute presentation and that I researched and wrote in two days. But to my credit, although my Powerpoint had spelling errors and unfinished slides, and the theory I chose was basically inapplicable to my argument (that I have since forgotten), the entire audience agreed that I was far more entertaining than everyone else and a natural speaker in front of a crowd, so that stands for something.
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Addition: My birthday is coming up in like, nine days. So, you know...sweet.
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6 comments:
I've committed to children and tattoos. I figure I'm full up until my next life where maybe I'll come back as an earthworm and will only have to commit to trying to procreate with myself.
Yeah, so I've had a coupla glasses of wine.
Sue me for dreaming.
Ah hahahaha.
Okay then, if I ask you not to blog every day, you'd write every day, maybe even double post?
No chance you'll jump on the exercise bandwagon then, huh?
Just askin'.
I think we share the same birthday. That rocks.
We are continually more alike than I would have thought. Except for the boobs thing. Oh, and I only order pizzas, not deliver them. But other than that, simpatico.
Franki: There is nothing, I repeat, nothing wrong with a few glasses of wine, give or take several bottles, as long as you're drinking Syrah.
Kitty: I think we do have the same birthday. And exercise? That's for the people who are strong of will.
Pistols: Well that's damn eerie. And I don't deliver pizzas anymore, so you know, chalk that one up on the list.
dude, we're both capricorns. my b-day is the 12th.
you summed up my feelings toward grad school perfectly. "Peace out snatches" was exactly what I thought as I took my thesis and ran for the woods to get the fuck out of the insane asylum of academia. I wrote my MA thesis on ritalin in less than a week and now I don't remember what my thesis was about. I remember passing with no revisions though so that kicked ass.
we have a lot in common.
I could feel that about you.
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