November 14, 2012

Y’all, I can’t bring my ass to grow up.

This isn’t just because I stayed up until 5:30 this morning reading X-Files fanfiction and watching Peter Bogdanovich’s take on Noises Off. Good heavens no. Not even because I can’t help but think about how At Long Last Love was a fucking terrible piece of American Cinema save Eileen Brennan and Madeline Kahn tap dancing with Cybill Shepherd in the dressing room of a fancy department store. EVEN THEN: let’s talk about ankle flexibility, shall we?

This month, I’ve been trying to do NaNoWriMo. I’ve been failing really hard at it, and, just, LOLZ. I can’t handle the amount of stress I’m under without a flippin’ outline. FUCK. THAT. NOISE. Here’s the quandary. I cannot force myself to sit down and do anything. I should be at around 25k words right now. I’m at….7. Not a huge deal in the grand scheme of writing, right? Probably not. The thing is, I’ve either grown out of NaNo, or I’m not grown up enough to discipline myself into a proper schedule. I want to be an “a little at a time” person; but even that seems like pulling teeth. I seem to be the perennial teenager, who, by the grace of God, has a job that pays my bills. I don’t even know.

Today I slept in until 3pm! Unacceptable! I wanted to get up, do some laundry, go to the bank, get my computer looked at….instead I scraped to the bottom of my clean laundry bin and found the Starbucks card my great grandmother got me for my birthday (in May, no less) and now I’m sipping peppermint flavored capitalism less than a block from my house.


How does a person change themselves into a productivity machine?

How can a person get 45k words written in 15 days?

Why am I terrible at life?



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