wilderworks

Today I'm very excited about getting some potato chips. Here's my plan. One big bag of kettle cooked, hopefully BBQ or jalepeno. Another big bag, Ruffles, ridges, Cheddar Cheese and Sour Cream. I want to eat these with a frosty can of Coke. Sit on my bed and watch West Wing DVDs. I have successfully gotten up before 7:00 AM for three days now. The mornings have been pretty productive, but right now, I'm in agony. I'm staying awake by will power alone. I move by the power of prayer. It seems, just as in high school, my body simply doesn't give a damn how many hours of sleep I got, if I make it move before 9AM, it's not cooperating. It will have its revenge. There's some promise on the dating front, or at least, there's someone who perhaps accidentally got my hopes up. This is promising -- promising to be very disappointing in a slow, sinking disappointment way. Meanwhile, the producer didn't like my proposal for Hell Froze Over , but

After four years of intensive study, I have concluded that all day jobs are bad for me. Once again, this one is killing me. Quickly.  But I cannot escape it, because there aren't going to be any better day jobs than this. There's no place else to explore. Aside from the pay, which could be improved, this is as good as I'm gonna find. Thus, I either slowly tighten until I snap, or I find a way around this immovable object. Each day, I go to work, and by the end of my stay there, my spirit is 100% broken; I just want to go home, drink a few beers, and curl up for sleep. Even when I'm not physically drained, I'm soul tired, uninspired, angry, hopeless, and lonely. So, my plan is this: I'm going to get up early, and try to work for three or four hours every morning, before going to work and having my soul crushed. This is a terrible idea, but terrible ideas are the only ones that seem to materialize in this world, aren't they? We all know, this wil

I've been spending a lot of time with old Darwin's Kids raw footage this week, searching for stuff for our reunion in May, getting ready to patch together some treats for the DVD. And I return to an old state of mind. Four years later? I am quite a pitiful thing. I do not like what I'm doing with my life. I preferred life then. And I don't know how the fuck I can get life to be anything better than this, anything even vaguely similar to what it was then. There is a shortage of resources for doing the things I love, and the jobs that would allow me access to those resources are snatched up by the children of those who have it already, by the connected and well-born. And of course, by the lucky. And of course, by the charming. One of which, I am not. I don't know how to get there from here. I'm out of tricks and schemes. I'm out of ideas. I can't think of anything I want to write, because I have faith in none of it. None of it will get me