Fifteen minutes left in the first day of 2015. I’m drinking tea, herbal tea, with honey in it. I decided I’ve been drinking too much. I’m not worried about my health I just drink automatically now, without really thinking about why or really enjoying it. I enjoy it but I usually drink and then go to sleep within a half an hour, so it kind of wastes the drunk and then I just get up with joint pain and old people shit.
I used to think that if you had fifteen minutes, you could really do something productive. Like why not write five hundred words? Just set a timer and go! Do that every day and after a year, you’ve got a book. Well, maybe fuck that shit. Most of the time I don’t want to start doing that because I’m afraid I’ll get to invested in it and then be sad that I have to stop doing it. And not only is that probably true, maybe those fifteen minutes weren’t even productive, in a real sense of the word. What do I mean by the real sense of the word? I don’t know, productive as in making your life better…? Fuck if I know.
It’s funny too because I was thinking about that while I started writing this post, knowing that I only have like five minutes to write before Wife gets out of the bathroom.
So I guess the point is I am not going to worry about setting timers and doing shit for twenty minutes at a time. If I have to set timers and shit like that, then maybe fuck it, maybe I’m not supposed to write a god damn book twenty minutes at a time.
I really have to clean up my language though. I’d like to get thoughts across in a clear and direct and concise manner. But here I am writing “maybe I’m not supposed to” as if I believe in fate.
That’s what I was thinking today when I was thinking I would drink this tea instead of beer. I was thinking that there are these leftover things in my brain. Like you take away the root assumption but the habits remain. You take out the axis but the spokes of the wheel are hidden all throughout your subconscious. Like when I stopped believing in God or when I stopped believing that material possessions were the measure of success. I want to be in control of my thoughts to the extent that I can, not just relying on old algorithms that I made up a long time ago. Like I used to think that drinking a lot meant that you were cool, and then I thought that drinking a beer is kind of a reward for a day of hard labor. I still kind of believe both of those things, but now it’s not very important for me to be cool, as I’m married and have no fake friends to impress. So now I kind of automatically drink a beer when I get home, but I’m going to stop that shit.
The automatic beer at the end of the day can be harder to kick than the practice of getting obliterated on the weekend.
would it be a good book, written with all that discipline