What the Fuck Am I Talking About?

I am seventy-five hundred words into this new story and it’s going really well. I started looking over my old stories and counting how many actual new stories I ever wrote versus how many diary entries I wrote. It turns out I haven’t written all that many different stories. I mean there are a lot, but not in comparison to the diaries. So then I thought how much time do I actually spend even writing fiction and it’s not much, cumulatively over the year. 2015 year of new stories. I’m still working on that badger story, thinking of new shit for it etc. Now I spend only a little time writing fiction, between ten minutes to an hour at most per day, but I don’t talk about it as much. I’m only talking about it today because I’ve got some extra time before work and I’ve already exceeded my thousand word limit.

I’m listening to songs from Ok Computer over and over again while I’m writing today, even though I’ve never taken the time to get into Radiohead. I know I should, but I should do everything else, too. I’ve been watching Mad Men episodes again at night. Tonight there’s a party after work paid for by the managers for the staff of the restaurant and I told my book guy I am not going to drink a lot and then I told him the story of getting fired from that restaurant where I was a bartender. The whole story, that might have been a mistake. Another chink in the armor.

I ended up sweeping all over the apartment today, lifting rugs and such looking for this earring that we lost the night of the last big drink. Can’t find it. I guess the cat hid it. It felt a little like spring cleaning. The cat is sitting on the bookshelf with it’s eyes closed like it’s really digging the music. I would like it to be spring, because it is cold, but today it is warmer and there was snow yesterday and now it is melting so fast in the heat that when you walk a tree-lined street like I did with my wife this morning it feels like it is raining as the snow melts from the trees.

Yesterday my wife and I made meatloaf for dinner. While it was cooking I was like, well I got to write a thousand words before bed and she said fuck it just do it now while this is cooking and I did and she folded the laundry. It wasn’t the easiest thousand words I ever wrote, with her there talking to the cat, but I was surprised to find that I could get it done even on a day that we were together. It has been six days since I committed to the idea.

Today I tried to do more pushups but I am really pathetic at them. I have been to the gym three times this month, and my goal is five so, well I think I should make it. I didn’t think it would be this hard, but with the vacation I guess is what made it hard. What the fuck am I even talking about any more? I don’t know, fuck it.

Today I went down to the train to come back home but there were these signs talking about G train to church avenue on this side of the tracks and I thought I was on the wrong side so I went out and came back in on what I thought was the other side and I tried to use my card which is a monthly pass but you can’t use the monthly pass consecutively because you could be letting other people in with your same card so it wouldn’t let me in so I had to use a different card so there went $2.50 and then I went inside and realized I was still on the same sign but this time I was sure it was right and I looked down the track and there was my train but it was too far to run for it and so I had to sit down and wait another ten minutes for a train and I was thinking fuck man! Fuck this shit! New fucking York! God damn it! So then I read some Bleak House on my phone and it passed but I was like god damn it! for a minute there.

I was listening to Marc Maron yesterday and said that Maynard from Tool told him that if you don’t believe in Magic a little bit it’s hard to be creative and I’ve heard that before in a different way but I thought that was a cool way to say it or rather it was a cool person to say it.

Half an hour until I go to work now…feels like it’s been a while since I’ve been in this position of waiting to go to work and not really wanting to go, but here I am all the same. And just last night I thought for the first time that I was excited to have coffee in the morning and already I was doing something fun, watching TV, and I thought that I had achieved whatever it was that I wanted to achieve in life and so it was all downhill from here and downhill is where I’m happiest anyway and anyway it was a slow grade but just enough so I didn’t have to work any more…but now I feel differently and as Chuck Klosterman said, “This is why I will always hate mornings.”

But no, I’m good, I’m cool, I’ve just got too much time today, enough time to be thinking too much about myself. The subconscious mind is the smart one, the conscious mind can’t be engaged too much or your start wondering about shit that you shouldn’t be wondering about…again, what the fuck am I talking about?

This is what you get. Oh, Jesus Fuck I forgot to eat! Well, at least for that.

8 thoughts on “What the Fuck Am I Talking About?

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