As Always

I’ve been thinking a lot about blogging. I don’t know what that means, whether I’m interested in sharing my thoughts with people or just clearing my head in general, and I still don’t know if I have much to say, but I’m getting started with this new blog so I thought I’d just put something down. In the biz, that means, “write something.”

I guess the reason I haven’t written much over the last, oh, year or so, is because if I were to give an update on my life, most of the things I would say would be prefaced by the words “as always,” or, “still,” and if I need to continuously say that, then I can’t imagine I have a lot of things to say that people would be interested in reading about.

I’ve been writing a movie script for some reason or another. It’s kind of ironic that the thing I’m having trouble with is probably also the thing I struggle most with in real life. That is, how do I get people to like me? How does that relate to writing a movie? Well, maybe you’ll see. More to come on this subject. It’s also a reason I haven’t been blogging much. I’ve been hoping to save all of my writing “juices” for that, instead of this. It worked incredibly well for a while and now I’m stuck with about 4/5ths of a movie. That remaining 20 or so pages is probably the difference between art and trash, and between perserverence and laziness. But I must finish, whether I constantly like it or not, because I think, at least, if I can finish, I can call myself “a writer.”

School is probably about the same as usual, but this year it serves as a constant reminder of personal inadequacies. It’s not so much that I’m poor that bothers me, but that I have to constantly take from my parentals, who have problems of their own, to survive. I am an incredibly dependent person, I’ve come to realize, but there are times that I want nothing more than to be able to provide for myself. I don’t know if that, existentially, is at all possible, but perhaps I could be financially stable in less than a year. That thought is a continuous source of hope and anxiety. Hope because it seems to be, for once, a realistic possibility. Anxiety because, of all my friends, I might be somewhat unarguably the least successful. I originially wrote “unarguably” but then I realized that if I ever said that to someone out loud they would probably argue with me. Then I decided that a more proper choice of words there would be “arguably”, but that it would be pleasantly comical, if only to me, for various reasons, to say
“somewhat unarguably”, which then quickly became prefaced with “might be.” I’m quite pleased with that little joke.

I don’t know how it’s possible that I am simultaneously so hopeful, so self-aggrandizing, and hopeless, so helpless feeling, at the same time. It seems like it shouldn’t be allowed but yet I think the people who know me the best would not in any way disagree with that description of myself. Constantly deep in thought, never certain, never truly happy but also always expectant of better things. Burdened, affected, embarassed, hesitant, dodging and ducking the inevitabilities of the world.

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