Waxing and Waning

The problem is I want it all.

I haven’t been writing at all.  Words just haven’t been coming out.  If you’re a writer I think you know that this is excruciating.

Here are some things I have noted to write about:

Having a small penis must be fucking awesome because you get to have all this cool shit like a fancy sports car and a big sword.

“I like you, Charles, because you’re nice to people you like and people in the service industry, and rude to everyone else” – Aaron Shannon.

“I was doing it for 4 years before I was writing jokes I liked” – Patton Oswalt

The people I know:

the alarm clock – nags me like a knowing friend.  Sometimes forgets I exist.

the iPod – the omnipresent rejection of silence as a natural state.

the shower – the warm embrace of familiarity.

Work has been taking over.  I spend all day writing these stupid emails and when I get home and try to write on my computer my fingers just don’t want to move.  They’re tired.  I’m tired.

You have to become obsessed with something and spend all your time doing it to become really, really good at it.  The problem is that I don’t know if I’m spending my time obsessing over the things I really want to be good at.

“Well, make a fucking change then, Charles” – the voice in my head (usually sounds like an angry Jen Cho).

It’s hard.  I don’t know why it’s so hard to branch out into the unknown.  Well I guess I just explained why it’s hard.  I could fail.   I could be lonely.  I could lose the things in my life that I like.  I feel like the ways my life has always changed have been a slow reform; that I did something that I maybe didn’t realize I was doing and it turned out a year later everything was different.  For example, I met up with Meghan last year around thanksgiving.  Now my life is very different.  But I wasn’t trying to change things at the time.  I wasn’t trying to become a different person, but I am.

I wonder what that Charles would think of this Charles.

I would think he has been on a wild ride, for him.  I would think he has faced a lot of personal fears with the help of a few people he cares about.  I would think he is still tending toward static acceptance of mediocrity with the mad hope that lightning would strike somewhere.  That something, good or bad, would drastically alter how he passively awaits the future so he doesn’t have to address the fact that it’ll never improve.

We’re supposed to dream.  How many of us actually pursue our dreams?  How many of us die happy?  How are those things related?

You’re going to live with regret.  It’s inevitable.  Even if you say that looking back you have no regrets, you do.  Big ones and little ones.

Planes take off and land and I hear them roar outside my window.  Taking people off the ground or back onto it.


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