Am I Seriously That Desperate For A Blog?

The answer you are looking for is, yes. Yes, I am definitely that desperate for a blog. OK in all fairness I am really only desperate for a personal blog because I have been writing Green Leaf Reviewer every day for a couple months now so my brain is pretty much just jostling around in the eco friendly water and it is like I lost focus on everything else. Or at least my ability to write about it. So lucky for everyone that follows me this might just be the most chaotic of all my blogs yet. Look for fun links to hysteria.

Lately I have been thinking a lot about my “career”, or rather what I think I really want that “career” to be. Yeah if I was talking out loud those would have been annoying-girl air quotes because to me “career” is not really something I ever considered real or tangible, it was always just a mystical thing that people who went to college for four years fell into as soon as they got out. The rest of us, who got bored too quickly and did not quite make the college cut, worked all weekend in retail jobs or as Executive Assistants (or as I like to call them Prostitutes Without the Sex [hopefully] but Only Very Rarely Earning Similar Income).

I used to work in the most boring job ever in this exact role (seriously, 5 minutes of work a day…that will probably become a chapter, definitely a fun story full of interesting characters). Keep in mind that I started with this company in a February. I kept a journal with me at all times to write out my thoughts because after the first three, eight hour days in a row of doing nothing but playing spider solitaire I was starting to freak out. I called it my boredom journal because when the boredom began to rise I took great pleasure in replacing it with a scribbled line of crazed insanity that I might be able to use later. On May 9th I wrote:

“Day after day there are news stories reported about people who literally snap. I believe these people are Executive Assistants.”

I actually managed to stay at that job for another five months and never lost it (miraculous). Of course, I quit with no notice via email (something I had never done before or since).

Most of the jobs I have had over the past twenty (::scary::) years I kind of fell into out of some random twist of fate -- I knew someone who knew someone and it got my foot in the door, or, I was just a write off so the interview was nothing more than to make sure I had a social security number for tax forms. I was really tired of the role I had carved out for myself in the corporate world, the one I could never seem to advance past even though I was always eager to, so for the past year I have been running my own business doing faux finishing. I love faux but it is a shelf life job because seriously I will not be climbing up and down ladders to pounce glaze at age 65 (so you better go ahead and hire me now before its too late…you know who you are).

Then what is it I really want to do for a “career”? It is a good question and one I have been asking myself a lot because I feel that once I have the answer it is actually going to show up. My loose response is I want to be a writer. Narrowing that down a little further it comes down to novelist or blogger. I wonder why I can’t just get paid to spout all this hoo-ha. I mean, hell, if I could make a living doing it, I would definitely start writing this every day. Heaven knows I have plenty of insanity running around my brain that I could satisfy a daily purge. Bukowski did it. At least I’m pretty sure he must have. His stuff is pretty fucked up ya know? The encouraging news is that his writing did end up published so there must be some market out there for the crap I have to say too. I mean, he even got a few novels out of the deal.

The issue is that when I think of a novel it tends to be some 400 page glory-story with a plot and characters and a setting…blah, blah, blah. I have about four of them in various stages sitting on my hard drive right now but every time I open them up I end up doing nothing more than editing what is already there and closing it because my inspiration expires. Probably because none of what I wrote is in any way related to my lame life of football watching and sewing so now comes the big question -- how do I write the real novel that is floating around in my schizo brain, manage to get it published and sell a bajillion copies so I can go ahead and call what I do a “career”?

Or, is the real question -- why do I give a crap about having a “career” anyway and how about just having fun with what it is I want to do then just enjoy when the money follows?

Hmmm. Interesting concept and advice I have given to many people many times so why do I find it so difficult to take my own advice?

Ah…questions that never seem to be answered are on the rise again! When I reread all my old journals that becomes like a metaphor for my entire life.

I guess the real moral of my story up to now is that I need to stop being afraid to just put it all out there and finally get my shit together to do so.

End rant.