Was trying to think of something funny to do today as I am an incredibly talented comedy writer and yet absolutely none of that goes into my creative output these days.
Which is weird.
I guess it stems from the unformatted nature of my output. The only intent attached to this blog or my videos is to express my creative energies and I suppose it could be said that attempting comedy in that way would be too restrictive for me.
Which is sad.
But I am getting ready to reform my wastrel ways and learn to focus and commit and make stuff I actually expect people to like.
After all, I really do want to become a YouTube star. And that’s not likely to happen my accident. I know that I have the ingredients to make top notch content – wit, unique POV, unique personality, charisma, basic video editing skills, and so on – but whether I can pull that all together into something watchable depends on me and my ability to get my collective shit together.
And I am going to try, gol’dang it. I can’t recite a spell and have all my multitudinous facets suddenly fold into one solid focused reality, but I can keep nudging my self in that direction until my talents are actually noticed by people I don’t know.
I’ve been thinking about my creative capacities lately and how casually I handle big creative ideas and create stuff that is quite original and high in content without even really thinking about.
That’s just what I do.
But none of that really matters if I am still working all by myself and doing things in my usual sloppy halfassed unfocused way.
So I suppose I am at a crossroads where I have to choose to either sacrifice my current state of insipid placidity for a life with a lot more striving in it or sink bank into fruitless oblivion and go back to just marking time till I die.
I’ve been building myself up slowly. But that might not be enough. At some point, some kind of quantum leap of faith may well be needed where I have to jump into something with both feet and no guarantee of success and just wing it.
Give becoming the baby bird that DOES fly when kicked out of the nest a try.
It’s never too late to launch, or so I keep telling myself.
I guess one of the biggest problems is that you can always just… not. Not strive, not stress, not overcome yourself, not try to do things you find hard, not step onto that path into the unknown, just plain not do anything and let routine carry me forward in time.
After all, I’ve done that for thirty fucking years. What’s another day or two?
Repeat until I finally fucking die.
It’s ultimately a lack of self-discipline. I have very little experience with voluntarily making life scarier and more difficult for myself in order to pursue a goal.
I’ve never been asked to do anything like that for school. School’s super easy, barely an inconvenience. Even in college, it was work I could do without raising a sweat.
So I never had to buckle down and focus in order to succeed at school. And having had only passing involvement with the world of employment, I have never had to learn any self-discipline for that either.
So I am brilliant AF but I am as weak and flabby on the inside as I am on the outside.
I can’t do this all alone. But I can’t do it with others either.
Somehow, I will succeed.
More after the break.
My right foot
I keep forgetting to mention this – the wound on my right foot is officially gone.
Well, it closed, anyhow, and therefore does not require regular bandage changes any more. That leaves just the issue with my left foot left…. er, remaining… for the nurses at the Richmond CHAC to deal with.
And it appears to be getting smaller.
Woohoo, normal human healing!
That raises the prospect of one day not needing to go to the CHAC twice a week at all, and I have mixed feelings about that.
Right now, my Wound Care missions twice a week are the only thing that gets me out of the apartment on a regular basis except Denny’s.
So if that left foot wound healed up, I would only be leaving the house for Denny’s once a week, and that can’t be good for me.
I’d need to find something else to do outside the apartment besides my occasional non-CHAC related medical appointments because I already feel like I don’t get nearly enough fresh air and sunshine with how much I go out now.
I suppose I would still have the sweating with the oldies at the Kinsmen, come to think of it. So I would be going out twice a week.
Relatedly, I suppose since August is barreling towards us like a garrulous drunk I should do my traditional “talking about how I should get Julian to drop me off at the beach at Garry Point Park for a couple hours” bullshit.
And it’s true. I should. I totally should. It would do me a world and a half of good, both physically and mentally as well as spiritually. Everything points to GO on this plan.
But it’s never going to happen. It’s just another casualty on the long long list of my dead intentions, killed by my inability to act on my own to leave my tiny comfort zone.
So there it is, dead on the outside of the walls of this crummy old castle of mine. with me looking down on it with faint pity but mostly detached disinterest.
As if it’s a tragedy but not something that has anything to do with me.
All that matters to my ancient internal operating system is that the Citadel has remained secure, with no chance that any of those evil and insane impulses, emotions, and instincts that make me want to leave the castle can get through and make me act in a way it deems “irrational”.
After all, if you can’t leave, then all those impulses can do is make you suffer, right?
But if you CAN leave…. well…
…then you’d kind of have to, wouldn’t you?
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.