Heard that at a convention a few times. Rings rather true right now, because I have not slept at all. Not one wink. And the weird part is, I feel great.

No, really. It seems like not sleeping for a while did me a world of good. Of course, I am going to have to pay a heavy price for this at some point. It’s a good thing I don’t have anything social on for tomorrow, because I got wicked sleep debt.

Honestly, I am hoping that the break from the intensity of my new hobby will give me the chance to slow down and maybe crash.

After all, once I am done here, I got nothing on till 5:30 pm or so. Eh, I have to shower, so better make that 5:20 pm. Then it is off to dinner with the local clutch of pasty faced nerds whom I consider friends.

Nerds are my people, man. My tribe. Inasmuch as a thirsty dog with a broken antennae can have one.

Connecting with others has never been my strong suit. I can connect with them better through my writing than I ever could in real life, and only a handful of friends read my writing, so there’s that.

I suspect that a lot of writers are cramped up urban hermits like myself.  Introverts who are perfectly comfortable spending a lot of time alone because we generate our own energy instead of taking it from the environment, like introverts do.

Extroverts require a lot of stimulation to keep themselves going. Introverts are often quite fond of a profound lack of stimulation as it makes it easier to think

And like I have said before. there has to be something wrong with you to be a writer. At least, that’s true in my case. If I was better at expressing myself, I wouldn’t have this terrible need to put it into words on a page. All that latent emotion fuels the engine that pushes me forward into writing and learning then writing some more.

For me, writing could never be a hobby or an exercise. In everything I write there is an attempt at expressing some deep emotion and the crackling humming power station of my electric mind takes that emotion and turns it into words.

It’s harder than you would think.

Putting my thoughts into words has always come easily to me. I come from a highly verbal, chatty family. Comes from us being a bunch of intellectuals, I suppose.

I think that comes from my mother. She’s a teacher and was always happy to fill our minds and stimulate our mental growth.

Emotional growth, on the other hand, was not her forte.  And she could not teach us the social skills she, herself, did not have.

Like I have said many times before, she and I are a lot alike. We’re both sweet, shy people who have trouble connecting with others in non-intellectual terms. Intellectualism is, on some level, a defense mechanism, I think.

Your answer to life’s horrors is to find them so very fascinating.You detach emotionally and look at the world from afar.

Wow, the sleepiness is kicking in.

I suppose I should tell you about my latest fuckup. Turns out there was a meeting for Secret Informant yesterday. I didn’t know this until today, because I forgot that I needed to keep a Facebook tab open at all times so people can get a hold of me.

Also, there’s a meeting today, and I just can’t.

And I am feeling lousy because I had all this time to come up with a better script and I didn’t do it because my new hobby had such a hold on me that it drove all other things out of my mind.

I mean, I haven’t slept, for fuck’s sake. How crazy is that?

But I am getting better. I at least have been eating right and staying hydrated. For a few days there, this was not the case. I would spend so much time on my new hobby that I would forget to eat, which only made things worse.

Once I got some decent food into me, I started feeling a lot better. Surprise surprise, life goes better with food.

There is something about the mental state I get when pursuing my new hobby that makes me feel like nothing can stop me, physical limitations are a product of the mind, and  surely I can keep going for another hour or so.

It’s madness. But that’s what addiction is like. It makes you do stupid things. Things that are not at all in your best interests because you are trying to find the fastest route to getting your next fix.

Luckily, when I finish this entry, I am going to sleep, and only get up when it is time to go to dinner. Then, after dinner, I will be hanging with La Gang until midnightish, so I can say with certainty that I will not be getting a “fix” until tomorrow.

And tomorrow, I am going to SLEEP. Even if I have to chain myself to the wall and swallow the key.

I’d get the key back… eventually….

I really feel like I am failing the folks at Secret Informant, and the reason is the same as why I fucked up so bad at school : memory.

I forget stuff. Like, all the time. It kills me that I seem to be doomed to have this happen over and over in my life. I try to fight it, but nothing seems to work. There’s something about my mind that makes it really hard for me to retain things.

Like my mind can’t store things in a fixed state. Like there’s nothing I can do to keep it from dumping things out of my medium term memory when it sees fit.

Of course, that’s wrong. There’s a million  things I could do. The world is full of them, But I don’t do those things.

Maybe part of me wants to forget.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Oh, and sorry there was no blog entry yesterday.

I just plain forgot.