Time out

Weary. Tired. Hate my job. Hate not having options. Hate not doing more writing. Hate being overweight. Discouraged. Disfigured. Same old music in my headphones. Protesting a war that’s coming anyway. Will see a grand king of an author Tuesday, leaving me to inevitable fits of comparison and low self-esteem. Worn down by this push from an invisible taskmaster to keep going: You aren’t good enough. No one will want to read you. You are a copy artist, a thief at the foot of titan minds.

A drill sergeant of the soul screaming at this aspiring writer.

I feel terrible for my wife and my co-workers, who never know which version of me they’ll get in the morning. The cranky one. The beacon of despair. The silent, thoughtful nice guy. The jokester. More archetypes than a pre-millennial boy band, all wrapped up in jeans, street hikers, and a black rain jacket.

Song of the Day

“Sax and Violins,” by Talking Heads.

David Byrne is my co-pilot. And his karma ran over your dogma.

If you ever get too full of yourself, bust out TH’s “Sand in the Vaseline” and dance when no one is looking. I so need an iPod for my long slingshot from Seattle to Amsterdam in the end of March.

Today’s Word: Decide

From One Word

You make a choice constantly. Even when you don’t, you do. All the microscopic selections you pick throughout the day. Whether to do yoga, to have toast and not that apple for breakfast. Five more minutes of sleep? The hidden calculus of everything, leading up the exact moment when you rammed your car through the crosswalk and into the child, who also made all the decisions to run into the middle of street, not taking cues from the warning light. Choices. And decisions.