The other night I made a vow to write once a day for a year (without weekends). It’s officially the beginning of my new year and I figured I’d get started since sleep isn’t a viable option right now.
The truth is I’ve been dying to write for the past few days, since my mind is completely overloaded and too many things are happening at once. Even at this very moment, sentences are flying around in my head never to be thought of again.
Or this could be an absurdly emotional period, since the amount of chocolate I’ve eaten tonight could kill a small horse. If you see me with my hair in a side-braid tomorrow please, just shoot me.
Although I’ve wanted to write, every time I get the opportunity to or sit in front of my computer, a million other things happen and I find an excuse not to take the plunge.
Here’s what I’d rather do instead:
If you know me, you know what BuzzFeed is since it can easily be found in my search history and all over my social media. First of all, it shouldn’t be called BuzzFeed, it’s actually the distraction-from-cold-reality-through-nostalgia-for-times-before-emotional-numbness-feed, according to another article from, you guessed it – BuzzFeed.
Why I visit the site is beyond me. I try to justify reading it because it occasionally has important breaking news, but the majority of content is random shit that’s completely hilarious or completely stupid. And every time I get sucked into reading things like, “The 51 Most Disturbing Yearbook Photos from Junior High Circa ‘83.”
Nobody cares about that shit, and maybe that’s why it’s successful, because it’s the ultimate time-waster and does save us from emotional numbness. Having a bad day? Read BuzzFeed. Need to write something to expand your career opportunities? Read BuzzFeed. Feeling fat and hideous because you’re on your period? Read BuzzFeed while eating chocolate. It’s all starting to come together for me now.
Ok, so this is a recent development. While living in New York I didn’t own a TV, which left me with plenty of time to whine like a fat chick who didn’t get asked to prom. I’ll admit, I got pretty good at writing about how much I hated my life, but now Television shows about real-life murder mysteries have taken that away from me.
It’s my own fault, but a mindless activity is appealing when your thoughts have been racing all day. And the next thing you know, you’re showering with the curtain open and double-locking the doors because what if your neighbor is a serial killer?
Let’s face it, I’m getting older and I’m trying to get my shit together. When 11 p.m. hits, my head is already on the pillow with the light out. The cycle of going to bed early and waking when the sun rises (sort of) has started – no more sleeping in for me.
It’s unfortunate when I want to sit down and write it’s usually around my newly ingrained bedtime. I start around 10:58 p.m. and end up cranking out some meaningless piece of crap like this.
And with that, I’m going to bed.
Good morning, let’s continue:
Another thing writers are notoriously good at – drinking and using drugs. Show them the little black box of pills, uppers, downers, hallucinogens and slam a bottle of Black Label down on the table and they’re as giddy as a sex-addict in a whorehouse.
It’s strange how it’s almost glorified if a great writer turns out to be a drunk or an addict. I guess it’s because some of the best writers of our time were: Tennessee Williams, Ernest Hemmingway, and Hunter S. Thompson, just a few who turned to the bottle or drugs and ended up being borderline insane – or committing suicide.
And for some sick reason we love them for it, because normal people aren’t able to sit down and write great, poetic masterpieces after downing tranquilizers and drinking martinis for breakfast.
Anyway, beyond that obvious reflection, I like to drink with the best of them. While drinking Pinot Noir under dim lighting, I like to believe I can create something life changing. Then I end up reading it the next day and think, “Man, I was definitely wasted. And I’m pretty sure ‘venomiously’ isn’t a real word.”
My writing generally sounds the same under the influence – me hating corporate America and yet wanting a piece of it, because I want the highbrow lifestyle but chose the wrong career. And I’m realistic in knowing I’m not the next Hemingway.
Well, there you have it. It’s short but the explanation drags, so it evens out. I know there are a thousand other things to include, but these were the ones that were most relevant to me. And since this is my project I can pretty much say and do whatever I want.