Removal from the Chestal Regions

In other words, I feel like I need to get some stuff off of my chest.

I feel like I want to quit Facebook. Friend Chris mentioned the fact that it'll be obsolete in a few years...so he doesn't commit too much to its archives. Meanwhile, I put EVERYTHING there...when I should probably put it on something like this. I miss my blogging. I miss the sheer # of posts I used to produce. Now, I go to FB for my journaling needs; pop up a quick three sentence bit of nonsense, and I've said my piece. There's a place for it, but it doesn't allow me to really write. Not that my ranting and raving here on klugulablog is Pulitzer Prize-worthy or something that will make the Hollywood execs to salivate over its adaptation potential, but it gives me more freedom. I write in train of thought wackiness, so this gives me the length. I like length. Ahem.

The other half has been gone for a mere 5 days. I don't quite know what I think about his absence. By the time he returns, it will have been a record 27 days of us being apart. Never been that long (which was I guess made clear by the "record" notation). I have a hard time determining if I miss him for him, if I'm just selfish and miss him for me, or if I am just plain afraid that the zombies outside our bedroom door will now have first-hand access to me (the other half sleeps closest to the door--so he would usually be their first target). I think I do miss him. As much as I can despise him, in the words of Sideshow Bob..."I've grown accustomed to his face." There is certainly the fact that having another person around relieves the boredom. But is that because he's a warm body, or cuz it's him specifically? These are the questions which dig @ my brain. I've made a to-do list of epic proportions. A mountain of tasks which I would like to achieve before his return. On top of the list (which includes several reorganization and cleaning chores) is a first draft of one of my "new" scripts. I think I got the original inspiration for this one--well over a year ago. I've written 30 pages...and yesterday, another 3. In other words, I've let the piece languish for eons. Poor thing.

The really sad thing about this neglected script, is that I believe it to be a very worthwhile idea. It's goofy, strange and get this--NOT ABOUT ZOMBIES. I know, I know. Take a seat, a deep breath and let that thought sit for a moment. Finish your iced tea.

My problem here is that I think all of my scripts have been good ideas. But I don't seem to be getting anywhere. I think the fact that I'm still pushing (have a buttload of query letters to get out on the co-project w/ Mr. McCaleb) shows that I'm not ready to give up, but MAN...what do I have to do to get ahead...to leave behind the day job...to write all the time?

MOTHER-FUCKING BROKEN RECORD.

I know not many folks read this, so I know there won't necessarily be any answers forthcoming. It's about "removal from the chestal regions".

Better yet, instead of advice...how about I SIT DOWN AND FUCKING WRITE during my down time? Novel idea indeed. I truly wish I could figure out what it is that is my block. What in my mind keeps me from getting this worthwhile work done? In other words, what's my deal?

It's become clear in my advancing years (it's no longer a joke that I'm having a mid-life crisis early--well, cuz I'M THERE RIGHT NOW FOR REAL)...that I'm pretty damn set in my ways. I now see that my grand plans of getting on an exercise regiment, running every day like I used to in high school, eating right--less eating out (never will stop, it's who I am and what I do), and finding the motivation to write all the time...all of these things which I would like to adjust and which should be adjusted. I don't think they're going to happen. I don't think of it as a negative thing, or that I'm being pessimistic. I feel it's about being realistic.

The perfect example. I've been thinking about the fact that I mock the other half and myself for the sheer # of meals we eat out. I tell people (when the subject of cooking or eating habits comes up) with a great deal of guilt or shame, that we NEVER COOK. I had the moment recently when I said, "WHO THE FUCK CARES THAT WE EAT OUT AND NEVER COOK?!" Honestly, what's wrong w/ that (other than my arteries are probably 95% blocked, I'm addicted to Denny's whole wheat w/ sugar free syrup, and I'm a raging diabetic!) Why do I feel it's necessary to bow down to those who do cook @ home? It doesn't make sense. I just hope these realizations are a step forward to appreciating who I actually am and what I've become through my life experiences.

I need to accept and REVEL in my own idiosyncrasies. ENJOY what my life is and LOVE what my own jagged road has led me to. ACCEPT the fact that I LOVE to end sentences in prepositions!

GODDAMMIT, it's who I am!

I'm sitting here in bed...Amy (my gorilla), Pete (my squirrel), Dave (my lion) and Knut Knut (my polar bear) are all at my side. They're great to have around, and they make for great company, but I think I'm ready to have the other half back.

And for good measure, let me just pass along an interesting anecdote from the workday. A woman brought in two candle wall sconces. They were pretty beat up...appeared a bit rusty...and she had no receipt. She wanted to return them. I was able to find her receipt in one of our two systems. Get this...the purchase was made in October of 2009. Are you EFFING kidding me? UNBELIEVABLE what folks will attempt. Thought you might appreciate that.

Let me just end this post with this...

Hurry home, my boy. The children (and I) miss you!