The Demonweasel Speaks

So street fair came and went with not much of a whimper or a bang. It’s actually much more enjoyable when you’re just in a store and not trying to walk around crazy Midwesterners. I actually got to partake of some of the good food they have in trucks. Polish sausage and turkey chili in a bread bowl. Mmmmm, bread bowl.

I’d pop a cap in someone’s ass for a bread bowl.

Had one of those days today. Those “Oh my god, why am I wasting my life and being such a giant screw up looser about everything” days. I hate those days. There’s not much I can do but try to be productive and be a better person. Be more attentive to the things that are around me and the goals I’ve set for myself.

1) Be a good, productive writer.
2) Be a good father.
3) Be a good bookstore manager
4) Be a happy person.

I’m sure there’s all kinds of things you can read into the ordering of that list, but that’s how it is. Notice how “winning lots of Madden 2004 football games” or “watching a lot of Farscape reruns” isn’t on that list? And what have I done the past few days?

That’s what I thought.

I did, however, find William Shatner’s cover of “Common People” from his new album “Has Been.” That definitely makes me happy. I got to finally talk to Kenzie on the phone the other night, and that makes me happy. I actually did a smidgeon of writing today and tonight, and that’s something.

I want this book edited by the end of the month (I almost typed August, and it made me snicker because at the rate I’m going that’s not even an attainable goal). I need to figure out something that will get me going. And then I think about sentences like that and I wonder why I even need something to “get me going.” Why should I pine for some sort of external force to get me rip roarin’ and ready to go? Why can’t I just be able to do it on my own? Why can’t I just go psycho on the stuff I want to write and throw everything else in the closet?

Oh woe is me. Pity is me. My life is so hard.

Quadruple vomit.

I hate this part, where something happens and I get depressed and manic about what I haven’t done and I vow, I swear to the sky like Kirk calling out Khan that this time will be different, that this time, by the very blood from the eyes of the Gods themselves, I will do it. I will change my ways. A line must be drawn, this far and no farther.

I’m almost doing it this time. I swear. I tell myself that I’m changing myself right now. That every day I’ve decided to be a little different, live with a little less fear and just be…crazy. Just respond with honesty, and not to try to make everyone happy, or make everyone like me. Those are unrealistic goals, and sometimes I think they’re killing me. How many times do I tell a story or relate some incident and I say “I wish I could have said…” or “I wanted to say…” Too often.

It’s like I just want to let go. Let it all go and then I’ll be able to get what I want. I’ll be able to take what I want from the world. When I stop worrying about every little thing and relax and breathe and just be, then I’ll be happy.

Even if nothing ultimately works out, I’ll be happy. Because at least I tried.

Trying, I remain…