Sunday, November 27, 2011

My Confirmation Name is Procrastination


If you want to know what it's like to be me today...
1) wake up - tear off your fake eyelashes and let them fall on the floor next to your bed. Spend 15 minutes thinking about the most convenient boy that isn't your ex.
2) Take a shower. Spend most of it trying to form a list in your head of how to write a story and what a fucking horrible person you are with no work ethic ever and you are destined to die alone and in your own filth with no one knowing who you are or giving a shit.
3) clean off your desk completely and take out two bags of trash to the curb. Promise yourself you will take out more trash every time you leave the house today, which should be never again.
4) get five large black coffees from Dunkin Donuts. Save one for later in the fridge. Drink the rest as fast as you can. Add a caffeine supplement to one of them.
5) Listen to Yacht and fall in love a lot with them. Vow to go to the concert next week, even though technically you will be a dead failure by then.
6) realize you have surpassed 10,000 tweets. Say something pithy about it, but really actually feel a little weird about the fact that is a 140,000 characters you have sent into outer space. FOR FREE.
7) Tear apart this post and this post and try to map them according to Joseph Campbell and Dan Harmon. Worry that the places you are sending these stories to will think they are too scifi. Secretly agree with Margaret Atwood that you don't write science fiction, you write speculative fiction, even though the way she said it was asinine. Also secretly worry that nobody cares about the difference, if you write about robots and sentient machines and fake gods, you don't get to be taken seriously, also because you are a terrible writer and everyone knows it except you, and if you were any good wouldn't you be more popular?
8) Drink more coffee, wear a bra, try not to think about facebook or sex, even though the very act of writing creates this sludge of sexual frustration, a build up in your engine, and the more you write the sluttier you get, like an old car that needs more frequent oil changes because of the high mileage. Start to understand why the famous writers you admired never stayed in love and had penchants for prostitutes and one night stands. Cause boyfriends take up too much time, and god someday you're going to be too old for saturday nights like that and if only you were a guy it wouldn't matter that you were old and crazy you would still get laid but no you're a girl so your breasts are gonna get floppy and your skin is gonna look bad and it won't matter if you win a goddamn pulitzer. Also this is entirely your ex's fault for taking up all of your 20s, which you should have been using to find someone who would be stuck with you old too.
9) Strangle your fucking cat because she won't leave you the fuck alone. FUCK. Put her limp little body outside in the garage so the possums can eat it.

PS I love my bear. I forgot about this picture. This is from when I had to go to Austin for work during the last presidential election, and I was SO mad I couldn't be with my friends and I had to be in Texas of all fucking places. But I forgot I brought Sarah my bear with me, which is not normal for me, I can't remember why I did.

6 comments:

  1. I'm having a relatively similar day. Except I am also beating myself up for not having a more positive attitude.

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  2. Man... I love you Bridgette..!

    Wish I could go with you (or anyone for that matter) to the Yacht show... I love that band..!

    ... I thought no one else read Joe Campbell but me and George Lucas... saw the PBS special in high school and there you go..!

    In real life, I speak in non sequiturs...

    Hope you are doing well... you prolly could and definitely should write a book or a television screenplay... maybe a movie... I love how you write..!

    L&R
    Mark

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  3. Boy friends are highly over rated. But then, I never had one, either.

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  4. Hope your cat gave you a break and not the other way round. Love this.

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Who wants to fuck the Editors?