What’s All This Neurotic Writer Stuff, Then?

iPad with glasses resting on the smart keyboard folio surrounded by crumpled up paper.

Neurotic writers are the shit! The raging mental illness Anne Lamott describes in Bird by Bird is endearing. David Sederis’ shame in Santaland Diaries is heroic. The seemingly endless tales of imposter syndrome from all of my heroes is embiggening. I suffer thusly. . .

And yet the reality, in my life at least, is depressing. I’m beginning to think I’ve been duped by some very talented tricksters. But, in all fairness, I can’t blame it all on them.

(though we damned well do it anyway.)

Continue reading “What’s All This Neurotic Writer Stuff, Then?”

Damnable Shower Thoughts: Outsider Looking In

Shower head with water running.

A friend texted she’s finally seen Captain Marvel. This is significant because I’m “The Movie Guy.” Always there opening weekend and there’s something opening EVERY weekend. But since July 2018 I’ve been watching at home, that is, waiting for the new releases to be available for rent.

Her text saddened me. I’m going to be several months out of step. Worse still, with all the Summer blockbusters coming I’m going to have to remove myself from the group texts to avoid spoilers. I’ll be an outsider looking in at the party.

Then, as if in my own teen-coming-of-age rom-com, the realization hit me: there’s a whole world out here I’m missing being the creepy peeping Tom.

(or we can just go to the damned movies again, it’s not THAT expensive.)

Eh. . . Maybe.

My Sick Days When I Was Green in the Lungs

“Humans are dumb and they die easy.” —Bender Bending Rodriquez

My trashcan is a bucket of sick. It’s not surprising. I work at a K-12 school. On top of that everything outside is coated in the light green dusting of Spring. There’s only so much a body can take, even for a paragon of perfect health such as myself.

I normally don’t get sick. Simply refuse to, you see.

(one has to be firm about these things.) Continue reading “My Sick Days When I Was Green in the Lungs”

What’s All This Damnable Humbuggery Then?

“Where am I going and why am I in this hand basket?” —Murphy

What the fuck?

I ask that question often. I ask it because I find that the life is supremely confuzling (confusing + puzzling). I’m fairly sure life is that way for everyone, but it is particularly true for me. Why “particularly” for me? Maybe it’s my Asperger’s. Maybe it’s my mediocre intelligence. Maybe the world is just fucking crazy.

(perhaps all three?)

Continue reading “What’s All This Damnable Humbuggery Then?”