I have a good problem. I write too much. Or at least I've written so much that now it's time to simmer down and organize. Simmer down. And don't get distracted by the Internet. It's a tool, you know. I think I mean that positively.
And so here I am writing, but not writing. Writing without trying. Writing the way people say I should write. I have this issue where I'll get something good down and then I kill it with a thousand paper cuts. Tiny slices here and there, trimming and tightening until it's a locked jaw that once could sing. And then I wrap it up with a pithy little ending. "My son said 'daddy' and I looked into the night sky and smiled." I know. You vomited a little bit. It might be a radio-induced thing. A career field that requires you never leave without something memorable. Still today I'll keep a conversation going well past it's shelf life just so I can exit with the perfect quip. Well those days are done--well, I'm sure not entirely. I'm good at failing. I do it in puny little ways all of the time, but now it's time to go big. Go for a bigger fail. Put the sweet little thoughts on the blog, and in the background work on the big piece that tumors ever outward.
Whatever. Let's just talk. It is said (and was tirelessly repeated in someone's thesis on blogging) that the Internet is simply a conversation. Hell, life is just a conversation, so just sit down and chat. Get to know someone. Teach a kid a new word. Find yourself lost in laughter with a loved one. Life, at it's best, is just a conversation. And if you happen to negate that theory with wistful thoughts of sitting alone by a stream, then I'd argue you're engaged in the greatest dialogue of all. It's so nice hearing all the chatter roll away with the river.
So...enough quibbling. That's actually a word. I think it's time to share with you some details of what's next.
First off, it is the Year of the Hustle. That's not a Chinese thing (not that it can't be) but it's what my wife brought into our house. She's always finding little ways to encourage me. Little journals, computer tricks and online repositories to get me to get it all down and out so I'm not all clammed up on the couch angry that I'm not doing enough with my life. Poor woman. Her best defense is offense, and she brought the onslaught with the Hustle. Practically, it's a big calendar with all the days exposed. There's no hiding behind a month or waiting for your planner to reveal the next week. The entire year is laid out in its cruel, fleeting simplicity and you've got to face it with the determination to do something before it all slides off the page.
Secondly, I have millions of goddamn words that I need to put into a thing. A book, I guess. I hate saying that loud, but I need to get over that. I'M GOING TO WRITE A GODDAMNED BOOK I say. Oh shit that was scary. I have a real psycho thing about discussing it out loud. Like if I bring it up then I'll actually have to do it.
Sometimes I want all the days to fall off the calendar so I don't have to do any more of this. A solar supernova sounds like an easy escape BUT I KNOW that my final thought would be, "Crap, I totally could have done that." So no more death porn. That would be the third thing.
Four: Exercise. yeah. do it. I think they call it working out because that's what you're doing with your issues. Your head is all like, "Hey, you're giving me blood instead of grief!" and it returns the favor with positive thoughts instead of the same old bad ones.
The Fifth. It's OK. Nothing specific here, but it's OK.
And then his dog put his paw on his knee and he knew he wasn't alone.