Warning: This is a real, not-very-funny and slightly angsty post. If you want to skip it and read FMyLife instead I understand completely. You asshole.
So something happened recently that I haven’t posted about because honestly it scares the shit out of me to say it out loud.
I was talking to my friend Erica about how writing is kind of destroying me. I spend my whole day at work writing stuff in my head, then I get home and stay up all night writing down bizarre stories about ninjas and taxidermists and then I’m always exhausted because I’m getting no sleep and Victor and Hailey get screwed over because even when I’m with them I’m constantly scribbling on notebooks and napkins and my own legs and when I physically make myself stop writing my head gets so full it literally feels like it’s constipated. And it’s not even constipated with good shit like poetry and kick-ass ballads. It’s all jumbled stories about Cyclopses and why stealing toilet paper is good for America. And Erica nodded and ignored the Cyclops references because she’s used to me and said “Okay. If you won the lottery tonight, what would you do when you woke up tomorrow?” and without hesitation I said “I’d write. I’d just…write.” And it scared me because I said it with the same reverent tone that most people would use to say “I’d travel the world” or “I’d become a Jedi”. And Erica said that I was very lucky because most of the people she asks that question to say they’d quit and do nothing at all, but the fact that I knew what my passion was is a gift. And then I told her to fuck off because a “gift” is the ability to eat enchiladas all day without getting fat, not something that feels like OCD and should probably be controlled by drugs.
But she’s right. And that’s why last week, after eight years at the same company, I quit my job. Quit. In the middle of this terrible economy. With no other job in sight. To give myself a year to be a writer. It’s pretty much the most irresponsible thing I’ve ever done in my entire life the last several hours. And it feels so completely right.
PS. Also, I just want to point out that there are like 18 sentence fragments in this post about me wanting to be a professional writer. Awesome.
PPS. Get ready for a shitload of posts about cyclopses.
PPPS. But not right this second because I gave like 3 weeks notice because I’m kind of the most awesome employee ever, in spite of the whole National Cleavage Day thing.
Comment of the day: Too many people are thinking of security instead of opportunity. They seem to be more afraid of life than death. ~ James F. Bymes (who didn’t actually leave this comment here because he’s dead but it’s nice to say out loud to myself when I’m staring at all of these ramen noodles.)