November 14, 2003

fucking div tags.

If you're still around, well, you're almost more persistent than I am.
God knows why you're back, but perhaps you enjoyed my part-fuck up, part-paranoid 2am fantasy rantings on this space while the side columns covered the actual blog.
I mean, what's a blog site without an actual blog that one can read?

I don't know.
I don't care.
Actually, that's such a lie.
Perhaps you've noticed that my blog has been, well, one of the worst blogs on the face of the planet lately.
Perhaps you haven't.
But here's the problem.

I can't make the words do what I want.
I used to be pretty good at it.
But I can't express the elation, fear, drunken euphoria, massive rift with my best friend, fucking, self-doubt, making out, apathy, creative bursts, blockage, mania and depression.

I want you to know what it feels like, what having the one constant in your life for the last decade grow so far apart from you that you don't even talk anymore is like. What's worse, to know most of the apart growing has been done by you.

To know how it feels to have a wonderful person in your life who is neither old nor new, a person you scarred badly once, almost without realizing. To try to be careful with that person, to try and pull youself back from the full-tilt abandon with which you tend to display, to try to be smart, sure and rational about this.

To know what it feels like to live in the same city as one of your best friends you used to only see a couple times a year, if that. To be able to call said person up and go to a movie, or get beakfast, or just watch him edit lame dating shows. To basically have another you around, but a you different enough that his advice is actually good, just somebody who you feel this connection/sameness/identity with.

What it feels like to question your worth as a writer on an almost daily basis, especially when you look at this blog that you used to write funny, witty, manic shit on all the time. To look at it languishing in mediocrity, and think of how it was better when you were drunk all he time, and think, maybe I was better when I was drunk all the time.

I should be using this blog to sort all of that out.

But the words won't come.

Or if they do, they're bad, forced, like this.

I fucking hate this.

Posted by orion at November 14, 2003 09:01 AM | TrackBack