Blockage

I am stuck. I am totally, completely, utterly stuck. Every fiber of my creative being in in a state of limbo like paralysis. I have no access to my mind in any fashion..


I am really not sure what happened, or more to the point what is happening. I thought maybe if I began writing this blog post something would occur to me, some kind of epiphany or at least a freaking brain fart, and I could splash this page with juicy nuggets of intellect and humour; a little something to get the old swagger back. Nothing.

Nada.

Zip.

Zero.

Zilch.

What scares me is the fact that this might not only be my groove. I have this crushing suspicion that this is also where I am at in my life. Paralysed in to some sort of comfortable inaction. For some people that might not seem like a huge deal. Life is about repetition, monotony, Pure cheesy (hey look kids, I was totally not stoned enough to forget Ren and Stimpy...if you don't know what that is then you have never been a pot smoking Canadian with too much time on their hands. Oh powdered toast man...which was a nickname of mine for a few weeks, and the ever popular LOG! And of course don't wizz on the electric fence...the home game...wait what was I talking about....did I just float off in to mesmeratia, the land of no thought, trying to spice this thing up with other people's creativity? This is what I am talking about people....ok where was I....)ridiculous long time over dull same old same old routine. There may even be some kind of unnatural attraction I have for certain aspects of that; you know the comfort of expectation, but not at the expense of spontaneity, or even the moment. This means I am afraid I am ready to blow a gasket.

Here's an example of what I am talking about. Last weekend, because I am dull and uninteresting, I decided to do something stupid. Here's what I did. I hit on the same chick (yes mean it that way people) that I had been hitting on for the last two years...well ok year and a half or so. I guess I just wanted the comfort of being rejected again. I do this with her every three months or so, just to remind myself that I suck I guess. I know the outcome before I even start, it is the same every time.She tells me she is not interested in dating anyone, which in case your girlie to english dictionary is broken means, I am waiting for someone better than you to show interest in me. Sometimes I like to pretend it means, you are too nice and I am waiting for a good looking douche who will treat me like shit to come along and I need to make sure I am single when that happens, but we all know that is creative licence.

The point is, rather than take a chance, try something new, dare to be different, I did the same old thing. I think the definition of insanity in some circles is doing the same thing over again expecting different results each time. This does not apply here because I am always expecting the same results. I want to be rejected, it fuels my need for self loathing. Don 't get me wrong I don't do it because I hate myself, I love myself too much for that, I mean look at me, I blog for crying out loud; something inside my head makes me think you need to hear (read) the dither, blithering rants that I spew forth at an alarming rate, because if you didn't your head would explode! No what I mean is something differently entirely.

I need that rejection so I can justify any crap that does actually happen. I do that to defend against the dark arts of the world. If things go too well, I always have that to fall back on.

And that leads me to the point of this (besides doing this instead of real writing) which is, do we as people crave disappointment in order to feel even better about our small successes? I went through this whole process to get to the idea that in order to safeguard myself against rejection that might actually mean something. I ask her out in order to avoid rejection from someone that might actually hurt me; someone whose opinion means more to me, or who might actually be worth long term investment. Maybe I thought she was a year ago, but really people, and sorry if she reads this and figures out I am talking about her, but frig, do I seem like I am trying anymore?

The same can be said for my editor...who never really wanted the job. She (yeah shock me back to life, did he say she?) read over my first bit of brilliant prose...and do you know what she said....she liked it and no real changes were necessary! In my head I am thinking wow, she hated it that much that it wasn't worth her time to rip it apart and tear me some type of new excreting orifice. Geez oh pizza, what now? What if no one will like it then? Oh crap, is it crap?

Gotta love lack of confidence huh? But you see here comes something that matters right about now..... I want people to like my writing. Yep. It is true. I want people to be entertained and enlightened (whatever the hell that means) by what I have to say. There are very few thing that people have in this world that define them in their own minds, and for me this is one of them. I want to be a writer. Because of this, I obsess a bit, so forgive me this little shamble of the brain.

In my heart of heart, the one tiny little piece that lies suspended in an adamantine enclosure to protect it from the elements and harpies that would choose to feast on its withered carcass, lies the truth of a thousand voices. I want em to like me.

But wait, there's another fat man with a pen that I mustn't forget.The Obi Wan to my Luke, the Yoda to my...well everyone else in the galaxy. Let's call him....uhhh Kevin Smith....I suck at names.... he has taught me one thing, no not the circus seal bit, I already knew trhat, that people will hate on me, and people will love on me. If I have something worthwhile to say, someone, somewhere will listen and in their own way say, read it, liked it. And for every one of those people, there are roughly 7 zillion asshats who will log on to the internet to tell me how fat, old, stupid, ugly, dumb and douchely I am. So screw it, which one of those groups do I do it for?

So for the one dude reading this and going, hey that shit makes sense in a weird unintelligible way, what up? And for the 7 zillion dbags who want a piece of me because they have nothing going for them in their own lives....bring it! I can handle you, and gosh darn it, I like me, even if you don't.

So Ladies and gentlemen, whether it is good or not, whether it is a strong example of what I can do or not, on Wednesday June 9th at 4pm est I am going to post an excerpt from my book that some old white guy thinks is worth spending money on. Read it, and praise me, or mock me, just do something to me....feed the troll!!