I've taken another sickie. That stomach of mine? Once I get a taste for the day-off there is no stopping me. I called in from my bed on my mobile. I couldn't even stand to get out of bed, this morning. I just called and then pulled the doona back up and took more zzzz's, no guilt. It can't be good for me, feeling that way. I might take my coffee and go back there. The day is mine.
I worked out that I'm, some thing like, 2 years ahead with my mortgage payments. It's why straight people hate us so - no kids and all that disposable income. So why am I working so hard? At something that makes me unhappy. It makes no sense.
I can feel a resignation coming on. I wish I had the guts, you know. I've just given up pot and tobacco, I can probably do anything.
And the rain comes down and the sun disappears, like a blokes testes in cold water. A cool breeze blows in through my balcony doors, it's bracing, thrilling. I can do anything I want. I could get used to this. Nobody is going to thank me for working, I don't have any kids. There is no prize at the end of it, just dementia and incontinence. We are all equal in the old people's home in the end, no matter what we did during our lives, with only our regrets to keep us company.
I love the cool Melbourne breeze after a stinking hot day. It's invigorating. I clears the sweat. It blows all of the head aches away.
All I have to do is write something, a moderate seller, some thing successful. Those two clairvoyants always said I would. Two years to write a best seller and I'd never have to work again - well, go to work again to a job that makes me unhappy, where I help other people with their wealth.
All of my tutors - well, most of my tutors at uni - said I had it in me.
"You are as good a writer as any one," they said. "The thing that distinguishes successful writers, for the most part, from ones that don't make it, is actually doing it. A bit of luck and being in the right place, of course, doesn't hurt, but mostly it is believing in yourself and sitting down, putting in the time and writing. Sticking at it."
I might head out for breakfast. I might go for a bike ride.
Kiss me and wish me good luck.
Time to believe in myself and step forward fearlessly.
2 comments:
I can relate both to the wanting to write and the wanting to quit. Good luck.
sometimes you've just got to follow your heart. i think its calling you to the right path.
Post a Comment