I can't think.
Indeed, I admit, I am at work at this very moment wasting precious time in my own little world instead of working. I also admit that the work I was/am/will be doing today is churning out incredible pieces of crap because I can't concentrate. Let's call this a break to regain my focus.
Upon writing that last paragraph I just realized that incredible if you dissect it, doesn't seem like it should ever be used as a compliment, even if it applies to things that are. It would mean to denounce credit, without believability, without a purpose. Even the best works of fiction maintain some level of credibility to them. I never thought about that before. So I don't think I want to be incredible. (UPDATE: Perhaps in my ill thinking I meant incredulous instead of incredible?)
Don't get me wrong, I've still been attempting to write or talk or draw everyday. But I've turned into a rambling fool as of late. It's been more like a daily tsunami of thoughts, all it leaves is a mess to be cleaned up in it's wake and I'd rather sit up on the high ground for now. It's all random sentences and unfinished, unrelated thoughts. I start it, I look at it. I could post it but then I reread it and...what's the point again?
I've had the monkeys a lot these past few weeks. (I just looked at "monkies" and couldn't figure out why it was spelled wrong. I seem to be distracted by spelling today.) So, I guess, let me recap:
After the week at work with the monkies (damn it, I did it again) wherein not much was accomplished work-wise, I spent the next week waking up at 4am staying until the late hours, intending to get weeks worth of future work accomplished, trying to keep awake without the aid of caffeine, cigarettes OR chocolate milk although I think the chocolate milk might tend to make one sleepier instead and anyway I don't have any of those vices and don't intend to start now. I also intended to document my sons first week at Kindergarten but it's like pulling teeth trying to get anything out of what he DOES all day. So far it seems that he gets to defend himself from a rowdy band of bullies but I can't tell if he's making it up. I thought that wasn't supposed to come until later... I also intended to still make it to the gym more than once a week as it's my saving grace.
Hm. It seems intentions have run amok.
So now, it's August 15 and here we are today. The halfway point for the month. The day when things happen for some. And ok, I'll just say it, the day I add another digit to that all-too-progressive-thinking number that began when some molecules and atoms decided they needed to form the thing that has now become my physical manifestation. Get it? See, hopefully you've read through that and just don't really care because the sentence was so long. Because that's what I do. I take the ridiculous distracting routes, the ones that explore the unnecessary details and things that take no time at all turn into years.
And in the good or bad, I don't like recognition that is beyond my control. What was I saying again?
As for the rest of this month, its running hot all around: work, home, weather, emotions, etc. etc. etc. But no hot men in sight as far as I'm aware of. But...that's ok for now. We finally straightened out the money technicalities and therefore should be filing a divorce soon which means, lo and behold, I should be a single fella again shortly. There are two more immediate birthdays I'll be expected to recognize, including my wife's and that of a monkey who will be 4 and has still yet to show interest in not crapping his shorts and I'm hoping beyond hope that I don't absent-mindedly just work right through them. We'll be moving my place of work to a mortifyingly smaller space and get to cram a warehouse thrice it's size into it's confines. And I'll be working more than humanly possible to finish some newly self-imposed deadlines. And I think there are hurricanes a brewin'.
On top of all that, I'm aching beyond belief to start a new creative endeavor that does not require any integral significance to anyone but myself. Something that doesn't involve marketing. If you know me, you know that I don't hate anything. No really, I don't. But I loathe marketing. Selling anything really. I don't mind the barter system. I'll just trade ya, how about that? My services gladly rendered for food and shelter. You give me what you think it's worth, but I can't stand producing "product" that sits on a retail store shelf to be fondled, passed over or consumed like junk food. I don't want the greenbacks, the simoleons, the beans, the moolah, whatever you call them, it's all a green eyed monster to me. OK, maybe I only despise the voice that's saying "The fate of this thing depends on your ability to sell it," then springing to life and smashing my skull with a sledgehammer.
Oh, if you want to know, I'm 28 now.
If anyone is looking for me I'll be passed out on the couch during lunch absorbing my food through a feeding tube.