Maybe he’s a Republican

Tomorrow (today, technically) I have a short laundry list of things to-do. Run to the grocery for the things I forgot on Friday on my out-of-control quest for more food that I didn’t need (need: sandwich makings, Motrin — don’t need: cake), clean out the fridge, tidy the house, give Paul Anka’s bowl a bath, email a few people, not think about how much I don’t ever want to go back to work, call my Daddy and wish him a happy father’s day.

Earlier today while ku nkiko was suggesting things to do that weren’t making Britney Spears!Sims’ life hell, ku nkiko mentioned writing. And oh wait, I don’t like to write anymore. For a minute, I was a little offended. How dare she suggest that my lack of writing is the result of suddenly not liking it? Then I realized that there’s a grain of truth in what she said. It’s not that I hate writing. It’s more like I hate my writing and all my ideas and I’m going to try to stop referring to myself as a writer because I’m not and it’s really hard to explain that to people. What I am is just like a lot of other people. I’m in my late twenties, I’m living from one day to the next, and I worry about things like taxes and insurance and how I’m going to afford things like a car to replace my very tired current car and retirement and what I’ll do as my parents’ health begins to fail.

Perhaps the perpetual cynic in me but I don’t believe people who constantly need to reassure those around them that they are fine/awesome/totally in love with life/SUPER HAPPY. I’m all for repeating something until you believe it but it doesn’t work as well with other people. They are subject to their own vile cynicism. Bastards.

When I say double down, what to do you do?
Double my ass down.


Posted on June 18, 2006, in Adventures with Sparkle Pants, All about Sparkle Pants, Pretty happy fun friends. Bookmark the permalink. Comments Off on Maybe he’s a Republican.

  1. I could tell I hurt you when I said it – and I only said it because you’ve said it to me before.

    I just want to make one thing clear – I didn’t say you weren’t a writer. You are. It’s who you are. It’s in your blood. You couldn’t live without that. But your interests and views and dreams and goals have morphed and grown in the time we’ve known each other. You used to want to have a book on the NYT Bestseller List. Now you want to have a book banned.

    You used to think you’d write fiction, or flash. Now it’s more nonfiction/ethnographic biographical stuff live from Africa that I’m expecting to see in bookstores everywhere.

    You’ve grown and changed, and your writing has grown and changed with it. But never doubt that you are still a writer. It’s just a more private and precious part of who you are in the middle of all of that late-20s hysterical bullshit. It just shows itself in different ways.

    I love you, my writer best friend.

  2. It’s not that you hurt me. You just reminded me what a failure I’ve become and it isn’t your fault. You were just stating the obvious. Yeah, a lot has changed in so many years. I don’t know. It shouldn’t be so easy to have your entire life turned upside down by one stupid person.

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