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1:15 am - Mon 2.02.2009
What I Meant To Write Last Time

What I Meant To Write Last Time

Was just thinking about my last entry.

It's what wrong with my journal writing these days (And by "these days", I mean for the past number of years).

Don't get me wrong - It's perfectly fine that I wrote about my financial worries, because, after all, that's what's going on right now.

I don't have a problem with my subject matter, per se.

I have a problem with how fucking boring and dishonest I was in writing about it.

In general, I'm skimming the surface of my life, without much humor or nuance, seemingly with no sense of where the real "story" is (I often feel, after an entry, that I gave you the boring stuff, and left the interesting bits out altogether. Which, to my way of thinking, is exactly the opposite of what you should do when writing for public consumption).

And I'm increasingly frustrated with my incompetence, or cowardice, or with whatever is keeping me from telling the truth.

Cause I think the truth would be way more interesting than what I've been writing.

I don't think it's terribly "interesting", for example, that I'm having money worries.

Who isn't right now?

And, really, who cares?

But what I think is interesting is to say that I'm having money worries, but I don't want to get another job, or work more meetings at Weight Watchers, or drop my cable or my land line or find a cheaper place to live, or basically do anything that involves life becoming more unpleasant in any way, shape, or form than it currently is.

I think it's interesting to say that, by and large, I actually like the life I have right now, in many respects - I like my apartment, I like having cable & high-speed Internet, I like the food I buy, etc.

It's not "The High Life", but it's my life.

And though I'd rather not have to work at Weight Watchers at all, I like it as a part-time job - As I've said before, it's not hard, for the most part, the people are pleasant, and the amount of hours I'm working now gets me out of the house and out in the world, giving me needed exercise in the bargain (As I bike to the centers). But at the same time, the hours are minimal enough not to be overly draining of my sub-normal level of energy.

(Ironically, if/when I start working a shitload of meetings at Weight Watchers, it will mean getting less exercise, because I'll no longer have the down-time it takes to bike from here to there.)

And the idea of possibly having less of a life than I have right now pisses me off (Though I'm not sure who, or what, to be pissed off at in that scenario).

I do not want to have to work 25 Weight Watchers meetings a week, assuming I even could.

I do not want to get another job (Or another two jobs, because one shit job here in LA won't really pay the bills, unless you're living on beans and rice, and sharing an unfurnished room with three or four other damned souls).

I do not want to ask for a hand-out from anyone - from Cary and Kay, or Mark and Jane, or from you (Whoever "You" may be) - so I can stay afloat for another month or two.

I want one thing to keep me afloat, to keep me living in the apartment I enjoy, enjoying the cable and high-speed internet I'm addicted to, eating real cheese, and Weight Watchers fudge bars, and those bags of organic cauliflower and broccoli I like.

I want to be a fucking professional actor.

That's not to say I'm not going to do what I need to do to survive - of course I will (Having cable is nice, but having a roof over your head and food to eat is nicer).

But I want my fucking life. And I want it on my own fucking terms.

I want the thing I have no real control over to be the thing that pays the bills, and keeps me safe and secure, that provides a financial future, and makes me feel good about myself.

I have a feeling the next couple months are going to be...



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