6:43 pm - THU 5/30/02
The Amazing Adventures of Jim Hoffmaster

Having another one of those times--and they happen more often than I talk about in here--where something is on my mind, in my heart, and I just can't seem to get at what's going on inside me.

Right now, I'm reading The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, by Michael Chabon (If you're not familiar with it, it's the Pulitzer-prize winning novel about two Jewish kids who create a superhero--"The Escapist"--at the time when comic books are just taking form). I'm about a third of the way into the book, and it's got me a bit...stirred up.

I don't know what's got hold of me, exactly. The depiction of friendship, of a partnership, of success that springs from an idea and a willingness to follow it through. The depiction of a product, a career, a life, that springs from creativity. The realization that, as much as that speaks to me, it may just not be enough.

Thoughts moving too fast for me to really capture. I'm feeling a lot of anger at myself, for the life I've thus far failed to create for myself, while the clock tick tick ticks away. I don't have forever, I don't even know if I have tomorrow, and here I am, spending the bulk of my days bored, the bulk of my nights alone. Unsatisfied, unsuccessful in any way you care to define the term.

When did I decide I was defeated before I began? When did I lose whatever confidence I had? Why am I so deathly afraid of rejection when no one even gives a fuck?

There has to be more than this. I have to be more than this. I am more than this, but what turns the key? What do I need to do, what thoughts do I need to think, what courage do I need to summon, from where, that will allow me to be the only thing I've ever wanted to be, which is...myself?

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In yesterday's mail, there was something from The Sun.

For a moment, I got very excited, thinking it was a notice that they were going to print my little essay. But it was just a junk mail come-on to be a "friend of the Sun", which of course would involve giving them money.

But this brief excitement did start me thinking, which is always a dangerous thing; I haven't written anything outside of "Diaryland" since that little piece-of-nothing, and I'm not exactly sure why.

Probably part of the reason is that Jane didn't have the big "O" over it when I sent it to her (And why would she? It wasn't anything more than a garden-variety "Diaryland" entry). I think I have to do something "over and above" the masturbatory Jim-fest that is "Diaryland", but I don't know how.

This sort of connects to a little "issue" brought up by a recent Diaryland...

I said some "things" about other people, and it was brought to my attention--tentatively, gently--that I might have "crossed a line", that perhaps people might not want their personal lives revealed to my "fans".

I'm not going to hash over that stuff again--that's not the point here--but it does play up the difficulty of writing about "what you know", when what you "know" is basically yourself, and to a much-lesser extent, the handful of people you give a damn about.

One interesting thing that struck me, while pondering this ethical/creative dilemma, was my concern for how I might "come off", whether in Diaryland or some other writing I might pursue. I'm pathologically self-centered, but if I excise any mention of the other people in my life, and their problems/foibles/what-have-you, I'm going to seem even more self-centered than I really am. In effect, I would defeat a large purpose of this journal being online, which is to present, to whoever's interested, a picture of myself as I really am, or at least as I really perceive myself to be.

(I hope this is all making sense. I'm trying to do this as quickly as I can, and not re-read so much, so as to circumvent the "Inner Censor".)

Anyway...Anyway...Anyway...

Maybe that's why fiction writers become fiction writers, or at least maybe that's how it starts. They want to write about the world they live in, or at least the world they wish they lived in, without having to commit to their being the one expressing the sentiments. They can just "lay if off" on the "character" or "story". They want to say, "This is what I think of this or that", without offending anyone.

Maybe they're just smarter, more creative actors (But actors have the advantage of not even having to own up to the material). But what do I know? When's the last time I wrote a novel?

I'm tired of being bored. Tired of being tired. Tired of being alone all the time. Tired of feeling like I'm spinning my wheels. Tired of feeling like I've been sidelined somehow.

What's the answer? Is it working harder, working smarter, or not working at all?

(END)

(I seem to be having the problem I sometimes have with my word processing program, where every time I make a mistake, which is often,and try to correct it, the entire line after the mistake "backs up", and I end up writing over what I've just written. It's very annoying...)

Just got back a short time ago from seeing About A Boy.

As Hugh Grant's character in the film might say, it was "brilliant".

(Basically, if you want to know who I am, take away Hugh Grant's great hair, great bone structure, charming British accent, and great wealth, and you've pretty much got it.)

Jane recommended the movie to me very highly, but was "afraid" it might depress me, seeing as how I am, like the character in the film, a single guy leading a rather meaningless existence (She didn't say that; I'm saying it now).

But the movie didn't depress me, per se; It was a really good, charming, funny, ultimately touching film, and I like that kind of crap.

I did get a little weepy at the end, and I left the movie wondering if I need to hook up with an odd 12 year old boy and his suicidal mother, but that was no different than the thoughts that run through my head pretty much every day.

On the way home, I was thinking about Jennifer again.

I don't think her "secret" was very secret, since she told someone who then told Jane (thinking Jane already knew),so I don't feel like I broke a confidence or something (At least, I wasn't the first).

But beyond that, I don't feel like my heart was wrong in this, if you know what I mean; When people "gossip" about other people, I tend to define that as being malicious. I'm telling you what I know because it makes the person look bad, or because it makes me feel good to "know something", but in this case, my mentioning Jennifer's troubles was simple concern, no more and no less. I was surprised, worried for her, and frustrated that bad things are happening to her and there's nothing I can do.

That last bit is kind of funny. I was thinking as I rode home from the movie about Jennifer and my "relationship", when it struck me, "What the fuck are you talking about, Jim? You don't have a 'relationship' with Jennifer. You never did". I'm just an ugly guy who's pining after a pretty girl.

A pretty, sad girl (Honestly? That makes her more appealing to me. If everything in her life were just ducky, how could I even fantasize that she would need me?).

The moral of the movie--Not just "No man is an island", but "No couple is an island"--seems like a pretty good moral to me.

But I feel like everyone has "picked teams" at this point. Everyone's "dance card" seems to be pretty full.

And where the hell was I, while all this "choosing up sides" was going on?

I like to dance. What's more, I'm really good at it. So why am I not dancing?

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