Here there be monsters (socratic) wrote,
Here there be monsters

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Today was a day

Today I got a few things done that needed doing. I spent all the money left in my bank account to pay off a debt, which sucked, but more money is just an email away so I'll be alright. I finally got fed up and called about my treadmill yesterday. I was ready to rip someone a new one if need be, but need wasn't. They had the wrong phone number because they're idiots who use a phone book instead of reading a form, and that was the problem. If I'd called earlier I might already have it, but that's life. My phone manner has improved a lot thanks to my job, and I was able to navigate the bureaucracy of the crappy phone system pretty well.

I generally avoid such interactions both out of a sense of social shame and because there is a really angry bitter person lurking within me who I don't want to unleash. I'd rather write polite emails and work out the anger through other means (Unfortunately including eating) than give a stranger my wrathful self, but at this point I was angry enough to go ahead and do that. I didn't have to.

I also prepared my first treatment and sent it to my boss to look over. It wasn't great, I actually really like the story but stylistically the thing is a mess due to the fact that I was writing super fast and slightly inebriated. He hasn't sent me back any feedback yet which could be a bad sign, or just a sign that he didn't have time to read 7 single-spaced pages yet. Anyway the experience was good, both because I actually showed my writing to someone else (wahoo!) and more importantly because it taught me the value of story-outlining and scene-plotting, which I will take forward. I don't know why I resisted it before except that I KNEW the first result would be kind of iffy and I hate attaching my name to iffy things. I need to get over that because it's only by creating crap that we learn to create worthwhile works. Every artist saws through piles of shit to get to the gleaming gold nuggets resting in his psyche. I need to write more. A lot more. This was a first step. There need to be more steps. I am a work in progress currently at a low point but I will persevere and overcome. There is no other option except for death, both literally and figuratively. Eat less, write more, I have a mantra.

Today Nancy Hopkins, the woman who "Got the vapors" because of what Larry Summers said that caused the big flack, gave a talk at Columbia in my father's honor. That just makes me really angry. My father was a liberal, no doubt, but he was for freedom of speech and he always taught me "There are no bad words, just stupid people who get offended. The more ideas we have out there the better we are as a society." I was free to curse in his presence though he asked that I respect the frail mental constitution of the average American brainwashed zombie going through life thinking that "All girls should be a size two" is a less offensive message than "George Bush loves the cock." Having little Blanche "I have always depended on the censorship of Academics" Dubois speak in his honor makes me want to eat a dozen cheeseburgers. Maybe I should write something instead.
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