crappyWhat happens when the details stop mattering? All you have left are physical pleasure, for what it's worth, and then just a flatness. What happens when people start blending into one another and every novel starts to feel the same? Depression. Deep, dark, invincible depression.
I guess I have the comfort of knowing I've been here before and made it out. Perhaps it's just a valley that must be slogged through to the other side. You never really learn to defeat depression, you learn to ride it out as gently as possible and not let it feed on itself. If you give in and start eating or just vegetating or whatever then it gets worse and worse and can go on for years. So instead you try and ride it gently out, not pushing yourself too hard to the point of misery, but not giving up either.
Besides I do have one refuge in this dark time. My writing. Whether it's comedy you fuckers don't appreciate, or the absolute truth about one of America's most powerful men, I feel okay when I'm working on something. It's a way to get out of my head and into a world that doesn't suck so much, and I appreciate it for that.
I'm going through a tough time right now trying to decide what jobs to apply to and whether I should just junk it and make a go at trying to get some freelance writing work instead, but I think I'll be okay. I know I'll be okay.
I have come to firmly believe that the reason most people fail at things they want to do, whether it be get a job in a certain industry or lose weight or quit smoking or fuck Angelina Jolie or whatever, is because they give up too easily. You fall down once or twice or ten times and eventually you don't get back up.
Worst choice you could make.
The only choice that makes sense is to keep going, keep hoping, keep seeking. That seems to be the key to success. Failure is an option, but it's just that, an option. Not a very attractive one at that.
