I wish I was working. It might be odd to say, but I actually like what I do for a living, and I’m excited to get involved with another project. I also have learned the hard way that NYC is an expensive place to live, and I’ll be way more comfortable when I have money coming in again.
In the meantime, I’m going to do something that is long past due: I’m going to re-read and edit the novel I’ve had in the works since July. Once I’m caught up with the necessary corrections and changes, I’m going to finish the Goddamned thing. No longer will I put it off because I’m afraid of what might happen if I show the whole thing to someone who can help me.
Reading the novel is painful. I’ve been single for a while, and I’m absolutely fine with it. Life has been great lately, and I’m in no rush to change my situation. That being said, I wrote most of the novel while thinking about someone I cared about like no one else before her, and every chapter is like ripping out stitches that I didn’t know were there. I’m hoping it makes me stronger in the long run, but right now all it’s making me want to do is send a text saying, “Fuck, I miss you.” That, however, would be a terrible idea considering I was the one who finally put a stop to the bullshit.
The last two bullet points are actually why I want to start working again. Access to any song I want thanks to Spotify (the Premium is sooooo worth it) and the freedom to drink coffee and/or booze all day while reading mostly-truthful stories about the girl I was in love with? Not the best way to spend my free time.
I have discovered recently that it’s still a terrible idea for me to listen to Bon Iver. Thanks for that, S.
I know that someday the pain and exhaustion will all be worth it.
In the meantime, I’m going to pour myself another glass of bourbon, take a quick shower, and then hop in a cab to go see my favorite distraction.
