The Grim Reaper Approaches
Your old pal EvilMister turns older next month. The approaching day of doom is the 26th of March, and when we hit that calendar day, the first third of my life will have officially come to a close. And me without a party dress yet.
There are a number of things I was supposed to have accomplished by now (excluding the vainglorious dreams of being in control of the world or an actual-factual superhero), and the realization that I've accomplished none of them seriously sucks donkey ass.
Besides being arrogant, I'm also realistic. My goals were never truly outrageous. I never wanted to be president of anything, partly because I can barely handle being in charge of washing my underwear let alone the smooth running of a nation. I never wanted to be a doctor, and not only because it takes a trillion years of schooling to get through, but because sticking my fingers into someone through a hole I made is gross. The same goes for astronaut, because I'm worried that if I break through into outer space, the aliens who left me behind will see me and I still haven't had sex with Ashlee Simpson.
No, I just wanted some really basic things. I'm still working on them, but becoming a published author, even a bad published author, takes serious work and I am more than a little lazy. Plus I really dislike being told 'no' all the time. Add to that the fact that busting into the literary world is now as serpentine and circuitous as getting government paperwork done AND getting representation in, oh, say, basketball, I have very little chance of getting it done on my own. It's not that I'm totally lazy or anything, it's just that I suffer from 'tomorrow-itis'. This malady is quickly followed by 'I am on hiatus-itis' and 'The book needs to be reworked-aphobia'. And then, just to round off my procrastination, there's the dreaded 'Damn this game is fun-aphilia'.
If only I could use the laser like focus I possess on leveling my characters up into my real life, I wouldn't be writing this article, I'd be pleasuring Natalie Portman (she's legal, I checked).
So while the specter of my 33rd birfday shows itself on the hill, remember this:
I accept money and candy as gifts. Address available upon request.
There are a number of things I was supposed to have accomplished by now (excluding the vainglorious dreams of being in control of the world or an actual-factual superhero), and the realization that I've accomplished none of them seriously sucks donkey ass.
Besides being arrogant, I'm also realistic. My goals were never truly outrageous. I never wanted to be president of anything, partly because I can barely handle being in charge of washing my underwear let alone the smooth running of a nation. I never wanted to be a doctor, and not only because it takes a trillion years of schooling to get through, but because sticking my fingers into someone through a hole I made is gross. The same goes for astronaut, because I'm worried that if I break through into outer space, the aliens who left me behind will see me and I still haven't had sex with Ashlee Simpson.
No, I just wanted some really basic things. I'm still working on them, but becoming a published author, even a bad published author, takes serious work and I am more than a little lazy. Plus I really dislike being told 'no' all the time. Add to that the fact that busting into the literary world is now as serpentine and circuitous as getting government paperwork done AND getting representation in, oh, say, basketball, I have very little chance of getting it done on my own. It's not that I'm totally lazy or anything, it's just that I suffer from 'tomorrow-itis'. This malady is quickly followed by 'I am on hiatus-itis' and 'The book needs to be reworked-aphobia'. And then, just to round off my procrastination, there's the dreaded 'Damn this game is fun-aphilia'.
If only I could use the laser like focus I possess on leveling my characters up into my real life, I wouldn't be writing this article, I'd be pleasuring Natalie Portman (she's legal, I checked).
So while the specter of my 33rd birfday shows itself on the hill, remember this:
I accept money and candy as gifts. Address available upon request.
posted by Unknown @ 5:14 AM
2 Comments:
Hey! I'll send you a card at least, there may be cash or candy inside or there may not be (I dunno we'll have to see what turns up). What's your home address?
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