Greetings. Welcome to my pity party. You can put your coats and stuff in the bedroom, but please close the door otherwise a rabbit will come in and try to claim your stuff by pooping on it. There is plenty of booze and other mind altering substances to ease the pain of having to read about my pain. Make your self comfy. Hope you’re not allergic to cats because, well, pretty much all the furniture is irretrievable embedded with cat fur. Mini quiche, anyone?
Due to a series of minor setbacks in my so-called “career”, I’ve been feeling a bit funky. No doubt the melt down of the economy, the fact that Alaska (my cat, not the state) throws up every morning when he hears me wake up, and Sarah Palin also have something to do with this malaise. Like all things, this mood is impermanent and will pass. But, it could go either way – I could slide into clinical depression, or I could decide to pull my head out of my ass. Maybe I’ll wait until after the election to decide. In the meantime, I’m opting to live in Funkytown.
Musical interlude (I mean because every party, pity or not, needs some tunes)
Hmmm. Maybe Funkytown is not the place for me. It seems far too smokey, and with my asthma it’s probably not a good idea.
I recently found out that National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) is next month. After reading over the rules and such, I have this weird idea in my head that I want to do this. It’s crazy, right? I mean it’s nuts on a number of fronts. Fifty thousand words (or approx 175 pages) in 30 days is, uh, rather ambitious. I’d be setting myself up for failure, and that’s the last thing I need whilst living in Downerville (it’s less smokey than Funkytown and doesn’t require dancing). The bigger question though is who in the hell am I to think I could write a novel, even a bad one? I don’t know how to write a freakin’ novel. Hell, like Sarah Palin, it’s worth celebrating if I can even string a comprehensible sentence together. Oh, and I have no ideas for a novel. Minor stumbling block.
On the plus side, however, I do love a challenging deadline. Close to two years ago I completed my Vajrayogini retreat, which included the reciting of 110,000 long mantras. Completing the retreat, in about four weeks, particularly on my own in my own home, gave me this bizarre confidence that is completely at odds with my actual abilities. I also like the fact that this would take place in November which, in the past, has been the period when I start sliding into my winter blues. It could either be a lovely diversion, or else my dark mood would make me feel all writerly and shit.
So, I don’t know. Do I risk my rather fragile self-confidence on a big misguided venture? Or should I set my sites lower and just do National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo) instead? Thoughts?
Leaving so soon? I was just getting ready to complain about all my minor aches and pains. Hey! Where are you going? Oh well, more chips and guacamole for me.