Jesus, I'm a crybaby.
I feel compelled to write, but I have no idea about what. I try to write about my life, but it's so fucking boring even I can't stand reading about it. My opinions matter as much as any one's, which is to say not that much at all. What's the trick, here? How do I go about writing without feeling and sounding like a self-involved creep? Is that my voice? Should I just embrace that? Does questioning that make me insecure? How many inane questions can I write in a row before I lose you?
Maybe I should focus on the self-involved and inane. That's where my head is most of the time anyway. I got a new pair of jeans yesterday for the first time in many years, and I'm thrilled because they're not baggy fat-kid pants. They're normal people pants. They don't make me look like I'm trying to hide three adult diapers in the seat. They're a little too tight on me, but not so tight I have to cripple myself before buttoning them. Almost, but not quite. This gives me something better to strive for. I've been losing weight due largely to stress and poor finances, and now I can add narcissism to that list. I guess the end really does justify the means. I want to look healthy again. I doubt I'll ever be happy with myself and think I actually look good, but I would like to look like less of a heart-attack-in-training. Eating next to nothing and exercising daily helps that goal, but goddamn does it suck. I'm a bitter American. I want to gorge myself on pizza covered in high-cruelty meat and wash it down with ancient whiskey poured from a bottle made of ivory and conflict diamonds. And I'd like to look like a NAVY SEAL (excluding all the awful tribal tattoos. Just, fucking yuck.) when I'm done.Now I'm off to make myself feel cultured by reading some Joseph Conrad instead of doing, you know, work.
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