Yeah, it’s been one of those days.
Oh, not that anything has really been going on or that anything has been particularly bad… Well, except my writing. Everytime I try to sit and write something it all comes out bad. I remember a story told in an interview once about that problem. J. Michael Straczynski, the creator of Babylon 5, was talking to Harlan Ellison, science-fiction god. Straczynski was complaining to Ellison that everything he wrote was crap and, according to Straczynski, Ellison told him simply, “Well, then just stop writing crap!”
If only it were that easy for me.
I seem to have a communication problem sometimes.
I seem so witty and bright until my fingers hit the keys and out comes purile pap, half-digested cardboard that leaves nothing more than a bad after-taste. And, it’s not just on this blog! Oh, no, dear readers, you’ll be pleased to know that I write just as poorly in e-mail. Earlier today I was slacking at work taking a mental-health break, and reading a few blogs. I read one particular blog by a successful, attractive young lady, well, younger than me, at any rate. She was having a rough morning, but it wasn’t her coffee spill that interested me. Rather, it was her internal dialog. She was so sure that she was being judged, and being judged harsly, by the coffee shop patrons.
It startled me, her certainty of judgement from without. I see her and see everything that I cannot be, beautiful, popular, solvent, but still, she had the same self-doubt that rattles about in my slightly over-weight, more-than-slightly in debt, almost middle-aged self. Iconcievable. Is it possible that everyone has a critic living inside them that is as loud and constant as mine? I’m begining to wonder if maybe they do.
My therapist keeps telling me that I’m more normal than I think I am. Oh, to be sure, I had some aberrant behavior, but that’s been under control for years now, before I started to see him, in fact. It’s just that I listen so carefully to that internal critic that I hear him in everyone else’s voice these days. I’ve been told that I’m defensive and I know it’s true. Of course, I’m more defensive with some people than others. My mother tells me that there’s fine line between defending myself and being defensive and, maybe, some of those people don’t know the difference. Maybe, but I think they’re closer to the truth than my dear, sweet mother who only thinks the best of me, her baby boy. (As a side note, dear readers, you’d like my mother. She’d make your favorite dish for you when you visit, or bake you something sweet. She’s like June Cleaver, if June knew how to shoot a .38 and used sarcasm like a precision instrument.) In any case, that damn critic is why I haven’t writen for publication in so long, why I have such trouble asking a pretty girl out on a date, and why I’m so sure that no one really likes me, but keeps me around for my utility. I mean, c’mon, a guy with my technical skills is pretty damn useful sometimes. And, whatever else I may believe about myself, I know that I’m damn good at what I do. I routinely pull off the impossible, at least, technically speaking. (I tell myself that over and over both to remind myself and at the request of my therapist. I think it’s working.) In fact, I worked so hard to develop skills that few have because I knew that was the only way anyone would have anything to do with me.
Crazy, isn’t it? What’s sad is that I have absolutely no explanation for why my internal critic should be so strong, so loud. That’s why I pay a nice man who’s name starts “Doctor” every other week. To help me figure that out and, more importantly, over come that little bastard.
I took a move from one of my favorite bloggers this week and “burned” one of my “ships”. No, I didn’t quit my job, but, deeply in debt, I still bought a very good laptop computer that was on sale and loaded with extras and rebates. I found that I do seem to get more writing done on a laptop, away from my main system with all its distractions. Like e-mail and this blog. So, the way I see it, the only way for me to pay off my debt is to start writing for publication. I think I’ll start with some contests and see how it goes.
Oh, if you didn’t catch it from the comments, I did e-mail that girl from college. No word back yet, but I’ll keep you posted.
As Bartles and Jaymes used to say, “Thank you for your support.”
I’m going out of town for a couple of days, starting Thursday this week, and instead of asking a friend to watch my dog for me, I’m boarding her at my vet. I’m doing this for a couple of reasons. First, although my friend I usually ask to watch her would be happy to do that for me, I don’t want to put him out that much or for that long. I’ll only be gone four days, but two of those days, he’d have to drive all the way across town to let her out and check her food and water. Frankly, that just seems like more hassle than is right for me to ask of him. Secondly, if I ever have to travel for an extended period of time for work, I’ll want to know that I have a good, long-term arrangement that my poor, spoiled dog will survive. Thirdly, my vet, the Jersey Village Animal Hospital, has about the newest, nicest facility I’ve seen. Honestly, it will be like sending her to a four day doggie spa.
