Giving up... not! (WUI: Written Under the Influence)

It's hard to give up on something you weren't really trying to get in the first place. I have been in Uruguay for a year and I still have the shitty job I got when I first got here, the one I don't really enjoy, I'm not particularly good at, and, most of all, does not pay good at all. And why? Because I didn't try. If I am to be honest with myself, I didn't try in the States, either. I didn't try to stay. I knew it would be incredibly difficult, and, I just... don't like to work hard. 

This was not a problem during college and high school because I had no responsibilities, and homework is not hard. But I lack drive. I am one of those in the I generation, I guess, the ones who think everything will be handed to them.


But no one is going to give me a job. Not if I don't try. But, what if I try and still no one gives me a job? I feel like in Uruguay no one is willing to let you in based on your potential talent. Which is all I have, potential. I have nothing to show, nothing created, just bits and pieces that might indicate that one day I'll be an ok writer.

he's the character from The Simpsons I relate to the most

And my blog doesn't help shit. First off, it's in English. Also, the blog is about things that happen (or happened) in my life, and, let's face it, I am 24! There's only, like, five 24-year-olds in the world who have important lives. The rest of us don't have “stuff” in our lives yet. I have no great advice, because nothing has ever happened to me. I have no great stories because I am mostly too drunk to remember them.

So, do I just give up? It's frightening the frequency with which you think about throwing yourself out the window, even if they wouldn't call you “depressed” per se. I am not absolutely depressed. I am not staring at the scissors trying to decide if someone will notice the scars there or not. But the thoughts are still real. I'm chucking it to the disease, that slimy brown rat whose rotten teeth are stuck somewhere in my brain.
The drugs make it better, of course, but nothing, I am sadly realizing, will ever take the rat and extract its teeth.

Between the height of my building and my fragile bones, I would definitely die, but only if I jump head first. I have calculated this, just in case, to make things easier to myself, in case...

But no, you don't do that, not to your mother and your best friend. Not when you at least know that you want to be a writer. You want to be a writer! HI, epiphany, where have you been!

happy dreams!

First part: start writing stories, because, as we have established before, nothing has ever happened to you, ever, and no one is interested in your comfortable non-poor, not-under-a-terrible-dictator life. So, stories, about Gene and Carla and Jenni and Maria, about the things that you wish would happen to you because your soul is so twisty and dark that you actually wish for the drama and when your boyfriend cheats on you, you plan the dialogue and he's going to be so sorry he did it and feel guilty you're not even crying because you want to be strong. So, these blueprints for a perfect breakup or meeting a celebrity can be used with a higher purpose: stories not about you. 

Who will ever read them? Who knows, but, fanfiction is proof that people will literally read ANYTHING.

So, give up after? After you have spent 10,000 hours writing. Clock them. Start with one or two a day. Get a job that lets you write. Go to school were you write scholarly papers about Lacan and The Avengers.Write until it becomes your full-time job and the keys of your mac no longer show letters because of the acid in your finger sweat. 

emo is cool

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