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.
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| via |
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.
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| 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!
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| 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.
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| emo is cool |
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