Lemme try this way.
All I?ve Got Are Tidbits
Pre-storms until I brainstorm.
The phone rings as I make a sandwich in the kitchen.
?Hello??
?Dorothy!(I?ll think of a better name later.) My commercial is on in a couple minutes! Switch your TV to Channel 5.?
It?s [New Name Later]. He?s sadly been deemed Next Big Thing and has just finished a commercial. I cry for him because he?s too stupid to know that it?s not GOOD to be called the Next Big Thing. It means your career is over.
?Have you switched yet??
?Yeah?why is it on during She Spies??
?Because She Spies is hot.?
???Oh. Okay.?
I can hear [New Name Later] gasp in excitement as She Spies goes to commercial. Here it comes?[New Name Later] screams like a girl. It?s on.
TV: Dammit! I thought of a good fake commercial and now I can?t think of it. I suck. Blah.
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Steer clear of the non-bookage?no, no! It?s okay! Non-bookage is allowed! Maybe some change will do you(or me.) good. Of course it will. Let?s get this all out. Well, you?re actually no help at all in this. You?re just listening to me getting this all out. You suck. Useless, lazy, half assed, ass. Do something productive for once. You don?t need to listen to me, now do you? I didn?t ask you to. Now shut up and listen.
That up there? No, not that paragraph up there. The first tidbit above the line. See that? It sucks. It?s crap. I should delete it right now, but I wouldn?t have anything to use as written testimony to the fact that I?m not writing me. I need to write me. Do I need a class to learn to write me? God, I hope not. I like doing things on my own because it makes me sound cool, or intelligent, or as if anything you can do, I can do better, or as if I can hold my own, or as if I?m just so damn talented that I can sculpt my raw talent into perfection without your help, their help, or anyone?s help! Sadly, none of this is true. I mean, I sure as hell think it?s true. Guess what? It?s not. Lies. Hello, liar. I?d believe in you, but seeing as you are a liar, well, that would be completely and utterly stupid in all forms of the word.
Gah?where am I going with this? Do I need a class to learn how to keep on track? Do I just need an editor? No. No editor. No class. I don?t need no stinkin? editors! I don?t need no stinkin? classes! Oh?oh, no! See? There I go again, with the random, and the references, and?maybe I do need a stinkin? class. Let?s hope not. Let?s hope I can write and write crap like this until I learn to stay on track and things begin forming. Oh, that would be fantastic. Now, I think I?ll go back to my main point. Which iiiiiis?
I?m not writing me. I didn?t explain what that means in the second paragraph. I?m sorry. I?m assy. My brain began forming stupidities. It?s a problem. No. Yes. Yes. But what do I mean by the phrase, ?I?m not writing me?? I mean that the first paragraph I wrote up there was fake. It?s not what I really want to write. It?s not what I?m really thinking. I think the problem is that I feel like I have all these great thoughts rushing around, these great little scenes and plots and dialogue, but it?s all either
A) Stuck in my head and I just don?t know the way to make it look on paper like it is in my head
B) Actually crap and I?m doing everything right with getting it down on paper like it is in my head, but it?s just crap. My brain is making boom booms in writing form.
C) Just a matter of working my lines out, making it so that I can make something look and feel realistic and funny and good on paper.
Is it all so much to ask of my brain that I can just make a few funnies, have a few laughs, and be done with it? Is it so much to ask for a one night stand of good writings with my brain? Or is my brain being abstinent, holding strong against my devilish good looks and my witty charm? Is my brain the pretty 25 year old blonde virgin trying to keep that status whilst I, the handsome, red headed lesbian?seeing as both my brain and I are women?use my sense of humour(or lack thereof, if you?ll note that tidbit up there again)to?uhm?how dost one say this? Let?s call it?gain access to my brain?s proverbial, hypothetical, metaphorical, altogether not real, pants. Wait?hold on a second! I?I think I?ve made a breakthrough!
Did you SEE that?! That sounded like?like I was being ME! Wow?if I?m not trying, I think this actually works! I mean, it?s not my best work, but it?s a hell of a lot better than that boring load of inane drivel on the first page(above the line, of course.)! I?m just so happy?well, not really THAT happy. I am, because while I was caught in a storm of random brain sparks, I think I might have gotten a little bit closer to achieving that goal I had set for myself earlier on ? Learning how to write me. To write like I mean it. I felt up that last paragraph, if we?re keeping with the lesbian-who-wants-inside-her-brain?s-pants theme. But, really, euphemisms aside, I felt that last paragraph. Maybe not FELT it, but I really think it?s a lot closer to what I hope to write. It?s not exactly what I hope to write. I don?t want to write ?Euphemisms Galore ? The Red Headed Lesbian And Her Discovery Of Brains/Sexy Virgins?. Or do I?
No. I don?t want to write that. But hey, it?s how I think. I can?t say balls or any variation of the word without giggling. Same with nuts, head(This is a bad one. I?m afraid to use the word because I think everyone else thinks like I do. Sad, ain?t it?), and any other euphemism you could possibly think of. In fact?I just thought of a fantastic euphemism. Slapping one?s pants. Isn?t it great? It?s great. It?s a giggler. It?s used like this. Let?s set up the scene: A man calls his man friend.
?H..hello??
?Hey, dude! Want to go grab a Miller Lite at the drinking vicinity down the road??
?I?n?I can?t?I?I?m sooo busy?with?with college apps.?
?You?re 27. We both finished college 3 years ago.?
?Did?did I say college apps? I meant job apps.?
?You?re the president of Disney.?
?I?I got f?fired. By?myself??
?OHHH! Sorry, dude. Didn?t realize you were slapping your pants. I?ll leave you alone.?
Click.
And there you have it. Too bad I?m not a trendsetter like that nice actor in Wag The Dog. I could copyright the pants off ?Slapping your pants? and all variations of it.
What were we talking about? Right. I was getting closer to writing what?s really on my mind. I like writing what I?m actually thinking. Or what I think is funny. I?m freeeee?free fallin?. And, no, I won?t try to make another scene now. I?m going to talk about my feelings for a while. Don?t you love your feelings?
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Monday, July 5th
Maybe I should turn this into a journal. That would be fantastic. Craptacular. Hmmm?let us weigh the possibilities, aye?
Fantastic ? Pros
1 ? I could, oh, talk about my feelings. And what I did that day.
Cones?cons.
1 ? I would talk about my feelings and what I did that day. Ew.
Craptacular ? Pros
1 ? I wouldn?t have to talk about my feelings and what I did that day.
Cons
1 ? I don?t think there are any. Do I NEED a journal?
There. Craptacular. No journal. However, I will, of course keep track of the days on which I am writing these things. And I guess you could call this a WRITING journal. For me to learn how to keep track of what I?m saying and to get used to writing about things I would like to write about. Like fish. No, I don?t want to talk about fish. I want to say I want to talk about fish because it makes me sound weird.
What do you want to hear? Hmmm? What do you want from me? Ack! Hack! All right, now that I?ve finished that dibble dabble in the dribble drabble.
I?m in that kind of sleepy daze right now. You know, the one I was in a few nights ago when I threw my bra in the trash. I wouldn?t have known where it was if my mom hadn?t found it. I?d have yelled at the dogs for taking my bra and burying it in the back yard. And then I would?ve beaten them. Then? Oh, then I would?ve felt bad because immediately afterwards I would find my bra in the trash. Thank God I have a Mom to predict and prevent such occurrences that will of course happen quite often when I move out. What? Move out? Nooo. Such nonsense! I?ll live with my Mummy and my Daddy forever and I won?t have to worry about angry men climbing up the walls and making their way into my kitchen window and hiding in the closet just to creep me out in the night and say??Clarise. Hello.? Oh, damn. Why did I say such things as that? It?s the middle of the night right now. I?m scared now. Thanks, me. I?m going to cut our little dilly dally short and go to bed and squeal in horror as I watch a 2 mile an hour breeze form the shadows of leaves cast by the moonlight shining through my room. Those are some scary ass leaves out there, I?ll tell you. I love our little chats.
