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Slightly inebriated self-actualization

I'm breaking with tradition... no, that's a lie.  I'm doing something I've totally done before, and that's blog while I'm drunk.  I've probably done that like, I don't know... several times before.  And God willing, I'll keep doing it for years to come.


At present, I'm watching Absolutely Anything while smashed on my fourth round of 100 proof SoCo, and I had to pause the movie because I had a delightful bit of self-awareness that I hope my sober self can remember.  Sober Josiah, see, he's kind of an uptight jerk sometimes.  He's always like... responsible or something.  Like, he cares what people think or how well he's doing with, say, fiscal tidiness or some shit.  But drunk Josiah?  He's all about wearing his heart on his sleeve and being SUPER FUNNY, until that moment when he's, like, not.  Steph knows about that.  I mean, one second, shouting "dirty cock" is amusing for everyone, and the next, you're an embarrassment, right?  What's up with that?


Absolutely Anything is a movie I'm probably going to review in more depth later, possibly while sober, simply because it's the first movie I've had a chance to watch in weeks.  And more relevantly: it's a movie about a writer.  Played by Simon Pegg, who I absolutely adore.  Y'know what, Pegg? You're on the list.  The list of can-do-no-wrong performers, right up there with John Goodman, Maya Rudolph, John Turturro, Terry Crews, and probably like a dozen others I can't remember now who will always, always, always win me over, no matter what they're doing.  Like, all of these people have been in total shit movies, but they're my rocks, my buddies, my stable mountains of charismatic magnetism that I'll always look to and go, "Hey, you were pretty good, anyway.  Right?  So, whatever, let's just forget how shitty that movie was."


I was thinking about how Pegg's character is a writer and how in movies writers are always struggling with writer's block or some mundane shit.  And how in real life, or at least, in MY real life, writer's block ain't much of a thang.  I mean, I've been doing this shit for twenty plus years now and ever since I committed to self-publishing my stuff and just DOING IT, you know, like three years ago or wheneverthefuck I started this blog, the only REAL challenge I've had is... uh, just selling things.  Like, nobody cares that I've published three books, have one banked, and have another about halfway done.  I mean, I shouldn't say nobody "cares", really that's not fair, my wife cares and my family's proud (probably my mother-in-law most of all, you rock, Sherrie, I don't care how many pop fiction cliches say otherwise).


The point is, I'll keep writing and writing and I'll keep self-publishing until Amazon crashes or Jeff Bezos himself comes up to me and stabs me in the hand and says, "Just give it a rest, you weirdo," and I'm determined and all that, but it doesn't change the fact that my sales are crap.  And sometimes, that kinda bums me out.  Y'know?  'Cause it's like... yo, this is my life's dream, and... it's worth maybe $50 a year?


On the other hand...

It totally IS my life's dream.  And there's people out there, like hard-working, angry people from middle America who hate the hand life dealt them, or (probably a little worse) child slaves in third-world nations, or other people oppressed by systems and institutions and factors far greater and more complicated than they could ever conceive, who are forced into the lives they live and have no control over anything.

But here I am, I get to write on my own goddamn terms and be kinda cranky because OOPSIE, nobody wanted to buy my book... and I can still do it, anyway, and I still love it, and I have the freedom to keep doing it over and over and over again no matter how many times I DON'T sell a book.

I'm totally living my dream.


Oh, holy shit, for once, alcohol made my life so much happier and easier.


I will write until the day I become a literal husk.  Or, y'know, my kidneys give out.