I want to dress like Lee Van Cleef.
In the meantime, can someone get me a pocket watch that plays this tune and a mariachi band to create a tense 'duel theme' wherever I go?
Showing posts with label future. Show all posts
Showing posts with label future. Show all posts
Friday, October 8, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
Happy-Go-Fucking Lucky McPositive and the Fork in the Road...
KABLAMMO!!
That's the noise of a bad moment, a little percussive volley as my corpus callosum is rent in twain and my head explodes, brainz n' all, like an egg in a microwave.
So about 5 months ago (Monday the 12th April in fact) I wrote a piece about my ill-fated and toe-blistering initial attempt to get back into shape as part of my (woefully inadequately fulfilled) 101 things to do and haven't really written anything since.
A cynic would suggest that my pot bellied attempt to be less dough-like stopped my brain working for almost half a year, but I don't think that's the case.
Basically, I had an exam in June, but thanks to the dual forces of working two jobs, and being a lazy earfucker, I managed to fail...spectacularly. Then, after spending the summer studying...I failed again. And lost my job as a lawyer.
KABLAMMO!
So that was yesterday. Now I'm one of the 99.9999% of the world again. I have no fucking clue what I'm doing with life.
Since 2008 I've been approaching my career as a lawyer who was going to become a writer at the first opportunity. It was comforting; financial security, quite prestigious, challenging and keeping with the 'artist' bullshit scenario that we all paint about ourselves in our minds.
That's the problem. When you spend enough time convincing yourself of a fact, it becomes all too easy to see it as a truth. Now I have to rethink some other things about myself that I though were true, like being a great lover, having the physique of a gladiator, or being an original member of The Sugarhill Gang.
So cut throat corporate law is probably not for me. Small-town Atticus Finchery maybe, but not the Michael Clayton red-braces-and-Porsche-Boxter type. Some cliché is coming to mind about heat and kitchens, but it escapes me.
So what now?
I think the next stage for me is a masters degree of some sort. I've been looking at either an MA in radio production or print journalism. I want to give the writing future an actual attempt.
What do you think? Become a nicotine/adrenaline headline jock or an NPR/Radio 4 type doing radio dramas and producer 'Gardener's Question Time'? Both sound good.
That's the noise of a bad moment, a little percussive volley as my corpus callosum is rent in twain and my head explodes, brainz n' all, like an egg in a microwave.
So about 5 months ago (Monday the 12th April in fact) I wrote a piece about my ill-fated and toe-blistering initial attempt to get back into shape as part of my (woefully inadequately fulfilled) 101 things to do and haven't really written anything since.
A cynic would suggest that my pot bellied attempt to be less dough-like stopped my brain working for almost half a year, but I don't think that's the case.
Basically, I had an exam in June, but thanks to the dual forces of working two jobs, and being a lazy earfucker, I managed to fail...spectacularly. Then, after spending the summer studying...I failed again. And lost my job as a lawyer.
KABLAMMO!
So that was yesterday. Now I'm one of the 99.9999% of the world again. I have no fucking clue what I'm doing with life.
Since 2008 I've been approaching my career as a lawyer who was going to become a writer at the first opportunity. It was comforting; financial security, quite prestigious, challenging and keeping with the 'artist' bullshit scenario that we all paint about ourselves in our minds.
That's the problem. When you spend enough time convincing yourself of a fact, it becomes all too easy to see it as a truth. Now I have to rethink some other things about myself that I though were true, like being a great lover, having the physique of a gladiator, or being an original member of The Sugarhill Gang.
So cut throat corporate law is probably not for me. Small-town Atticus Finchery maybe, but not the Michael Clayton red-braces-and-Porsche-Boxter type. Some cliché is coming to mind about heat and kitchens, but it escapes me.
So what now?
I think the next stage for me is a masters degree of some sort. I've been looking at either an MA in radio production or print journalism. I want to give the writing future an actual attempt.
What do you think? Become a nicotine/adrenaline headline jock or an NPR/Radio 4 type doing radio dramas and producer 'Gardener's Question Time'? Both sound good.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
