A Strange Piece About Rockstar, Writing, and Small Children

It’s Rockstar night again. Elimination. Starts in a few. I pick Patrice. I think Storm gets a shakeup.

I cannot tell you how much I weirdly relate to this show. I don’t know why. I just want to be in that situation where I get chosen, you know? But this is one of those rare reality shows where the contestants have really earned the right to be there. They’re pretty solid. They’re street-wise and street-smart, though, because they’ve all played the circuit. They’re tough people, man.

Unlike the car-wash kids and farm boys and hoods and all that over on that Idol show.

But, you now, I’m street-wise and street-smart. Girl is hip to shit, you know? For real, like. Sorry, fell into hip-hop mode there for a sec. Y’all.

I’m professionally doomed. Really. Just, kaput. As a writer, I will never, ever, ever, ever succeed. (Okay, so it’s part reverse psychology, but work with me here.) All right, there’s a chance. It’s just slim. Real fuckin’ Jenny Craig slim, you know what I’m saying here?

Why, you ask? Pretty simple. Love the writing, hate the whoring. I mean, all that whoring, and no orgasms? I think not. Whoring, bad! Money, good! Not wasting precious hours of my life giving it to the man? Good! So, yeah, I never write for publications, ‘cos I can’t stand the bullshit, right? Life’s short. Time’s precious.

I’ve tried it a few times. I hate conforming my style. I hate doing rewrites. I’ll do a little, right? I can definitely edit better than this, this is on the fly. It’s just that I’m a little too ADD for the process, is all. I’d love to have a syndicated column, though. That’d be awesome. I just need to one day get my shit together and figure it out. Working on that.

Wouldn’t it be really cool if suddenly there was a Blogstar tournament or something and you could blog your way to fame and fortune? I’d knock back a thousand coffees for that. Shizzwang!

But I do digress. I, uh, hit bottom today, folks. I was a fucking mess until this afternoon. Long goddamned day. I kept breaking into tears. I’ve just had a shitty couple of days – PMS struck like an evil flying monkey from a Wicked Witch. Goddamn it’s vicious! Is it too late to ask for the penis model? Yes? I mean, I’d pay extra some days if I could have a penis.

Stop the presses, though. I think I’m on the up-swing. I think I’m returning to land of the mildly depressed. That’d be fucking SUPERB, man. And I’ve made a counselling appointment. I’m so stubborn. The auto-speller corrects my “UK” spelling of counselling by removing the extra L, and I go back and UK-it again. Fuckin’ Americans and their changing of the rules. C’mon, English (as opposed to “American” English) rocks. It’s Harry Potter’s language, for Christ’s sake!

Back to the important bit, that up-swing thingie-thing. I called it, man. I said I’d probably start to improve in the evening today. Yep. I’ve done the reaching-out thing and my counsellor (+l) gave me a call and we spoke about 20 minutes, and I finally heard someone who knows their shit telling me it sounds like I should’ve been melting down sooner. Nice to hear. Goodie. Instant validation. Just like the thrill of fresh credit, but I don’t hurt for it for years down the line.

Okay, so, Patrice, and Zayra, and Magni have all performed. Judgment looms. Yes, I’ve written this in commercials. I’m realizing how much my body is perpetuating my stress in the form of real bad tension. Thus, I’m pretending to know a thing or two about Pilates type stretching and shit, so I’m not sitting down for the show. It’s helping. My neck and shoulders have been badly knotted. I’d frickin’ harm small children for a massage right now, I shit you not. I should watch a surfing DVD and think about the wonderful movement of the ocean. Yeah. Happy shit, like. But this is good, the mood is improving. I got rid of all my evening work until September (and likely beyond). Some semblance of a life is now possible. As is rest. Things are looking up.

Huh! It’s Zayra who’s gone. I thought that the band’s fondness for her bravado would keep her around a week or two, whereas Patrice consistently is in the bottom three. Wrong call, evidently. Damn that fallibility.

I have succeeded in having fun. Writing this was fun. You see, earlier, I was having one of these tragic god-it-sucks-to-be-single moments and thinking how I had nothing. I was low person on the totem pole again, single, tired all the time, blah, blah, blah! And then, aha!, a thought! I had something. Something indeed. Something just for me. My writing. No, I don’t get paid. No, the world at large doesn’t really get a glimpse of it. No, I’ve never had that moment of seeing someone on the bus reading me. But I get to do it.

And that’s pretty fun sometimes.

(This is my writing equivalent of a game of ping-pong. Highly cut and kinda hard to watch. Heh. Looks cute in shorts, though.)

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One Comment

  1. Steven
    Posted August 17, 2006 at 6:50 am | Permalink

    What should I focus in on after reading that post? The way you wrote this post is the way I would probably write most days if my fingers could keep up with my brain. Every day my thoughts go in a million directions at once and then turn back in on themselves in an effort to get back to the original point. Its like I have McEnroe and Connors playing groundstrokes with my thoughts only Agassi and Federer want to join in and hit winners too. Its damn exhausting I tell you.
    Now the spell checker I can fully relate with that, my word processor and I are at war over which dictionary should be default. It prefers the US English version and I stubbornly prefer the UK mode. Word being being what it is, is sneaky, it doesn’t change back to US version everytime I switch it on. So when it does change, some days it catches me off guard and has me so confused I end up speaking a mix of the two. There was one day I got so frustrated with the spell checker I deliberately just wrote the post in Scots so that just about every word was rejected by the dictionary. It was one of my most popular posts, people found it hilarious and it was meant to be a funny but it turned out that most people were laughing at the wrong parts. Most of my readers being American and unfamilar with the language didn’t realise its a vocal language and you have to say it out loud when reading it so they just read it off the page and laughed because it looked funny. So after that I went back to fighting with my US English spell checker.

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