Only 24 hours in Sarasota and I'm already a fitting mascot for Red Lobster.
You only FEEL like you're going to be able to outrun depression but you KANT. It chased me from Cleveland to San Bernadena, but THAT time, I was able to elude it. Lonely freaking fear and queasy feelings of forced self-reliance musta kept me preoccupied then. That and the fear of breaking down in the middle of the desert where I would surely be picked apart by the vultures and Wile E. Coyote before another car passed.
It hadn't occured to me that I'd hit a low swing while here staying at my grandparents condo. I'm hoping I swing back the other way by tomorrow or I may have to see if I can get an earlier flight back. Suddenly my week-long vacation feels like a prison sentence and I'm finding myself pining for the warm embrace of THC, blue lights and my goddamn cat.
I knew that I was pointed in the wrong direction when I found myself calling everyone I know in a panic earlier today just to reconnect with my life, which suddenly feels a million miles away.
So this is how it's going to be. I can't even take a fucking vacation without hating everything about myself and feeling my insides twisted in knots of constant worry with no catalyst.
I did get some writing done today, but not much. I had to keep moving with the sun and this laptop is really hard to work with in the sun. So yeah - one zombie epic, comin' right up. I've been sitting on this story for damn near two years and after a zillion false starts I think I'm ready to get serious. Too bad a zillion great zombie movies have come out since my white hot brainstorm. But I got something they ain't got - romance, suicide, heros eating love interests, pre-menstrul telepathy, and jailbate witches.
All great white-trash epics like mine should take place in Sarasota, Fla. It's perfect. I cribbed this from Elmore Leonard and I'll never let it go.
Pizza Hut is having it's way with me, so for now I bid you, adieu.
You only FEEL like you're going to be able to outrun depression but you KANT. It chased me from Cleveland to San Bernadena, but THAT time, I was able to elude it. Lonely freaking fear and queasy feelings of forced self-reliance musta kept me preoccupied then. That and the fear of breaking down in the middle of the desert where I would surely be picked apart by the vultures and Wile E. Coyote before another car passed.
It hadn't occured to me that I'd hit a low swing while here staying at my grandparents condo. I'm hoping I swing back the other way by tomorrow or I may have to see if I can get an earlier flight back. Suddenly my week-long vacation feels like a prison sentence and I'm finding myself pining for the warm embrace of THC, blue lights and my goddamn cat.
I knew that I was pointed in the wrong direction when I found myself calling everyone I know in a panic earlier today just to reconnect with my life, which suddenly feels a million miles away.
So this is how it's going to be. I can't even take a fucking vacation without hating everything about myself and feeling my insides twisted in knots of constant worry with no catalyst.
I did get some writing done today, but not much. I had to keep moving with the sun and this laptop is really hard to work with in the sun. So yeah - one zombie epic, comin' right up. I've been sitting on this story for damn near two years and after a zillion false starts I think I'm ready to get serious. Too bad a zillion great zombie movies have come out since my white hot brainstorm. But I got something they ain't got - romance, suicide, heros eating love interests, pre-menstrul telepathy, and jailbate witches.
All great white-trash epics like mine should take place in Sarasota, Fla. It's perfect. I cribbed this from Elmore Leonard and I'll never let it go.
Pizza Hut is having it's way with me, so for now I bid you, adieu.