I’m ssssooooooo dog tired, I feel as though a giant suction pipe has siphoned all my blood and life energy out of my body. I have no sense of blog continuity. I can’t remember what I wrote yesterday – or even if I wrote anything. My head spins. My eyeballs ache.
The last couple of weeks I’ve been reading so much unmitigated crap it feels as though my brain has fried. I read it only because I need to understand something or other about websites or internet marketing or fucking SEO. It’s all people trying to con you into buying something you don’t need – effing exploitative bullshit artists.
Oh. Could that be rage? Yes, and I’m too tired to do anything about it. I feel disgruntled, unnerved, turned inside out and out of sorts. How do people do this all this time? It makes life look so pointless to me.
I once saw a terribly thin tired horse drawing a cart up a hill. Its owner was whipping it viciously to keep it going. That’s what I feel like I’m doing to myself. I thought I could do this internet marketing easily but I can’t. It’s been two months and I still barely understand anything, I’m still groping about in the dark. Maybe it’ll take me another 3 or 4 months. Gasp. How can I keep doing this for another 3 or 4 months? I’m not writing my script, or my bio or my novel. I’m barely playing the piano, barely singing. I’m just trying to make money. It’s ludicrous, actually. Ackshally. I’m working my butt off and making zero. No wonder life seems pointless.
There has to be some moral in that somewhere. If not some kind of existential joke.
I want to go and hang out in a monastery, like Larry does in Numb3rs, a warm shady peaceful comfortable place in the foothills of some faraway land. I want time out, want the world to stop. I want to not panic about running out of money in a week. I wish I was a different person, wish I was better at digging myself out of this pit. I’m having a fit of sulks here.
Didn’t I say two days ago – or maybe six years ago, I can’t remember, that I would never give up? Maybe I should read my own blogs. Maybe I should get away from this computer screen before my eyeballs freeze up. Maybe I should just let the day go and not think about tomorrow. Enjoy the fact that I can go to bed now and read a book and fall asleep. Oh bliss.
But before I do, I want to say that on the bright side, my blog traffic is picking up, and 5 articles that I’ve written (proper ones, not marketing crap) have been read by almost 2 000 people in about 10 days. It’s had a curious effect on me, though, that audience – I caught myself being scared of losing them, wondering what they want me to say, becoming afraid of being myself in case I offended them.
I’ve always wondered why celebrities let themselves be controlled by their producers or agents or publishers or audiences etc. Now I know. Now I can see how an audience can be an opiate, completely addictive – all your control freak tendencies go into overdrive. Maybe being a star isn’t so much fun after all – I mean, look at how hard somebody like Oprah drives herself. Does she do it because she wants to or because she’s terrified to stop? What time does she have for contemplation, for stillness, for silence, peace, the simple things? All those people pressing upon her. All that noise. Seems like a heavy burden to me.
Mind you, she never has to worry about whether she’s got money for food next week. If she did it might help with the weight problem.
Yawn. I had hoped to write something profound tonight, but alas…
Good night, world. Sweet dreams.