My first post of the new year was supposed to be about resolutions, but think of this as a prelude.
I don't exactly know why I sometimes seem hellbent on destroying the best parts of my life, but I sure as fuck know I better start becoming hellbent on getting my shit together or else one day I'm going to wake up and The Nightmare is gonna keep on truckin' no matter how hard I beg It to stop.
I spent the better part of yesterday thinking about the last year, and part of that time was spent reading the postings of this blog prior to August/September. Here now, I will point out some of the many times I was wrong:
February 19: Sometimes, when I'm driving alone, I think about swerving off the road and plowing my car into a row of trees. I would go for just one tree, but I think if you're going to kill yourself you might as well do a decent job of it.....This is stupid.
Yeah. Pretty stupid. I never said I was smart; that line proves I'm a complete dumbass.
February 19: Here's a tip: If he says "I'm a nice guy" then he's not a nice guy. Nice guys? They don't have to say it.
That's not true. Even nice guys have to remind people that they're nice guys when they've fucked up beyond belief.
April 19: And if life has taught me anything it's that the sky's the limit as long as you're a complete douchebag.
Not true. I can actually prove the opposite is true; if you're a complete douchebag you stand a pretty good chance of ruining your life.
May 6: Besides, life ain't got nothing planned for me past 35 except baldness, obesity, grumpiness, the end of The Simpsons, taxes, bad knees, loneliness and, if I'm lucky, a swimming pool.
I was right about the baldness. I was wrong, in varying degrees, about everything else.
July 25: I keep getting fucked, correct? It's a constant, correct? Over and over -- fucked, correct? Various means, correct? Various motivations, correct? And I'm supposed to accept getting fucked, correct? Over and over again, correct? Until I die, correct?
Then August 16th rolled around and things changed for the better. I've taken the happy days since then for granted. Right now I'm looking at a birthday card I got this past year. It's a Spongebob card for a seven-year-old, but the person who gave it to me wrote a "2" in front of the "7" to make it say "27." I don't keep this card on my desk for nostalgic purposes; I keep it there to remind me of how lucky I am - to remind me of how miserable I was for most of my 26th year - and how someone came along and just bitchslapped the everlovin' fuck outta that misery.
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In the past week I've been foraging through old projects - notes, drafts, short stories, etc. - and I had an epiphany (or as Smee would call it, an apostrophe). I haven't finished one draft of a screenplay since 2005. I haven't finished one draft of a short story since 2005. Needless to say I haven't actually been able to set a project aside and say, "Done" for over three years. This was the year I started drinking heavily. Coincidence? Not a chance. So long story short: I'm not having a drink until
1) I've finished a draft and revised Hearts and
2) I have a nice treatment of Kiss The Girl hammered out and
3) After that I decide which one I want to focus on for Scriptapalooza
4) Read at least 25 scripts for Trigger Street in preparation for posting the script on the site so I can prepare for rewrites.
After that I'm allowing myself one kinda-sorta-celebratory glass of Guinness. Just one. I'm gonna pop in the DVD I made of all my old home movies, pour that drink, enjoy it and watch memories fly by. And then I'll get back to work.
I know it seems like I'm blasting some self-righteous horn (I'm thinking a big, fat rusty tuba playing the "you lose" notes from The Price Is Right) but I need to be able to go back and read this. I'm not making excuses, but alcohol was a little co-conspirator in the single biggest fuck-up of my life up to this point. That, and there's clearly a connection between my getting shitfaced all the time and not writing. Granted, I did a lot less drinking in the last half of 2008, but...whatever. I'm stone cold sober until I get writing done. If I have to supplement my diet with candy or soda then fuck it I'll do what I have to do - but I'm getting shit done.
Sorry for the cursing. Please don't tell my mom.
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June 24: Peter Pan needs to see some multi-colored creme treats or he's gonna lose his shit.
Think happy thoughts, Peter.
Think happy thoughts.
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