Saturday, August 23, 2008

I Quit

I would like to formally announce my retirement.

It was all just getting started but I feel my best is behind me.

And in case you don't know, writing is hard.

That's why writers drink. I have, tonight, seriously considered leaving the house and getting myself some Bushmills. (My favorite liquor.) I don't understand why I don't keep my (favorite) liquor in the house. Everytime I want some whiskey I don't have it. And there is just something a little desperate about buying liquor when you are really, really craving it. Like everyone can see.
Like when I buy ice cream, I think at the convenience store they are thinking, "Here comes that fat girl. Coming to buy ice cream AGAIN. What's she so sad about?"
See it's different if I'm at the grocery store and my cart is full of peaches and beans and ice cream and cucumbers and cereal and whiskey and peanuts and juice boxes. That makes sense.
But to just go buy a bottle of hooch or a pint of ice's like telegraphing my sorrow to the world.

I just realized that is what I'm doing here. Right now. However! To write this, I did not have to put on a bra or go find my shoes or check if I have any cash. (Cause using a debit card to buy a 3.00 carton of ice cream is just a whole other thing.)
So there.

Back to why my cupboards are bare of the essential whiskey.
Today has been a rough day. I set aside the entire day to write about this something-something that is quite emotional for me (this isn't it). Just jotting down some notes on the subject really stirred my pot of insecurity and unloveableness and failure and suddenly I just couldn't deal with anything.
It's okay. It's process. I get that.
Anyway I'm feeling a little better now. And that will get written whenever that gets written.
Still I'd like to sip a little whiskey at my retirement. (Oh, yeah. I guess it won't get written.)
But I have no whiskey.
So instead I ate my weight in chocolate. Peanut butter cups to be exact. So maybe, I'm theorizing, that is why I don't keep whiskey in the house. Cause I'd drink my weight in it just as I have the chocolate.
And I ate my weight in chocolate holed up in bed while reading David Sedaris' new book. And that my friends is why I am quitting this writing business.

Writing makes you sad.
Which makes you want whiskey.
Which you never have.
Which drives you to chocolate.
Which you eat while in bed with the new David Sedaris book.
Which you realize is the funniest thing ever written.
Which means all hope is lost for you in the funny writing department.
So why bother.
I quit.


Anonymous said...

don't quit.
have a few more peanut butter cups, put down d. sedaris, and start writing what you were born to write, my friend.
i love you and i know you can do it, and do it right, with humor, grace and honesty.
go find the eye of the tiger and put down the best-selling pseudo-memoirist and make it happen.
love, h.

FZ said...

Shopping for whiskey alone could also mean you know exactly what you want at that point in time, or in life. I wouldn't always call hiding a case of chardonney in with the kibble and bits the safer path. You might not be fooling everyone. [Bushmills IS awesome though...]

BTW, writing doesn't make you sad - until you read back what you wrote - the sadness is within and comes out in the story. Don't give up because another person is funny (to your liking) as there's more than one comedian making a living from telling jokes.

Whiskey helps lubricate the fingers, but it's the eyes inside your head that makes the story gray or orange. Explore the color grorange next time :)