the facts of life
Mood:
happy
note: written late last night, so i hope it comes off as hopeful as i was while writing it, despite itself
i've gotten the distinct impression that this year is a notable one in my life, with a specific role in the creation of the future of my being (if you will). that is to say: this year seems to be serving a specific purpose in my life as it is. that purpose being: top get me to shit or get off the pot, so to speak, when it comes to my creative career. that thing is, can i accept that my life might actually be that of a stay-at-home father of three who dabbles in movie wat5ching (the latest being waiting for guffman saturday night and the villain yesterday while folding laundry), tv viewing (watched last night: the contender, deadwood and greay's anatomy; recorded in addition to those for later viewing: the simpsons (x2), family guy and american dad), lego building (my church finally dismantled from its incomplete state on friday evening) and cooking (my banana cake with chocolate ganache on top and base frosting and crushed graham crackers on the sides was received well at my sister's house (where mothers day goings on were going on) last night? or, am i finally going to get back to seriously pursuing a writing career (ie, regularly sending my work out, damn the rejections)?
and, what of my interest in and, often, abhorrence to politics, the state of the world, of humanity, the envrinoment, oil dependency continuing, suvs still going strong, foreigners dying for all of us to be able to run all our errands efficiently...? there's nothing for me to send out to get into the field of making the world a better place, no revolutionary agents, no save-the-world editors. it's all just me, and i don't have the time (or often the inclination) to put a notable effort into any of it. i can simply make my corner of the world as nice as i can make it, and really what else can i be expected to do? who am i, that anyone should expect some huge world-saving act, or a great novel for that matter? i know i've written at least a couple novels that are pretty good (out of 10 total completed, not to mention my comics, my screenplays or my poetry or short stories), that grab some good ideas by their horns and really say something. but, are they publihsable? marketable? insert a big shrug here. what do i know of any of it? it's a big gamble, really, putting work out there for folks to see (my latest go: i sent my screenplay the evolution of grace in as a submission for the nicholl fellowship (look it up if you like) and it's a longshot, in my mind, that i'd even pass the first look... even as i--it should be noted--think i could make a good film of it myself, given a meager budget and a cast and crew daring enough to try it with me (not that i even known anyone outside relatives and some online acquaintances)). and, that gamble isn't one i think i could ever have for an addiction
my wife might love my ideas, my stories, but she married me and is one of the few people who can stomach my blunt, abrasive, irrevernt personality for any notable length of time
allow a tonal shift here as i note that those mothers day goings on i mentioned involved being at the house of my oldest sister (i've got 6, all older than me, for those of you who don't already know that) for nearly four hours, surrounded by family, close and extended, food and drink and karaoke (i, along with supporting parts in a few numbers, sang peggy sue and summer nights and actually had a good time with it). and, i had some good dessert (a piece of that banana cake i made and a piece of a peanut butter pie one of my sisters (the 4th of the 6, if you must know) brought) and socialized a bit and everything. and, i survived primarily 'cause i was in my element with people i already know, people who accept me 'cause i'm family, not becuase i'm someone they'd even give the time of day if they met me anew
and our car died saturday (today we'll find out what work it needs done) and i had to push it a good distance and that's life, cars dying, family get togethers, folding laundry, raising kids, watching movies and television, worrying about the world and my place in it, dreaming of bigger and better things to build out of lego blocks, new things to cook and bake, new things to learn, old things to forget or to teach my kids, to pass on, to leave something behind in this world (as my plans for immortality will probably never come to fruition), sex, love, music, message boards, books, magazines, exercise, food, lincoln logs, karaoke, shots of scotch, glasses of wine, diet coke, quinoa brownies, video tapes, dvds, walks to blockbuster, commuting, comic books, family dreams... and, must i go on?
all in all, pink floyd would say, it's all just bricks in the wall. wuestion is, what is the building of which my wall is a part? what's the point? there's no god and no goal, no purpose inherent in any of this. so, do i settle for what i've got because it's actually a damn good life, the kind of thing of which others might dream? or, do i keep dreaming of more, of fame (or some apporximation thereof), of making a name for myself? or, do i somehow do both, take the good, take the bad, and there you have...
