Little bits because I’m a slack-ass blogger. Well, if one wanted to become a professional blogger maybe. There have been many iterations of “what I want to be when I grow up”: doctor, lawyer, teacher (briefly, and not anymore!), author, photographer, professional groupie, just to name a few.
Author is my current favorite: I don’t want to be a literary great (after all, that isn’t what I read). And hell, Nickelback is awful to those with any sort of musical ear, but they get paid, yeah? JB and I talk about this sort of pursuit of happiness principal on a semi-regular basis. Which is a bunch of me saying to him, “hey dude, I would have totally supported you taking a year off to pursue being a rock guitarist”. All part of my set up for Master Plan Version 1.0– not immediately seeking employment when Z starts kindy and E starts preschool. Instead I want to pick one of my 14 goals and make a serious effort.
That said, JB’s both been in a band, and known folks that were in successful bands. To be successful in the arts one has to be willing to work really, really hard. Pursing dreams that closely mesh with your particular talent is another thing entirely. A talented musician that leaps from hobby to career has to sell a small part of their creativity in order to be paid. Commercialization, baby.
I’m not willing to sell all of my soul for a blog. Most days I’m not even willing to wait for the sllooowww laptop to boot in order to write a post. And since all of my passwords are on the laptop, rather than the desktop, I only have time for time-wasting.
How’s that for lazy?
As I’m finding out in my own roundabout ADHD way, writing anything longer than a 1000 word short story is a metaphorical pain in the ass. Oh, I got stories– hundreds of them. Two that even seem original. Now I’m spending all of my time in set-up mode. You know– checking out books on how to write a plot and stuff. Looking into places with online classes. Considering writing groups.
And while I do all that research, I’m nursing an actual pain in my ass. Apparently my buttocks required more strength-training than just supporting my weight over the years. I have strained my gluteus minimus, which means I can run about 2 miles, followed by 4 days of frozen spinach on a loudly protesting ass cheek. You never know how much support you get from your butt muscles until one of them is mad at you. I’m just saying.