Big in Germany....
September 6, 2005Kiev, Ukraine. (just kidding)
Onemana, New Zealand
6:59pm
We are going to Carol’s for dinner on Saturday night. For writing fodder alone it should be worth it. I can’t wait to pull her husband aside or just make one small inside joke about how much and how fast she talks. I did find out from the owner of our house that she suffered quite a serious accident in the Whangamata surf a couple of years ago that has left her fairly deaf. The odd part is both Steph and I never noticed. She either does a wonderful job of reading lips or she truly is not listening to a word we say and just keeps on talking to mask her mild defect. Anyway, she promised us a true Kiwi dining experience, whatever that is.
I am planning to get obscenely drunk and start hitting on her as she washes the dishes in the kitchen. I am talking blatant come-ons, like,
“Carol, your ass looks rocking in those stretch pants”….or
“wow Carol those oranges you gave us from your tree were so firm and juicy” I would then slide my hand under the suds and nudge her finger… “not as firm and juicy as you though huh momma?”
That would be so much fun. And mean. But admit it. Sometimes mean is fun.
The funk is eeking back a little. I am going to blame it on the food sacrifice. But there was a point during last night’s Scrabble game, and again today at the park with Hud, where I thought I was going to explode in fiery anger, or just curl into a fetal position and sob. I don’t know exactly why these feelings seem to come. I think the pressure to write is getting to me. I am feeling like another hack who will starve himself and his family before realizing he was never good enough to begin with. And really I am not good at anything else. I am a good father and husband but that does not pay that well. I always thought I could design really solid glassware, and I dream of owning a jazz/steak restaurant/bar, but other than that I am spinning the giant wheel in the game of life waiting to see how far I can move my car.
Steph bolted out of the gate here and now has landed activities for Hud and her every morning of the week. Leaving me a solid two hours to try and write. I did write something this morning, something other than my novel. My novel should be the screenplay it started out to be. The new thing is closer to me, writing what I know and all, but it just seems to be tripe and trite and crass and occasionally hilarious. Is that the type of writer I am going to be? Is that the type of person I am going to be? Who knows.
I am not drowning like I was in Byron. But I am looking over my shoulder making sure the zinc-nosed lifeguard is watching.
Needless to say the activity portion of the program has been non-existant. I did manage to do my uphill walk this morning and stayed very close to my food regime.
I just wish I was phat and not fat.
Love to all,
J.
posted by Jason @ 12:26 AM
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