SO what's next?
I have never been good at handling mediocrity. I am not the type to settle into something that is comfortable but not fulfilling for long before my conscience creeps in. It starts to nag like a personal fishwife. It reminds me that I am an asshole if I fall into a corporate void. I am not a round peg. I am some weird, abstract shaped thingee that looks kinda cool but no one knows quite where to put it. I'm a Dali peg. yeah.
Anyway...what the fuck?
I waste my time. I don't know where it goes. I NEED TO RECORD. I NEED TO RECORD. I NEED TO RECORD. I NEED TO RECORD. I NEED TO RECORD. I NEED TO RECORD. I NEED TO RECORD. I NEED TO RECORD. I hate manuals. My software is all cracked and moody and SO NOT user-friendly. If I don't learn how to use this crap, I will never get anything recorded. If I never get anything recorded, I will never make a living off my craft. And that means a lifetime of fluorescent lights and cubicles and muzak and self-loathing. Yeah. that's the deal. SO WHAT IS STOPPING ME? WHY AM I TYPING THIS INSTEAD OF MOVING AHEAD WITH PLAN? Why do I waste on myspace and retarded message boards and downloading mp3's? I am on the intardnet being lame and meeting other procrastinators in cyberspace that I will most likely never meet IRL. I'm through. k.
My job is meh. It pays decently. It pays my bills. I like most of the people there. Patty kicks ass. Shari is entertaining, to say the least. Let's put it this way; my job is as cool as a daytime corporate office job could possibly be. Which isn't that cool. I am getting itchy. My butt's a-wigglin'. Get a move on! Okay. Maybe I will start this tonight.
Anyway...what the fuck?
I waste my time. I don't know where it goes. I NEED TO RECORD. I NEED TO RECORD. I NEED TO RECORD. I NEED TO RECORD. I NEED TO RECORD. I NEED TO RECORD. I NEED TO RECORD. I NEED TO RECORD. I hate manuals. My software is all cracked and moody and SO NOT user-friendly. If I don't learn how to use this crap, I will never get anything recorded. If I never get anything recorded, I will never make a living off my craft. And that means a lifetime of fluorescent lights and cubicles and muzak and self-loathing. Yeah. that's the deal. SO WHAT IS STOPPING ME? WHY AM I TYPING THIS INSTEAD OF MOVING AHEAD WITH PLAN? Why do I waste on myspace and retarded message boards and downloading mp3's? I am on the intardnet being lame and meeting other procrastinators in cyberspace that I will most likely never meet IRL. I'm through. k.
My job is meh. It pays decently. It pays my bills. I like most of the people there. Patty kicks ass. Shari is entertaining, to say the least. Let's put it this way; my job is as cool as a daytime corporate office job could possibly be. Which isn't that cool. I am getting itchy. My butt's a-wigglin'. Get a move on! Okay. Maybe I will start this tonight.