Apr 08, 2009 10:45
I finished reading Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas Sunday, and I'm remembering all of the reasons why I want to be a writer. Specifically, I want to speak in obscure curses and convince people that I am out of my mind. And while I may not be ready to start huffing ether, I'm not ready to quiet down and be normal. Is this just another awakening I hit late, like I did with alcohol? did my heaviest drinking in the years after college, and while I've calmed down now, sometimes I wonder what else I should have tried.
Anyway, now my inner monologue sounds like he's chewing on a cigarette holder and frequently starts yelling curse words at things that aren't there. Such is life.
I doubt very much that this is an improvement over my wanting to be Fitzgerald, Hemingway, or King. Bonus points to whomever gets the link between them.
writing,
thompson