Things I Don't Have Time To Work On Right Now

At the end of May, I will be free from the hole I dug with Dig. This home stretch is going to be tough, though -- I keep having to pull the brakes on my brain, because it keeps running off at inappropriate times, coming up with REALLY good ideas for things to write, do, and develop. But I have so much to do before I leave. A manual to write, a replacement to find, a few pet projects to publish, and of course, nine more weeks of deadlines.


I want to possibly approach thinking about corporate blog sponsorship for my harebrained ideas.

I want to write a book about my experience with the music industry today, geared toward the effects of social media on fanbases for new bands, and ultimately, to explore what this phenomenon is doing to the mindset of the musician -- how it might be changing the reasons a kid picks up a guitar, and how it's definitely changing what they do after that. This one will require tons more research.

I want enough down-time to digest the things that have happened to me in the past year and a half, so I can begin to wrestle them into the stories that they deserve to be -- to capture them like the fireflies I trapped in baby food jars when I was a kid.

I want to publish in niche publications and hobbyist rags, simultaneously hitting my goal of being printed in The New Yorker. It's less a cred thing and more a strange, situational desire of mine.

I can't wait to stop the deadline cycle of taking speed and writing under intense delirium due to sleep deprivation. While I've churned out some surprisingly good shit under those conditions, I want to get far enough away from it to look back on how that changed me as a writer. I want to see what I can do now that I know what I'm capable of, and I want to know if the past year has changed my voice as much as I think it has. I don't think it's changed it in a bad way at all, but I'm pretty sure it's permanent, and will not require Adderall to replicate (thank God). I simply haven't had the capacity to hear what I'm writing in so long, it's hard to tell what has changed.

I want to weasel my way into teaching a university-level writing course. Not "creative writing," per se, but maybe in the vein of business or journalism. I see so much potential in college students, and it's being held back because they can't put a compelling thought on paper. I've come to see the skill as a skeleton key to a million different doors, and I want the chance to help a group of people unlock them. That sounds so fucking satisfying. Also, I'd get the chance to crucify what might be the only phobia I still have laying around, which is public speaking.

Okay, back to work. It's hard to focus on work when I have so much to look forward to.

so afraid you were gone
then i found out i was wrong
i found out that i'm serious
and so is she,
so is she

recognize that you're always next to her in your head
alive, even when you're bored
and the small talk is desperate

Good Books

I decided it was all right to date a guy I'm in love with. That sentence really puts into perspective how batshit crazy my life has been for the past few months.

I survived, and the other side is just so lovely. Full of love. It's not the fairy tale I fabricated as a retreat years ago, and it's not, by any means, anything approaching how I pictured this part of my life.

In fact, it's better. He's better. I'm better, in ways that I absolutely can put into words, but I won't, because I don't feel the need to explain it. For once in my life, I don't feel the need to explain it.

And that confuses me, so I'll just say it again: For once in my life, I don't feel the need to explain it.