Someone Stop Me

This is my current situation:

Laying crosswise on my bed in a daze, listening to sad 90s emo ballads, eating chocolate frosting straight from the tub.

True Story:

Girl steps onto the elevator in her building.

Guy steps on behind her.

She presses 29.

He presses 2.

Doors close.

He says, "2... yeah, sorry, that's pretty bad"

he says, "Eh, don't worry about it."

He says, "29... how is 29?  You like it up there?"

She says, "Yeah, it's pretty good, I like it."

Elevator stops at 2.

He says, "Can I come see 29?"

Doors open.  

She says, "No, you can't come see 29."

He says, "Do you want to come see 2?"

She says, "No, I don't want to see 2, thanks." 

Doors close.  She presses the "door open" button.  Doors don't open.

Elevator continues ascent to 29.

He says, "Oops... I promise I won't get off at 29."

She says, "Yeah, I wouldn't recommend you follow me home.  I just got back from the gym and need to shower."

He says, "Yeah, you look like you need to shower."

Silence.

He says, "No, really, you look like a million bucks."

Elevator stops at 29.  Doors open.

He says, "Enjoy 29"

She darts past him through the open doors and says over her shoulder, "Enjoy 2; remember to press the button."

...So is it now acceptable for guys to steal lines from their favorite porn films?  Are there girls out there that this would really work on?

Dumb Girl Move

Confession:

I did something today that most will probably say I shouldn't have done.

I sent another text to said guy a few posts back.  If he's going to disappear into the abyss of NYC, I think I at least deserve to know what happened, so that I can attempt to act cool if I ever run into him again in this city of 8.5 million people.

I'm guessing I won't hear anything back, but at least I've closed it out on my end (kind of).  Whatever response I get, whether blunt, cruel or non-existent, I feel better just having the question out of my mind and into his court.  It's up to him whether to play the game or forfeit.  Or at least alert the presses as to why the star player is out for the rest of his career.

...in the meantime, I really need to quit using these awful extended metaphors.

Exhaustion...

...should not be an excuse not to write.  But alas, I am exhausted.  I can't let it stop me, though... I have to submit at least five creative pieces this week (I just decided that), and bid on at least five other freelance pieces (also just decided that).  Time to whip myself into shape.

Speaking of getting in shape, I've signed up for a Tough Mudder.  For those of you who don't know what that is, I suggest Google as a first search point.

Yes, I am crazy, and no, I have not yet quit my day job. (Ha! That'll be the day...)

Also am considering another tattoo.

Thoughts?

Fledgling Secrets

Today was a long day.  So long that by the end of it, I was so tired that I couldn't muster enough strength to flex the muscles of my own willpower.

I've been meaning to keep my MFA plans a secret, but ended up confessing to a coworker after we had left the office.  I'm still not sure whether I subconsciously really wanted to, or if it was just a dumb moment of emotional weakness and mental exhaustion that caused me to spill the beans.

Of all people, this particular coworker is probably the least dangerous one to tell.  Quite well read and very creative in her own right, she seemed to appreciate my goal, and encouraged me to go for it.  All the while I was flapping my mouth, however, I knew I should stop.

It's not that I think she is going to run through the rows of cubicles shouting the news anytime soon, but there is still something that I feel I lost in letting my plans leak.  They are still in their vulnerable beginning stages and my thoughts are so idealistic that I am not comfortable opening them up to outside criticism yet.  I need more time to construct a timeline, to build confidence based on materials, to solidify in my own impressionable mind that this is, in fact, the true path for me to take, before I can face the world with the necessary conviction to say, "I'm doing it."

I don't like to say I have regrets, so I'll call it a disappointment that I failed to keep my secret secret, but I will say that I am grateful for the bit of advice I'm not even sure my coworker knew she was giving me.  She said, "I hope you're writing all the time, because man, that takes a lot of discipline... you'd better get to work."

Although I like to think I've already gotten to work, she's right.  I need to work harder.  Every day, increasingly.  I need to find my voice in the stark silence of a blank page and make it do more than just speak; I need to make it sing; sing for the world when I am finally ready to admit "I'm doing it."