Different

It's been a rough couple of weeks for various reasons, most of which I'm not about to disclose to the public domain. It's nothing personal, but everyone gets a different clearance level, depending on how well I know them and how easily they can disseminate said information to others. There's also a bit about foiling my plans for world domination, but that doesn't really factor into anything in this case, as only The Five have been given that information.

I'll put it this way: Consider the amount that I tell you to be the visible part of an iceberg. No matter what you think your clearance level is, there's still a mountain that you just don't get. That's not going to change, don't even bother asking.

I've elected not to return to Second City. I found that writers tend to get the shaft from even the writing teachers, who say things like, "You really should take the improv class before continuing in writing." Lady, if I wanted to take the improv class, I would have. In the improv class, I would no doubt have learned something along the lines of, "If you run out of material, go with gay humor, because gay equals funny." And that's just not true, and it's a cheap way of not directly telling the audience, "You know what? We got nothin'."

My grandmother died two weeks ago. I really don't have anything to say about it, and not because of security issues and clearances. I just don't have anything to say about it because everyone else in the family has already said it better.

Which is really when I realized that my writing has been sorely lacking for quite some time, and -judging by the quality of this post- continues to be. Try as I might, I can't come up with anything, and I've tried it all: Scripts, posts, comments, commentaries, sonnets, iambs, troches, dactyls, paragraphs, complex sentences, rhetorical questions, dialogue, comedy, drama, fiction, fact... it all comes out like silver that's been left to tarnish for a century, and here I am without so much as a paper towel to try and get that shit off.

I mean, it's so bad that I look at it and wonder if there's anything in it that's actually worth saving, and -in the end- I really can't tell if I'm oblivious or if there's just nothing there.

... story of my life.

EDIT: And James "Scotty" Doohan beamed up yesterday. He was 85.


AIM: therbmcc71