Tangled Up In A Twist Of Fate 118/ My birthday, how I fell short, and how I hope to change. maybe.
Posted on September 22, 2013
It’s 11:42 pm on Saturday. At midnight I’ll turn sixty five. I won’t apply for Social Security because I have to wait to sixty seven or something. A kind of report on how I’m doing. I’ve got type two diabetes, high blood pressure, high cholesterol and a wonky heart valve. My weight is more than a few pounds north of what it should be and I’m trying to work it off. The upside is my brain is functioning as well as could be expected. I don’t get lost in the bathroom or anything like that. But I need two pairs of glasses. I’ve been single all of my life but am adaptable. I’ve gone out with three women. The first used me as a stepping stone to go out with my best friend. The second used me as an ATM and split without a note. The third used me for carnal pleasure until the next shiny object came along. Presently I have crushes, distant and unrequited. I haven’t given up hope but time is running out. Part of it is my fault. I never developed social skills. I did but not as well as my peers. I still stammer when I meet a woman that I like and over compensate. Oh yeah, did I mention I have ADD and an addictive personality? Got those so drinking and recreational drugs are out. Along with gambling, watching porn and indulging in anything that feels good. I get attached in a big way.
I started five stories and finished two. I mailed one out Saturday morning. I had to edit 267 words before it could go out. Personally I think it made the story better. I got lazy on a few because they got into places that were how to get out of. I looked them over and second and third drafts loom large. I started a blog that was interactive but nobody came. I’ve got plans for it. I’ll put some of my education to work. I tried to diet but I keep felling off. Oh yeah I got my first rejection letter. A line and a half e-mail. Screw ’em. I’ll get it fixed and sell it somewhere. For me it’s not about the money. I just want to see something I wrote in print. I took a course with an instructor I’d had before. I had a crush on her but she was married. It got canceled. My fantasy crashed.
To repair my shortcomings, I’m going to schedule time to write and not pass off time daydreaming as research. I will pay attention to the Mystery Writing course I’m taking. I’ll spend just enough time in Fantasyland to get ideas and write stories. I’m going to stop worrying about where the woman in my life is. we’ll meet. We probably have but just haven’t verbalized it yet. There’s hope. I’m pretty sure my life partner isn’t a guy. It’s just I hate being alone. Reading other people’s blogs and replying isn’t getting it.
If you follow this blog, talk to me. I don’t bite and maybe I know stuff you need. Ask questions.
See you in the funnies. I might post an addendum with birthdays when I read the NYT.
Happy Birthday, Tom! 🙂
Happy Birthday Tom! Birthdays are a funny business – my mother, who promptly fell into a smelly heap after my birth, hasn’t remembered my birthday in years. The upside is that she still thinks I am in my 30’s . . . . Anyhow, I know it’s not about me but, as a fellow September baby, I do hope you get something out of all your days!
Happy Birthday, Tom. At the risk of dropping a load of profundity on you, here’s what Tennessee Williams, in typically overblown southern fashion, had to say about struggle. I have always found it helpful.
“But once you fully apprehend the vacuity of a life without struggle you are equipped with the basic means of salvation. . . the heart of man, his body and his brain, are forged in a white-hot furnace for the purpose of conflict (the struggle of creation) . . . with the conflict removed, the man is a sword cutting daisies. . .”
Thanks Wendie. My birthday has always been a problem. I need to post more today.
It’s just one day. Some people love their birthdays, others, not so much. I usually end up somewhere in the middle — grateful to still be breathing, but not entirely pleased about the numbers creeping so bloody high.
Happy birthday. You’re funny and dry and poignant and honest in your writing. And intelligent. I enjoy stopping in here. I too am working on really buckling down and writing, cutting out a bit of the daydreaming.
I settled into a rewrite today. The piece looked good but as I reread it I saw turkey droppings. It needed to have exposition converted into a conversation. It makes the characters a bit more human. One thing though, daydreaming is where all of the ideas come from. Writers take reality and one day let it slip into a daydream and then we write about it.