Yell's bells. Writing angst. Other assorted normalcies

Two times in as many days I have had to assert myself to someone (the same person) for two different reasons. I am not a passive person, and certainly I have very strong opinions-- but I do not consider myself to be aggressive. I do not like confronting people and sometimes have a hard time speaking super-directly to people that I'm not close to. But when someone messes with me? Or my friends? Or, I mean, just pisses me the hell off? Whooooo, boy. Sometimes things happen that surprise me. Both times, I feel my breath get caught, tight, up in chest. My heart starts POUNDING and I lose most of my awareness of how loudly I am speaking.

(Historically, I don't yell at people. But there WAS that one time I yelled at Smooth L (riDICulous band "teacher") in high school-- I don't remember much about it, except that we screamed at each other, she essentially kicked me out of class, I flounced down the hall the to administrator's office, and then the next morning I had to go in for a parent-teacher-administrator conference. To add insult to injury, it was the morning after Clay lost American Idol and I was, justifiably, very upset. A bad day for all. I think only Akil can confirm this incident.)

Anyway, anyway. This week has been silly and I think next week will be the same. I have a million days off next week and am already fearing them. When did that happen? When did free time become a bad thing?

I saw people this week, though, which was excellent. The nightlife highlight of the week was definitely Friday, which saw me boozing in two boroughs with Nitz, Julie, Craig, and special (underage) guest star from Boston Chris Bannow. We started at Alligator, where I ate too much free pizza, then skipped the light whatever over to Via Della P. to see Heather and Stephan, though no Tara, sadly, and in a remarkable coincidence, Ian M. I think I just need to come to terms with the fact that when ever I get settled, something weird, some strange coincidence, will happen to keep me on my toes. Those things will still happen, but maybe I won't be so stunned if I try to pre-emptively make peace? WTF knows.

And tomorrow is Memorial Day. I don't know what I'm going to do. I think perhaps I will bike to and then around Prospect Park. I got two beach invites, but I don't know....I don't know. Lord knows that the only two errands I've had to run for the past week cannot be completed tomorrow, since they involve the library and the post office. Double-whammy! I'll invent a bank errand and then it'll be a triple-play.

Maybe because I can't do any less, I have been thinking about writing. I feel like I want to want to want to write but that I have no no no ideas. I guess writers feel like this. I guess it is fair to refer to myself as a writer. I'm sure Lydia would say that. It does feel silly, though. (My former celebrity charge (har har) told me that when he moved to London to be a professional actor, he didn't work for 18 months and he started telling people he was a novelist bc he couldn't tell them he was an actor any longer. I liked that story.) Anyway, my "point" is that I feel funny thinking of myself as a writer when all I think about is how I "have no ideas." I do, but I judge them immediately-- which I know is the kiss of death. I wonder how I managed to wring WTTAN out of myself. I wonder if I had a compelling story again, if I'd be able to write. I feel like if someone told me "Write about this," and gave me something good, or even something specific that I felt I understood, I'd be able to do it. I just feel like I have no place to come from. All of the ideas that have been rotting in my notebooks for 4 years seem so old and tired or goofy or frivolous....oh dear, oh dear. I don't know.

Also, I don't know if he's found his way here yet, but if you have-- welcome to the new blog, and to Facebook, Uncle SCOTT. T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

No more being serious! Thanks to a well-timed text, thoughts of never writing again/fighting with coworkers/the state of my life have been replaced with thoughts of "slavic dancing." I am also comforted by the fact that it's lovely out, last night the moon was gorgeous (so there's hope for tonight), I had a text convo with my brother about Clifford Odets today. In short: all is now well. At least for now.

Thank you, and good day!

I said good DAY, sir!