Before I get into the Lunch Break and The Money, there is something I feel like saying. When I went running today, it felt like I was losing Summer. Another Summer lost, that I can never get again and immediately time is fleeting and I am wasting it. Maybe my friend Al helped start this thought to settle in my thought due to a text last night.
"So, long shot, but is anyone free enough to be in southampton this thursday coming?" He texted with an intent of keeping literacy alive through mobile communication.
The following day (That's today) I was warming up and sent him back a reply.
*Writer's note: I hope you noticed that this blog is not going to be about what I intended*
Being one of the masses, one of the worker bees of a dreadful society that we were shielded from whilst at University, because we were writers. Work feels like the film Brazil, where as I dream of it being more like The Hudsucker Proxy (You know, for kids!). Still at this point in time I find time to write or think about writing, a bit less than I used to but enough to keep pushing forward. Two to four pages in a lunch break is good, otherwise I read.
*Writer's note: This train has got back onto the right track*
Whilst warming up for my relaxing five mile jog, I had a brief back and forth with Al. I informed him of my current predicament, I inquired to a mutual friend of ours who didn't pass the third year with us, because he pandered about with what to do as his feature script. I said at some point to some one, this person likes films a lot, but he doesn't want to write them, he just wants to be involved in the process. Anyway moving onto this year, and his second third year has come to an end.
Did he hand in his script this year? No. I thought this year would be different for him, the group not being around anymore. Not being pressurised by all of us to write. Perhaps this year, he could do it, he had a summer to mull over ideas and even start. He had a month less of the academic year to finish it. I don't know how he spent his second third year, and not write or finish a script.
To me, my script was a right of passage. Saying to myself I can do this, and to others fuck you, I can do this. All of third year, my mind was on writing, excluding the essays about weird transgressions.
*Writer's note: I was close to bringing it back, but no I'm going somewhere else*
I spent my third year: Not sleeping, weight training, writing, thinking about writing, karaoke, seeing films and watching babestation at lunch time. But I still got stuff done. Granted he has a job and I didn't, granted he has a girlfriend and I don't.
Writing is compulsive. I find it compulsive. You know how men are thinking about sex every seven seconds (or some obscure number of seconds) well, I spend that time thinking about writing. Then I think about sex.
Either you want to write or you don't. I find this pretty simple. I don't think I've ever met anybody who thought "how can I earn a living, I know I'll be a successful writer!"
What I have come to understand through this is that if you don't put the time in you won't achieve anything (except winning the euromillions, but I've been working on that so I will have earnt it by the time I win.)
I love the fact that I don't want to do my job for any amount of time, I'll do it. I make a small amount of money for a job, but good enough for a first job. I don't feel like I'm making enough money, it's not that I feel the job is slave labour, it's just that I deserve to earn a much more amount. I suppose it says alot about my generation and this feeling of entitlement and arrogance. But, fuck you, I deserve better!
*Writer's note: Rule of three broken*
I have mentioned one of my mantras: Don't be Elisha Gray.
At this point in time, that is hard to do. Not being in the industry. Another one of my mantras is "Write yourself out of the hole". I picture someone in a well looking up as he types on his typewriter. Metaphorically speaking this is how I feel, because it takes too much time and effort, and money to find a well, get in it with a typewriter and have someone take a picture. I'm going to need a piece of paper otherwise the picture is just lazy.
Back to my friend, it just shows me how much of a waste of potential talent is there. If people want to waste what they have, that is up to them. There are better writers than I, and will be better than me in my entire life. There is one thing, I am willing to keep going. 99 percent perspiration, 1 percent inspiration.
I have less time to work on what I want to do. This means prioritizing, and I am slowly growing accustomed to it. It is hard, really hard. My freedom is gone, I'm fighting to get it back.
On the flipside, I like getting money. I'm not attached to it in any way. I could just not spend it and wouldn't care. I still bought a big tv though. I like it. The job has it's perks with the money. There are things I can be which I haven't been able to before. I really do like this. I am scared that I will be seduced by this. There are two people in my department who have been here for twenty years, they see Temps come and go. They will never leave this job.
One of the reasons why I know I will leave is because I don't try to talk to people or get to know them. I won't get too attached to the people, because I won't know them. It'll work. I get up, go to work, go home, earn the dollah. I will finance my own projects from this job.
How to some up this blog post: similar to my first few, in a stream of conciousness but going no where crappy kind of way.
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