In fact, the only reason I’m doing so now is because I can’t stop thinking, You said you were going to do this, Alison. Fucking follow through with something for once in your life.
But then I started rationalizing making excuses. I’m tired. It was a long day. I’m tired. I wanna watch another episode of Weeds. I’m tired.
And then I remembered my big, bold statement on, what was that? Day 3? About excuses?
Okay, okay, I told myself. I’ll turn on my computer and write something. Then you know what my lazy ass did? I thought, I’ll just find something I wrote before, and post it!
ha, ha! I am SO clever!
Or, not.
While I was looking through my old stuff, trying to get some inspiration looking for something to pass off as today’s writing, I noticed a pretty consistent theme. Take a wild fucking guess at this theme.
A whole lot of introductions, with no conclusions.
I seem to be full of ideas. These ideas last for about, oh, a paragraph or two, and then most of the time they trail off. I do this the most with short stories. Partly because I’m of two minds about my “talents” as a fiction writer. In fact, I was just thinking about this today: I’m not sure if I’m any good at writing fiction. And for once, I’m not trying to be self-deprecating. I’m actually just trying to be honest. Which leads me to the question(s):
Where do you draw the line between being honest with yourself, and giving up? How do you recognize when you’re doing one or the other?
In lieu of actually answering those questions, instead I’m going to play a little show and tell. Or something. Here are a couple of my beginnings with no end.
The lame excuse I already used once this morning: "I mean, I wrote two in one day, so, it's like, still technically Day 3, so I'm not really behind."
Shut up, Alison.
When did I get so great at making excuses? I'm sure my dad would love to answer that question. I've probably been making excuses to get out of things since I learned how to speak. It's pretty silly.
Excuses that ran through my mind last night and this morning:
1. I'm not sure what I want to write about right now.
2. Hungry.
3. Sleepy.
4. But I can do it later!
Basically, I am an infant.
When I went on the Google just now and typed my favorite word, "excuses," I found this article, "How to Kill Your Excuses"—it's brief, and it's really all common sense, so why don't I stop being an infant and actually use some common sense? Once, someone told me, "You're such a smart girl, but sometimes you act like you have no common sense."
Ouch. But in retrospect, a valid point. Thank you, person who shall remain nameless. Like this article says, I'm ready to kill my excuses "like the miserable maggots they are."
It also linked to this video. Next time I make an excuse for something, I'm going to think about this:
Today was the first time since I've been living back home that I actually started questioning the limits of my sanity.
Being home alone while my roommates, aka my dad and Deb, are at work, makes me feel useless and restless. AKA, like I'm going off my fucking rocker. I guess I shouldn't feel that way, since I'm midway through server training at a new place in Indianapolis, thanks to a friend of mine hooking me up with a job. (I'm at least qualified to wait tables at this point, wouldn't you agree?)
But, still. From the moment I woke up today I was missing Chicago (or more accurately, my life and the people there) like crazy. I tried to cheer myself up by watching the Modern Family season finale. That helped, for the 21 minutes of the show. I had no idea what to do next. So I sat on the couch and stared at Mufasa for a few minutes. That did not help.
I paced around the house for a couple minutes, trying to decide what to do with myself. I made my bed. I washed some towels. I wrote some e-mails. I tried to think of something funny to tweet. (Nothing came to me, clearly.) I did a workout video (you know how I love those! but alas, it was not Jane Fonda).
After the 45 minutes of exercise, considering my legs were starting to twitch and I had actually worked up a sweat, I felt like I had accomplished something. I took a shower, feeling considerably better. But the Chicago-sickness waves kept creeping back. It felt just like homesickness, except I was already as home as I could possibly be.
I had to do something. You might be thinking, "Um, Alison? You could have been applying for jobs this whole time you were moping around, feeling sorry for yourself. Maybe this is why you haven't found a good job in the first place!"
That's what I was thinking to myself, anyway. So, on a whim, I decided to see if I met the qualifications to teach English at a community college. Turns out, I might. Who knew?
I applied for the job. We'll see if maybe, just maybe, this time something might come out of it. At the very least, I can now say I've written a teaching philosophy.
And don't worry, Rainbow groupies. I promise I'll cheer up soon.
If not, I guess I'm just going to get in really great shape.
In case you don't know me, I am said lazy, poor, beer lover. And I need to exercise. Apparently I only have five years left before my metabolism completely hits the shitter, my beer gut really becomes a beer gut, and my belly ring is officially 100 percent ridiculous. (I'd say now that I'm 25, it's currently at approximately a 75 percent ridiculousness level.)
Now, if you're over 3o and are reading this, please know I'm not trying to be insulting. It's just that all the exercise magazines I buy and read while laying on my couch eating pudding snacks tell me that in your 20's, your metabolism is at its peak. I decided completely on my own that my belly ring is pretty ridiculous at this point in time.
Yesterday I was walking down the beach by the lake, surrounded by all these lunatics jogging, running, rollerblading, bicycling, or playing sports. I panicked. Is this what other 20-somethings do while I lay around with my cats watching It's Always Sunnyepisodes?
I looked down at my pale, non-existent bicep and made my decision. "It's time to change my lifestyle," I thought. "Join the lunatics!"
Just then, I saw a sign: Chicago Boot Camp. Perfect! I'll take the plunge and be a joiner for once in my life. I'll get fit. I'll get motivated.
Then I looked closer at the sign. EVERY WEEKDAY AT 6 AM SHARP!
Fuuuuuuuuck.
Yet, for a brief moment, I envisioned myself running down the beach at 6 a.m., surrounded by like minded, motivated, healthy people. It was a great 20 second daydream.
Yeah, right. Like I'm going to get out of bed before the hour of six and run down the beach while some crazy trainer screams at me. I can't run. Let's be honest here: They're called boobs. It's not fun for me.
What am I going to do? Life was so much easier when I was forced to workout at the start of volleyball or softball season. I also had my 16-year-old metabolism working for me.
So. Clearly I'm not going to do boot camp. I can't afford a gym membership. However, I am a big fan of the workout tape, starting from back when I was about eight, doing Jane Fonda's Workout tape with my mom while Jay sat on the couch eating potato chips and making fun of us.
In recent years, I've upgraded to the workout DVDs, and have such marvels as the Self Bikini Ready Fast and Fat Burning Pilates (which I miraculously made it through today, as Mufasa sat on the couch and glared at me). Also, in one of my many moments of insanity, I bought a Crunch Cardio Dance Blast DVD, but after tripping over myself in my living room once or twice while trying to follow the foot movements and hip swivels, I admitted to myself that maybe "dance blast" wasn't the workout for me. The Bikini Ready fast is actually a great workout. The only problem is that I do it once, then my thighs hurt for an entire week and I don't exercise again for another month.
But TRUST, I still have my Jane Fonda VHS tape. To make it even cooler, it's a recorded VHS tape.
So. I have the workout materials. What's needed is the motivation. How do I get this motivation? Please advise.
In the meantime, check out Jane's leg warmers. What a babe!
