Los Angeles, CA
My schedule is out of whack. For a couple of months I had a very similar routine (something I called structured chaos in which I could set aside chunks of time to do anything... consider it a "free swim") but that's gotten thrown out of whack with a couple of work projects, March Madness, tax season, sorting out summer tour plans, and ordinary life like getting old.
All those years of partying hard has slowly creeping up. Every once in a while I feel like the old pitcher in Major League (the "up your butt Jobu" guy) who has to use grease to throw spitballs. On those rough mornings I think back and wonder... "what if I took it slower?" And then I laugh because I wouldn't have it any other way. If anything the little aches here and there are a reminder of how much fun I had and used to have and was lucky to have. No regrets, right?
I'm in an email thread that has a header of "No More Bad Days", which is kind of a joke (it originally had origins in a mockumentary from Norway about Inspector Norse, a dubstep-techno-geek who cooks up his own batch of homemade speed and fourth-rate ecstasy). Watch the short film here...
WHATEVEREST from Kristoffer Borgli on Vimeo.
Anyway, the "no more bad days" thing is all kinds of cheesy and partially a bit of New Age crapola, but there's a semblance of truth and honesty and earnestness in that catchy positive affirmation, which is something nifty to remind yourself within moments of waking. No more bad days. Simple mantra. Today's a new day and it's going to be a good day, because no matter how much shit rolls downhill, I won't let all those shit boulders keep me in a dour mood so shake it off.
I lost my a routine. I was posting on this corner of the web in the early mornings, but now I'm doing it at the end of a long day. Normally I wouldn't care, but posting here is part of a daily project I've undertaken this year. It's a reclamation project of sorts and writing here everyday is like showing up at daily AA meeting for fallen bloggers. If I don't do it and maintain this Draconian discipline, then I'll probably never post regularly again and soon get lazy and fall into sporadic posting which means writing a couple of time a month (if I'm lucky) until I slow everything down to a quarterly post, before it halts production altogether and this place goes dormant.
If I didn't have shit to sell (please buy my books to support my habits both chemically and artistically) I probably wouldn't keep up a daily regimen of word regurgitation. If I didn't need to constantly audition for writing jobs, I'd probably wouldn't keep this up. In short... if I was loaded and had tons of dough, I wouldn't write much on the web anymore because I wouldn't need to.
It's funny (in a morose "clown dies way" and not Vaudevillian way) how a good portion of art is spawned out of desperation. You're either desperate for attention or desperate to get paid. Most of the time it's both.