2003-01-07 || 10:23 a.m.

|| the writery life and how i just may fail miserably. ||

last night was back to school in a very odd fashionable arty werehouse (how in the world do you spell that? were- ware- where-) wine-drinking way, writing workshop = writing support group really, and there were a few points when i wanted to stand up all rosy-cheeked (the wine) and up-end the table and suggest that we all try our damnedest to silence the feelings and misgivings and passion for writing and just, eh, write. around the table again and again: i am concerned about this. i live for this. you know that feeling when you are writing because you have to and blah blah blah blah blah. ehh. and although it makes me feel good to think all these wine-drinking grape-eating writers feel all the insecurities and anxieties i do, dag. let's just do it, man.

and last night on the way home i wished i still lived in my studio where i could construct the incredibly magical creativity-conducive Writing Tent. where i would go and zip all the flaps behind me and churn out A-number-one novel. ahem. so instead, while driving up to the yellow house of roommates and cats, i decided i would instead rearrange my writing spot.. move my desk from its energy-sucking vortex in the corner into my wee room and maybe hang curtains around it or construct cardboard igloo walls and there. there, my friends. There i would write A-number-one novel.

ungh.

after all this was decided, after i had had a serious thinking sesh about me and the writing and my soon to be obnoxiously writerly life (buckling down. constructing magic igloos. very (falsely) relieved and smug about being romantic entanglement-free so that i can devote my life, like a nun but only if i can have the julie andrews haircut, to the writing . not feeling very bad about the failed attempt of kicking the cigarettes because it is just not right to expect me to get down and writery without them.) after all that and that and that, i walked into my house and was greeted to my best friendies o and m and dreamalicious mr. cramp (we will spell it like that.). and we went to a bar and i drank more and more and it was a monday night but i am a writer and writers do that type of thing when they are not writing in their writing igloos. ahem. resolution: when you are not writing furiously in said igloo, you will be drinking heavily with good friends.

and so. we are in very bad shape, alcoholic-wise.

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