October 09, 2003

George Carlin says he doesn't really smoke pot much anymore. What George does, he says, (this is is a tribute-to-George-Carlin hosted by Jon Stewart you can probably still catch on HBO) is he hides one joint in his house, waits 'till he's written a bunch of new material, then he finds the joint. Then, as he puts it, it's "punch-up time!"

I have this essay I've spent more time on than anything I've ever ever written, ever.

Okay, that's not true. I have spent agonizing hours, dusk-'till-dawn type hours, on things I've actually wanted to write, usually plays. But this just FEELS longer. Every hour feels like three hours of something I actually want to be punching up. Like dog years. Dog years of tortorous shards-of-glass-under-my-fingernails essay pecking. The final draft is due tommorrow, and for this class, "drafts" defy my usual definition for in-class writing (punctuation corrections, a sentence or two trimmed or added for clarity.) Oh no. Every draft is required to be dramatically different from the last. And I feel like I have more drafts of this thing than a Hindu god has appendages.

And I just don't know where else to go.

So..."punch up time?"

Today I got a package from my fambly, it was mostly business-type stuff (bank statements, a health insurance card), as well as a check reimbursing me for the money I spent on books (a sum that's not good for encouraging me to get a job) and two MetroCards my dad bought when he was here. They should keep me in subway rides up to my ears for a while, especially because I rarely need to go anywhere.

So maybe tonight I'll go up to Times Square tonight after improv rehearsal, when the day of reckoning for my essay has come.

Maybe I'll hop out to a median in the glowing commercial heart of the world,

sit down in the middle of traffic indian-style,

old-school laptop battery heating my knees,

be filled with the smell of nuts (Times Square smells like hella roasted nuts),

listen to what it sounds like when everyone in Manhattan decides to lean on their horn at the very same second,

and have punch-up time.

Maybe not. It'll be pretty late by the time I get out of improv.

PS- I just got up from a three-hour nap, so I've got the door open and I'm filling floor 14 with loud-ass Iggy Pop, and I feel pretty fucking awesome.

Now it's time for lunch, and class.

Molly is not that kind of girl. But she's also in Belgium so it's really a non-issue.

Posted by DC at October 9, 2003 12:42 PM

@Markus I get your drift on where you were going there. I often think of my past and use it as a means to analyze where I am and where I want to get to. Where I struggel is balancing it all out. How do you guys balance things out?

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