Frustrated! And Indecisive

UPDATE! When I originally wrote the following paragraph, I was searching for a new look for this blog. The “P2” theme piqued my interest. After I applied it, I couldn’t get it to work right. That led to my frustration. I’ve now decided on the current theme and I am working to get it set up like I want it. There have been roadblocks—going to the emergency room today was one.

Wanna know my status? Frustrated! I just spent the last couple of hours fooling with new themes, finally chose this one, now the media/form insertion link won’t work. Time to revert!

Ten to Win, Five to Show

Is this me?

This post is my tenth. It must be significant in some way. The last four times I posted something, WordPress informed me that my next milestone was post number ten. Will I get a prize, some recognition, a trophy? How about money? Probably not. Still, ten posts IS significant on a blog that, quite frankly, seemed dying or dead just a few days ago.

I couldn’t finish anything I started writing. I tried. I compared my writing with the work of other writers on WordPress. I read great stuff. I wanted to write great stuff. I tried. I so desperately tried to write great stuff that all I managed to write was stuff. Stuff I wouldn’t even want to read. But hey, I did try. Then I quit.

Watching TV seemed like a whole lot more attractive an offer. It was easier.

But I got up this morning and felt cheated. I wasted an entire weekend with just a few half-assed attempts at writing something. No, writing isn’t easy for me; is it for anyone? No, I don’t have even a tiny fraction of the talent I think I do, nor the skills. But I cheated myself. I pissed away precious time out of my life staring at a television, precious time that would have been better spent working with these marvelous things we call words.

So this is my tenth post. If I do get a prize, it should be the booby prize—for being the boob in front of the tube. But hey, I tried.

The Post Where We Reach an Agreement

Without a doubt, I am trying too freakin’ hard and making this way too difficult. This is the sixth post I have started since last Thursday. If I actually complete this one, it will be the first. All the others are languishing as “drafts,” waiting for that magical moment, that special ingredient, that one great word or sentence before they blossom into the lovely flowers of prose they so want to be. I’m trying not to write garbage, but I am determined to finish this, save it, edit it, and by–God publish it. It’s up to you to read it – and if you don’t, that’s fine too. At least I can take solace knowing I actually finished it.

So this is going to be the middle, which comes after the beginning and before the end, at least in most socially acceptable situations, this being one. I allow myself some crudeness in my language. I reserve the right, though, to be sensible with the crudity. (Wow, I wasn’t sure that was a word, but since the spellchecker didn’t flag it, it must be.) I learned a new word from the BBC; feck; it hovers over crudity like a dragonfly over water, but it never quite dives in to get mired up in the muck of Carlin’s seven words. It’s a good word, a useful word. I like it and I’ll use it.

Since this is another paragraph in the middle, it means I am on a roll, a rather creative roll, a roll not likely to be seen again by human eyes, in most socially acceptable situations that don’t involve crude words. Creativity is not my strong suit. I usually like clubs for trump, when I am dealt them. So rather than fool you into believing I have a creative mind, I just club words to death until they shape up like I want them. They rarely resist. I rarely succeed. We reach an agreement.

I made it this far, this being the end. I looked back up the page, actually the screen, and discovered that I failed. Yes, I succeeded in writing this. Yes, I succeeded in finishing it. Yes, I succeeded in writing rubbish. So I failed and I succeeded. They cancel each other. We reach an agreement. We’ll end it right here.

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