Updates That No One Needed and Questions Nobody Asked

So this has been an interesting couple of days. I would elaborate a little more, but that’s what pictures are for:

 

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One of the earliest depictions of man, circa. 1999

 

Not too long ago, I posted this picture on my Twitter (Of which I am sure all of you are just lurking on instead of following. I understand, that’s how I use Twitter as well. That, and @andersoncooper has me blocked on my main account.) Going back to what I’d need in order to eat a Kit-Kat at the lobby in Adult Swim Headquarters, I mentioned a Driver’s License and a car. Seeing as I only have a forged permit, there could only be one other PROGRESS UPDATE that I had.

Ladies, gentlemen, distinguished guests, Mom: Meet Cassandra.

 

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An outer shot of a 1996 Subaru Impreza. The dents give it character.
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Ok, so she’s missing her inner doorframe. You’re no blue-ribbon-winning chicken either.

 

Cassandra and I met about a day after I posted for the first time as if she heard my pleas and sent her beautiful self to me. Just goes to show that all the real things we need in life can be found on Craigslist for 250 dollars. We’re even the same age! And who cares about what’s on the outside anymore? It’s all about who you are inside!

 

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Uh… Inside…

 

 

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“Wicked Tuna” is easily my favorite piece in this collage.

 

You might start to understand why this car was 250 dollars. Cassandra’s got some baggage (and possibly the past trauma of having to pretend to like a NatGeo show about fish). The phrase “ugly, but it gets the job done” doesn’t apply to Tinder anymore, folks. With some minor mechanical work, Cassie’s engine issues have vanished, and with the help of God, Country, and noxious industrial chemicals, the artwork on her interior has been eviscerated. But there remains the not-so-obvious metaphor that Cassandra represents, and the question that her introduction poses:

Am I serious about this?

The short answer is yes. In a surrealist turn of events, I did spend one evening contemplating my place in the universe and whether I had a purpose at all. One bottle of Cognac and a short cry later, and it was decided that I would have to live my life on a path that I made myself if I wanted to achieve anything at all. And yet “Don’t Break The Chain” calendars and inspiration boards don’t go very far when you have no sense of self-motivation.

That’s where this blog comes in. I mean, what’s a better expression of a desperate need for validation than an online journal? Art? Filmmaking? Those graphic tees at Walmart with troll faces on them?

I also started this blog to keep up with a few side goals that I had. As in, semi-legit hopes for the future that don’t involve me riding on the coattails of a TV network that may not even last the five-year plan I’ve set up. For instance, I have a list of books I’ve finished reading since the beginning of the year. My goal for that is to get at least two pages worth of books read by the end of the year. Since each page has room for 25 entries, this would total out to 50 books in one year. So far, I’m at 19.

 

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I’m aware that American Gods doesn’t really count since it’s a book with a 200,000+ word count. To this, I say: mind your own goddamn business.

 

Then, there’s the highly noticeable amount of piano behind the journal. Does this have an arbitrary goal too? Yes and no. The piano, along with lessons, was tied to a goal one of the very first goals little me concocted. I can’t quite remember what that goal was, but considering my hardcore crush on Helena Bonham Carter, it probably had something to do with wooing her and living in a mansion made of chocolate cake. I, like most of the population, was a weird kid.

Then there’s the fact that I actually am a novelist. Hey, no. Stop laughing. It’s true. As of today, I’ve started work on a new manuscript. This is alongside another manuscript that is what I’d like to call the “Final Editing Stage”. I’d like to call it this because the method of getting it to that stage became so confusingly convoluted that my capacity to continue it all but disappeared, most likely to prevent me from making things that much more complex. Not to mention that part of that method had me publishing and unpublishing the book at least once due to a misunderstanding about how formatting is not a magic tool that works perfectly in every word processor with virtually no effort on the publisher’s part. But I digress.

So, I am serious about reaching the goal. And if you’ve been paying attention, you may have an answer to the last question:

When do you plan to achieve this?

Five years. Not give or take a few days. Not a “Where do I see myself in five years?”. I’m giving myself five exact years from the first blog post I made to take action towards what could possibly be either the greatest move of my life or the dumbest. What that means is I’ll have about four years to get a degree and become a professional writer. Since my first year starts in the fall, that’ll give me around 9 months afterward to relentlessly bother Adult Swim on all social media accounts available. Like Prison Break, I have the perfect plan, the motivation, and most of the tools I need. I think. I’ve never seen Prison Break.

But what does this mean for you? Two things: a timer, and a promise. Regardless of the frequency or length of my posts, on May 23rd, 2022, I’ll post a Mega-Update where I show my final progress with my goal. There’s not much else that I can say besides that, as five years is a massive chunk of time. Maybe the update will be entirely in Gaelic, describing how I’ve gained thirty pounds, changed my name to Sally Dewdrops, and moved to a hidden island off the coast of Florida to work as a mystic.

Here’s hoping.

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