The writer's strike still reeks havoc in the entertainment world. I don't blame them for a second. Of course there's some rich writers, we all know that. But what about the poor writers, the middle class writers who write to feed their families. I wish I could have that in my life. Writing for a living. But in order to be a paid writer, you need to get that first break. The big break, if you will.
I think I'll get it. One day. Trying to get back in the swing of things. The writing bug is starting to bite again. Very small teeth marks, but they are there. If I could leave the job I'm at, deadly retail, and become a paid writer... that'd be a dream come true. And to top it all off, to direct a movie as well. That'd be icing on the cake. So many ideas, flooding this brain. Polluting the mind in ways you couldn't even imagine. But then again, do I want you to imagine that? I don't think so. Not sure if you'd be able to escape that darkness.
And yet deep down I'm such a nice guy. But I have a lot of dark thoughts. Sinister thoughts. Ideas that would make Clive Barker blush. A bit. These thoughts will make me my millions. I'm sure of it. Or put me away in a loony bin and lock away the key. We shall see in the future.
I just don't want my future to be Best Buy blues, khakis, ads in my pockets and fake smiles for my colleagues. The ass raping I get every day for stuff that happened in the past that still haunts the department months later. Not sure how that is my fault, but I guess it is for taking the job in the first place. No regrets? Of course there's regrets. Anyone who says they don't regret anything is full of shit. It's ok to regret. I just need to learn from my mistake.
And to find a new job. Went for an interview today. Think it went well. Hope it went well. We shall see in the next few days.
That'd be a breath of fresh air. Let's cross our fingers and toes.
-James
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