Remember Those Old Xanga Rants?

It does worry me, admittedly -- the idea that I can't write shit unless it's the low light of winter, I'm exposed to extended interaction with many people at once, or I'm depressed.

Of course, I'm certainly more content with being happy than depressed. There isn't much I can do about the people thing. I'm working from home, I have no desire to spend time on campus, and writing in a coffee shop really is a laughable move. I'll only have about a month of the low light of winter before I have to close shop and send everything in to UT.

Then, my stuff actually has to be good enough to get in.

Not much I can do about that, either. Not much I can do about not being 28, the average age of applicants to the schools which I'm applying.

I haven't felt this powerless in a while. Not much to get depressed about here, though. I'm planning a wedding with the woman of my dreams and watching the Cowboys have the best season they've had in nearly 25 years.

There just isn't time to be moody and nostalgic with all of this happiness floating around. Maybe I missed my shot back in 2004 to be a stellar writer. Did I miss my shot to be moody and nostalgic for a lifetime and make oodles of cash doing it?

What am I going to do? It's not like I woke up and couldn't express the things I want to express. I'm just not terribly concerned with expressing them. I think about them, sure, but when it comes time to strap down and write -- that's a losing battle most of time.

Chances are, this bout of new-found honesty here will fuel some good writing. It couldn't come at a better time. I'm just so worried about blowing my chance to get into grad school. Maybe I'll swallow my pride and start writing at a coffee shop. I should probably just embrace that part of me that gets a jolt from working in public. Who knew I was such a voyeur?

Peter did say something to me the other night after watching Knocked Up and discussing the future DVD release of Superbad. He expressed disappointment that he'd never be able to write anything as funny as those movies. That prospect totally terrifies me -- it's definitely something I think about every time I see something I love (the aforementioned, Six Feet Under, Arrested Development, etc.).

I just need to clear my mind of the irrelevant. I need to remember why I wanted to write in the first place. I need to start thinking in terms of who would see/read what I write instead of those I'm writing it for. Does that make sense?

I think maybe I'm terrified of what the people I'm writing it for will think. I need to abandon that.

Quickly.


"Savannah Smiles"
Okkervil River