No, I’m not a big fan of Hemingway. He’s always been a bit too “masculine” for my tastes, but I have always admired the succinctness of his writing (and his fondness for cats). I don’t think I’m a pretentious writer (at least, I damn well hope not!) but I’m aware that I add in far too much – probably very unnecessary – detail. You could never accuse Hemingway of that. Oh no! There’s not a redundant word or phrase anywhere in his work. I hear he was a ruthless self-editor.
Why am I thinking about Hemingway’s writing style?, you may ask. Well, I’ve been away for this blog for a while now and every time I come back, I read over the posts I wrote months, or even years, ago, and my first thought is always: “God damn, get to the fucking point, woman!”. I bore myself. I just don’t have the attention span to read all of my posts, from start to finish. I think I need to write shorter blog posts.
Of course, the irony here is that I just spent two whole paragraphs lamenting the fact that I’m verbose and wishing things could be different!
OK, it’s 7:28 p.m. In the next seventeen minutes, I am going to write a brief Hemingway-esque synopsis of how I’ve been doing since the last time I wrote a post. Here goes…
Life is not bad but it is not good. This is probably my own fault. I think I should be more grateful for what I have instead of focusing always on the negative. I am now a “senior advisor” at work (instead of the lowly, underpaid contractor grunt I was up until December) and I’ve got to say my new $42,500 salary will come in handy. Recently, I’ve been working a lot of overtime, too (time and and a half!) and I’m going to have a fucking humungous pay cheque on Thursday. Every last penny is going to go towards the deposit for the new house (two doors up) we’re moving in to at the end of the month….but, still…it’s nice to have the money. We might even buy a second car soon, as it’s been a nightmare driving each other back and forth to work. I have my eye on a second-hand Mini Cooper, but I don’t know if we can afford it.
MM and I have a pretty disastrous relationship still. He is now physically violent and an extremely negative person to be around. He focuses always on problems – never solutions. I have mixed feelings about this because I know that I am violent and verbally abusive myself, and I think I have pushed him to the edge. No, this is not the deluded opinion of an “abused woman” who has been led to feel that everything is all her fault. I really do think I have driven him to this extreme behavior, at least, in a way; however, I also find it rather pathetic that he blames me for what he does. He has a choice, you know. He could leave. He didn’t have to stick around and become a total arsehole.
Nine minutes left…Life is not gut-wrenchingly awful. I am thankful, for example, that I am not some poor Afghan child, lying in a hospital with my leg blown off from a land-mine. I don’t know what real suffering is. And yet….I don’t really feel anymore. When I had my old blog, I was so lonely and depressed, and I felt cut off from everything and everybody. Now I work so much that I don’t really know what I think or feel anymore. But this is probably the way it is for most people, right? This is probably why there are so many fucking retarded, bigoted people out there. They probably don’t have the luxury to come home from work and actually think about life and their place in it.
I miss feeling excited about life. I miss passion. I miss really good fucking sex with somebody you’re deeply attracted to (even if it is for all the wrong reason) I miss looking forward to stuff. I miss thinking that it doesn’t matter if life is crap now because I will soon be a successful writer or singer. I’m thirty-four now. I ain’t getting any younger.
But I’m not sure if it’s right to feel this way. I don’t know what’s a valid emotion and what’s just me having a “grass is greener” complex.
Well, one minute to go, so might as well stop now. It sure wasn’t Hemingway. But, hey, you can’t say I didn’t try.