Waiting to be Knocked Out

Tried to post this before i went under but it never went through.  Waiting For an upper endoscopy.  Still trying to figure something out about episode 501 of community.  502’s going to be great, 503’s going to be greater, 504 makes me cry sometimes…it’s really great to be back.  It’s religiously, catastrophically, erotically great to be back.  It was also not exactly torture to be gone, because, hey, less work.  I was a better boyfriend and a better sleeper when I was a self centered knob in exile, free to mutter anything I wanted into my tumblr (and my tumbler).  Now I’m a self centered knob that can let you down again, DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD THAT IS FOR ME just kidding.

If you’re a writer, you already know it’s as fair as it is pretentious to describe writing as a challenge.  If you’re a writer.  If you have an honest job, here’s an attempt to explain:  Remember that moment on your first day of work, when someone asked you to change the tanks, tie down the patient or feed the squirrel, and you realized, “oh, shit, I don’t know how to do that part yet?"  That low-stakes fight or flight panic that stiffened your neck and tightened your stomach, because you had to figure something out so you could stop feeling like a useless asshole and get back to work?  When you’re breaking a story, that moment is 12 hours long.  When you’re not figuring out how to screw around, your job is to press your head against a transparent wall, staring at something you want on the other side.  The worst part is, the wall is your own stupid limitation.  It’s where your brain ends.  It’s the boundary between what you know - which is currently useless, or else you’d be done - and the only thing useful, which is what you don’t know. 

Nurse is here.  Gotta go.  BYE