Idiotic ADD Ramblings, Or: Why I Have Yet to Write a Book
People are always asking me, “When are you going to write a book? All your friends are writing books!” These inquisitive folk have obviously never come close to the inside of my brain. Because if they had ever visited there, it would be obvious why the only place you’ll find my name on an Amazon A9 Book Search is in the acknowledgments pages of tomes by my far more talented friends, and in a few scattered financial how-to index references for crap I wrote at the WSJ.
The mundane effluvia that floods my brain so much of the day is one reason that I’m convinced I’ll never write a book. There’s just so much flotsam hogging up space there’s no room for real creativity.
Exhibit A: Random thoughts I had over the course of three minutes on the subway this morning on the way to the gym.
“Why is it so cold out here? Brrr. I’m cold. Sunny, though, that’s nice. Why is this damn train so crowded? Who gets up this early? Is that guy cute, I hope not, I don’t have any makeup on. I want to eat this muffin but this train is too crowded, I hate eating on trains, it’s so uncouth. But I’m not as bad as those FUCKERS who eat Chinese food on the train or spit sunflower seed shells on the floor. Oh, but where’s your liberal guilt NOW Miss Democrat, those people are probably the ones with three-hour commutes to the bumfuck Bronx who have to come into the city to do your dry cleaning and wax your eyebrows and wash your towels at the gym, so why don’t you cut them some slack, they’re starving. Oh, the gym, I better eat these muffins before I get there or I’ll pass out. OK, people got off at Jay Street now I can eat in relative peace. These muffins are dryer than usual.
“I can’t believe I’m looking at an ad for curing toenail fungus while trying to choke down breakfast, that ad is disgusting, someone take it down. Why am I so sleepy? It’s those stupid frigging Tylenol PM, what, are they just starting to work now? From now on, I’m going to take Tylenol PM when I WAKE UP IN THE MORNING so by the time I go to bed 16 hours later they’ve finally kicked in. Why is no one sitting on that chair, why does the man next to it keep gesturing at it? Oh, there’s coffee spilled on it. Chair hog. I bet he spilled the coffee there himself so no one would sit down, the jackass. Wow, some guy is actually wiping off the seat to cram into it. Well, OK. Wait, that chair-wiper guy is STARING at me, every time I look up. What? WHAT? Do you think I’m going to come over there and give you my phone number and ask in what way I can do your sexual bidding? Because I won’t. So quit staring. And leering.
“Why are you thinking these stupid thoughts, you idiot? Why don’t you think of something useful or interesting so you can write a book about it? Think about how much time you spend during the day thinking, ‘I’m cold,’ or ‘What am I going to have for lunch?’ Just one stupid book. Will wrote three books. Chuck wrote three books. Tom wrote three books. You wrote no books. You suck. Fine, at least read the newspaper if an original thought isn’t going to flit through your head. Because NOBODY wants to read about crap like this.”
The mundane effluvia that floods my brain so much of the day is one reason that I’m convinced I’ll never write a book. There’s just so much flotsam hogging up space there’s no room for real creativity.
Exhibit A: Random thoughts I had over the course of three minutes on the subway this morning on the way to the gym.
“Why is it so cold out here? Brrr. I’m cold. Sunny, though, that’s nice. Why is this damn train so crowded? Who gets up this early? Is that guy cute, I hope not, I don’t have any makeup on. I want to eat this muffin but this train is too crowded, I hate eating on trains, it’s so uncouth. But I’m not as bad as those FUCKERS who eat Chinese food on the train or spit sunflower seed shells on the floor. Oh, but where’s your liberal guilt NOW Miss Democrat, those people are probably the ones with three-hour commutes to the bumfuck Bronx who have to come into the city to do your dry cleaning and wax your eyebrows and wash your towels at the gym, so why don’t you cut them some slack, they’re starving. Oh, the gym, I better eat these muffins before I get there or I’ll pass out. OK, people got off at Jay Street now I can eat in relative peace. These muffins are dryer than usual.
“I can’t believe I’m looking at an ad for curing toenail fungus while trying to choke down breakfast, that ad is disgusting, someone take it down. Why am I so sleepy? It’s those stupid frigging Tylenol PM, what, are they just starting to work now? From now on, I’m going to take Tylenol PM when I WAKE UP IN THE MORNING so by the time I go to bed 16 hours later they’ve finally kicked in. Why is no one sitting on that chair, why does the man next to it keep gesturing at it? Oh, there’s coffee spilled on it. Chair hog. I bet he spilled the coffee there himself so no one would sit down, the jackass. Wow, some guy is actually wiping off the seat to cram into it. Well, OK. Wait, that chair-wiper guy is STARING at me, every time I look up. What? WHAT? Do you think I’m going to come over there and give you my phone number and ask in what way I can do your sexual bidding? Because I won’t. So quit staring. And leering.
“Why are you thinking these stupid thoughts, you idiot? Why don’t you think of something useful or interesting so you can write a book about it? Think about how much time you spend during the day thinking, ‘I’m cold,’ or ‘What am I going to have for lunch?’ Just one stupid book. Will wrote three books. Chuck wrote three books. Tom wrote three books. You wrote no books. You suck. Fine, at least read the newspaper if an original thought isn’t going to flit through your head. Because NOBODY wants to read about crap like this.”
posted by Had To Move at 3:40 PM
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