The Start of DIY Fame and Fortune Or The Start of a Long Winded Suicide Note


I don’t know if this was the result of sobering up or becoming intoxicated (the memory is pretty hazy), but I do remember what I was thinking: I was laying on the floor of my bedroom, my eyes wide open on the unchanging ceiling, as I said to myself  “If I don’t have anything published by the end of my 23rd year, I’m going to shoot myself.”

Now this wasn’t out of any sort of depressed notion or self pity; I was pretty happy at that moment and feeling ridiculously confident. So confident that I didn’t really mind that my friends were shooting off fireworks at 3am in my neighbor’s backyard. (The cops never came when she called anyway). While I have been busy finishing college, getting a house, and working, I have yet to publish anything. I have recently realized, being a month into 23, that I have to do something soon or blow my brains out.

Now, I realize the 19-year-old-me wasn’t that smart, so he didn’t bother with any fine print. He didn’t consider self-publishing, or even self publishing on the internet. (‘Cause that totally counts). So that’s where this comes in. I will chronicle my attempts to get myself published in various forms of media and if by the end of the year I’ve gotten nothing done,  I’ll still have this… blog. So HA! take that Younger Me! You may have a freezer stocked with booze and strange cacti but I have a degree now and therefore am certifiably smarter than you!

But then again, being out of college is a different world. There is no longer an uncaring adviser who will send you back and forth from building to building in order for you to sort of find the right answer that you will only realize is wrong by the middle of the next semester! You’re on your own, and nobody gives a damn about you. Not only that, but once you’ve graduated you realize you now have the rest of your life to either succeed at your life’s ambitions, or horribly fail at them. (Usually the idea of failure is the only thing that actually comes to mind).

Maybe this constant reminder of what my dreams are/were will take it’s toll on me and I will become a shell of a man, regretfully looking back at what I could have been. I will only be able to stare mournfully at my shattered dreams as if they were a dead kitten laying on the cold pavement. The weight of my failure will transform me to the point that I am no longer recognizable and my fiancee will leave me, saying I am no longer the same man that I once was. This will cause me to become an alcoholic; and in a sad, drunken stupor one night in some back alley of Detroit I will finally end it my life by blowing my brains out all over the wall of an abandoned building. (And you would enjoy that wouldn’t you internet).

Or, you know, I just might succeed, but where’s the fun in considering that?

Until one of the two outcomes comes to fruition, since I’m obviously not going to be able to fill this damn thing with simply myself trying to get published, I’ll give you my dear (currently non-existent) readers stories of the horrors of post-college life. Everything from working a job that requires no degree (even though you are surrounded by people in the same position with higher degrees), becoming a substitute teacher, and probably other stories that have nothing to do with anything. And while you may be thinking “Well gee Mister,” because you do talk like that, you know, “that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

Well that’s too bad. (But keep reading anyway.) You see, I have this problem in life where I often do things and crack jokes only caring if I find them funny. Sometimes going out of my way to make a big show out of a really bad joke, which I think makes it funny in a really, really stupid way. I enjoy being over-the-top (as you may have noticed already) which also gets me annoyed stares and in trouble. My sense of humor is off, I’ll admit, so my bar is pretty low. I can’t even take myself seriously. There is no need to feel sorry for me, because in the end, I am easily amused.

Fozzie Bear is my idol.

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4 Responses to “The Start of DIY Fame and Fortune Or The Start of a Long Winded Suicide Note”

  1. Have you considered at least moving out of Detroit? Maybe to the country someplace near a medium sized city? Environment can help make things at least tolerable.

  2. I like this and am trying to get my own work out there in the form of games. I have a decent idea of how you feel.

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