Writing about writing

Procrastination

It’s borderline insane, but I would literally rather do my dishes than write the ending of my NaNo novel. In fact I am, right now there’s a bunch of dishes soaking in the sink, and writing this blog post is just another method of procrastination. I’m listening to new music, I’m lying in bed, I’m watching Adventure Time, anything really, to push the ending away. Now I have written a lot of depressive shit in my day, but nothing quite as bad as this. I fell in love with my characters, but unfortunately, things doesn’t work out well for them. I try not to think too much about it, but once in a while, I’ll just sit staring blankly off into space, and it’s the only thing I can think about. I’m a sensitive guy, you know, I cry about a lot of fictional shit. Yet have I to manage sitting through the entire “The Fountain” without crying. It’s a movie, look it up if you want to have a seriously bad day.

I’ve discovered that writing – to me – is really just a creative way of self-torture. I manage to make myself depressed every single time I work on something big, every single fucking time, I manage to go all in on the sad stuff. This one is particularly bad, I really wish I didn’t have to write this ending, if anything, I’ve tried wrapping it into something happy quite a few times, without any kind of success. If something starts bad, it ends bad, that’s just the way it works with classic tragedies. Why oh why can’t I just write fucking comedy for once? Well, not this time at least, I hate it, but it has to end badly.

Once in a while I wish I hadn’t used this for NaNo. It’s long, I’ve already passed 120.000 words, I could have stretched it across at least three or four months if it hadn’t been for my NaNo obsession. Then again, it’s like a band aid. You can hope it falls off on its own, but in the end you’re going to have to pull at the damned thing, and the longer you wait, the more it just hurts like a motherfucker. Might as well do what you set out to do, and get rid of it in a month.

Except for NaNo and my many, very deliberate ways of not finishing, nothing is really going on in my life. There’s NaNo, and that’s about it. I have little to no social life, I survive on coffee and cigarettes, I stay indoors because I can’t stand being around other people, and I feel like crying all the time. Fucking depressing really. I doubt I’ll leave the apartment before December 1st, at its earliest. I just can’t fucking deal.

I would put in an anecdote about a guy I’ve had a crush on for the past eight or nine years, who might just come and visit me soon, when for once, both of us are single. Then again, that might actually go and make this blog post just the slightest bit of uplifting, and that certainly ain’t what I’m aiming for here. So fuck off, I’m just gonna go sob over the dishes.