Wow, what a sterling post that last one was, eh?!?!
One thing you can be sure of is that your father wasn’t a robot. Well, I am sort of like a robot, but I’m sure I’m not.
Remember when I tried to start reading Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy to you, Baby J? It was between Harry Potter books.
I know it had to be between HP books because all the other books were old… When we read the Narnia books, we read ALL the Narnia books. Neither of us could wait to start the next. Same thing with the Oz books.
Anyway, Douglas Adams bored you within 5 minutes, so we didn’t go on. Now you’re almost 15 and I bet you’d like his books.
The other day, I was thinking about writing and so I was thinking about the books I’ve read. Excluding the ones I was assigned to read in school, I’ve read less than 50 books, including those I read to you.
Well, that’s excluding the little books for children we read. I probably read 50 of those to you over and over and over.
Do you like my hat?
I do not.
Go, Dog, Go!
Holy green donkeys, you loved that book.
Your brother loved books, too.
Since I’ve read everything Douglas Adams and Kurt Vonnegut wrote, that’s exposing myself as a guy who never really read much fiction. I read several John Grisham and Michael Crichton books. I read a great collection of early Asimov short stories (in a book).
I don’t remember exactly which books your brother loved. He loved flying his little plastic red jet fighter around. I was going to include the story about the fighter, but I can’t.
In seventh- or eighth-grade English class I learned about writing stories. I was taught that stories have to have some sort of conflict and conflict comes in three flavors: Man Against Man, Man Against Nature, and Man Against Himself.
At the time, I didn’t quite understand the Man Against Himself one.
There’s nothing really dramatic to add there.
I just used a calculator to figure out that, on average, I spend 1% of my time around other people. That time is generally spent saying hello to someone as I walk through a room.
I read a story once talking about how some of the first guys stationed at the South Pole alone would go a little crazy. The lack of human interaction and the constant confinement and the never-changing sensory input sort of forced their brains to go off on their own.
I was always sure I could survive at the South Pole. I also don’t see the horror in solitary confinement in a prison (well, a modern prison). I wouldn’t want to be thrown in the “The Box” outside in the sun… Or in the hole with the rats wherever.
Isolation is a problem for people who aren’t used to it, I guess. I don’t know. I don’t really know anything.
I should be working.
Money won’t make anything better. All money would do is help me distract myself and trap me into making up reasons to make more money.
Presently, I’m always completely broke within 5 days of receiving any money. This time around, I did buy a monitor. I’ve avoided buying it for quite some time. The last time I bought a durable good was January of this year when I bought the video card. Wait, I did buy a cell phone in like March?
I don’t know what my reasoning is, completely. I won’t get another regular job. I cannot conform to someone else’s lifestyle for long periods of time. Again, the money doesn’t help anything anyway except to provide distraction.
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The only reason I’ve ever wanted to complete JUST ONE project of mine was to prove I could do it, but I can’t actually do it.
Nothing is actually interesting enough to do it for a long time in one day and none of my projects are juicy enough to spend a lifetime completing, just to prove something to myself. None of them are great enough to prove anything to anyone else, but I don’t really care what they think.
I always feel better around other people yet I don’t spend time around other people.
My story won’t have a happy ending and, sickly, it won’t be tragic enough to even be interesting. So, that pretty much means I’m a pussy.
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