The Over-Educated Nympho

This weekend I’m going out of town to visit my parents. I’m going to tell them I want to be a writer.

This is big shit. Huge. And quite possibly horrible.

I already have a career, is what they’ll remind me. A good one. A respectable one. I have gone through all the right steps to be on the correct path for success. I may be a peon now, but I’m doing my damndest to rise to the top as quickly as possible (who says impatience isn’t a virtue if it gets you off your ass and doing shit because you can’t wait around for things to happen in their own sweet time?).

Why would I want to throw all that away?

Because it doesn’t feel right anymore.

Because I can imagine myself doing this for the rest of my life, but I don’t want to imagine myself doing it for the rest of my life.

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Over the last couple days I have tried many times to write many different posts. I couldn’t get in the flow with any of them, which does happen to me occasionally but not often. Many of you may have noticed that I’ve been a bit flustered over here at OEN lately.

Why? What the fuck? Pull your head out of your ass and get back to writing like you always have, dipshit.

It’s… weird. With all this publicity from The Houston Press lately I’m suddenly for the first time really aware of all the people out there reading me.

Now there’s all this pressure to be cool. SEXY. Funny. SEXY-FUNNY. Dear god, I can barely show up to work wearing a matching set of shoes, let alone be cool and sexy and funny every day.

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