Monday, March 17, 2014

In Which I Get Honest About Writing

Writing is the thing for me.  It is the only thing that I have ever always wanted to do.  I went to school for it, I am tens of thousands of dollars in debt for it, I am dedicated.  It is the meaning of life for me, and I don't think I ever let myself state that in such a way and really feel the repercussions of that realization.

I have this series of stories that part of me is pretty convinced is an alternate reality (well, it would have to be) that an aspect of my soul is/has/will experienc/ing/ed/e.

It's... gosh, I don't know, nine or ten stories, maybe more.  The series follows a family of souls across various incarnations, planets and planes.  It mostly focuses on the Elder of Sight/Seer, who is just fated to be intrinsically linked to the Oracle of Laki, the Lady of Light.  S/he is plagued by the Oracle of Daki, the force of the darkness/unknown/fear/illusion, is drawn to the Elder of Fire, and sees himself in the Elder of Water, the first mirror.

It all fits with the aspect of how these things relate to sight, and it happened without my ever planning it consciously.  The subconscious is beastly with this stuff.  I've found foreshadowing for a storyline I started writing last year in a story I wrote fifteen years ago.  I mean.  Dude.

If I get this series to a state of satisfactory perfection, I can die without regrets.  Seriously, and jokingly, that is how I really think, deep down.  I don't know how I can let myself talk me out of thinking about this being the meaning of my life, because it is the visible story to my invisible journey.  This is how my spirit evolves, right along with the characters.

I do have the part of my mind that likes to dismiss all sorts of meaning into the obliterating clear light of nothingness, knowing how much my success at accomplishing this series is tied into ego satisfaction.  But you know what? So what?  It doesn't matter if my ego likes it or not, because the ego doesn't matter.

This is what I feel I came to Earth to do, and deep down, I am always going to believe that until I have done it.

In Which I Realize it's Been Months

It isn't really the case that much has happened. I did move from Michigan to Florida at the tail end of 2013, spending all of 2014 thus far sleeping on the floor again, spending an inordinate time on busses, and not realizing that time is going by because the weather goes unchanged for months in South Florida.

It's near the end of March, and it's a little terrifying how very little I've been managing to do.  They schedule me to work forty hours, which makes me want to cry, not only because it consumes my life, but also because even then I have no money. Ever. And I got a raise when I moved here.  Any additional money I'm making now goes to rent and bus passes.

I added up my bills and such, and seven hundred of what I make goes to bills.  Before rent.  Next February, I will have my loan completely paid off, and then I fully intend to get another loan, pay off the credit cards (again) and maintain a balance on them of no more than I could pay off all at once.  No more, "oh sure, friend/family member, I can swing that."  No you can't, past self.  You couldn't swing it. I still can't swing it.

Make more than ever before; have less than ever. Ha.  Especially since our stuff from Michigan hasn't made it here.  Hence my sleeping on the floor and my roommates sleeping on the sectional they bought from the bomb-ass Salvation Army across the street.  We're working on getting the rest of our stuff, methinks, soon.

Also, the man in front of me on the bus is wearing Real 3D glasses and showing fellow in-transitors a newspaper article about a play about Martin Luther King Jr. that he may think is actually about MLK Jr. I have no way of knowing.