My stupidity is boundless.
I have squandered my talents and countless years on foolish endeavors and a fruitless search for some woman who would “get me.”
My writing is as trite and vapid as Nicholas Sparks writing a local newspaper column about who visited who to play cards in a small town on a Saturday night.
My comments on other’s blogs are the insane ramblings of a glue-sniffing teenager who hallucinates that he is a NY Times columnist being paid by the word.
My entire emotional thought process could be summed up in one line from the Alice Cooper song “I’m Eighteen”: “Gotta baby’s brain and an old man’s heart.”
I have almost as much energy and drive for actually writing a book as a legless 90-year-old depressed nursing home resident has for running a marathon.
I have as much “writerly” imagination as Donald Trump has soul and warmth.
When I die, instead of “He Wrote The Great American Novel,” my epitaph will say “At Least Now I Don’t Have To Do The Dishes Any More.”
The grand sum of my past, present, and future writings will be of less importance to the world of literature than a dried-out wad of gum under a desk in an abandoned Detroit library.
I drain the life from my subject matter like some authors turn heroic subject matter into an un-readable block of wood (specific name deleted here by me, out of respect for that famed person going through a health crisis right around the time of this post–good luck to him and his family).
My youth, as well as the immense gifts I was given by fate or genetics, were squandered on drink, smoke, and mindless hedonism.
I bypassed the quiet decency of wonderful, intelligent, worthwhile, passionate, loving women in order to let myself get swept up by the dazzling glow of vain, selfish, unhappy, untrue women who picked me from the crowd and briefly worshipped me like I was a rare and beautiful flower, then quickly cast me aside like I was last year’s shoes.
The only contribution I have made to the world is to stumble accidentally into being a father; my only legacy is that I have helped raise her and loved her unconditionally.
I have driven away or become bored with nearly every old friend I’ve had; I never burn bridges but I almost always explode them.
My stupidity is boundless.
(Sorry, can’t embed Alice here because Warner Music Group won’t allow it–whatever)
(I’m trying this “read more” thing as a cheap ploy to get people to actually visit my site to finish reading my posts, so that I get “bloghits” and my petty ego is sustained a bit more than it has been lately; I trust it doesn’t offend you too much. The original “daily non-affirmations” is here.)