It’s difficult to admit when things are not going as well as you’d hoped.
It’s like wearing a toupee to a party that is two shades darker than the hair you have left—it’s a glaring issue that is impossible to ignore, but you’ll be damned if you admit that something is off. You force yourself to mingle and look past the fact that everyone’s eyesight is set just a bit north of your eye line.
Admitting you weren’t as good as you once were—in any arena—is in the Top 5 worst feelings in the world. The full list is as follows:
- Screenshotting a text or a snap and sending it to the very person you took it from.
- Someone recalling an embarrassing memory in front of everyone at random.
- Seeing an old Tinder match anywhere.
- Your parents finding your blog, Twitter page or YouTube video that shows you committing “jackass stunts” (ex: rolling off a roof into a trashcan) and saying “penis.”
- Admitting you weren’t as good as you once were in any arena.
Honorable mentions include: Having a younger sibling make more money than I do, having all of my siblings make more money than I do, a relative of any age trying to pay for my food or drink because they think I don’t make any money, and working in a profession in which I make no money.
Those honorable mentions do, however, make a completely separate list called “Reasons why Tim is sad.”
Admitting I am not as good as I once was is the current feeling that’s eating at me, which in turn is causing me to eat at a Valentine’s variety bag of candy. And the arena in which I’ve slumped in is writing itself.
Now, when I say writing, I do not mean my day job, which is writing. As a sports writer, I am flawless if you exclude the typos in my headlines, the misspellings of names, and the run-on sentences and fragments. Also the misquotes and the statistical errors. Other than that, I am the best sports writer.
No amount of sports writing talent, however, can prevent a creative rut that’s affected my creative and humorous writing. According to a pamphlet about the troubles of binge drinking, given to me by someone who should mind their own business, it’s important to do some self-inspection and find the root cause of my vice, or in this case my struggles with writing good. That introspection starts with the following questions:
Do you suffer from depression or feel depressed?
Every waking moment of my life, but I have no idea how this could be a bad thing.
Writers need depression or else there would be no reason to write anything. Writing allows us to express the feelings that we’re too inept or afraid to voice to others. That’s why I became a sports writer. I would never ridicule an athlete to their face. It’s through the power of the pen that I am able to mercilessly grill middle school athletes. If I wasn’t depressed, I would feel empowered enough to walk up to those slow-pitch players and hold them accountable for not taking the game seriously.
“You lost by 14. Losers don’t get snow cones,” I’d roar as I Rick James smack a cone from the hands of a turd who went 0-for-6 at the plate.
Do you feel like you need a drink to get through the day, week, month?
Sure, but my problems are so deeply rooted that I doubt a store-brand handle of vodka could solve them. Although it does help. A handle of ALDI’s best vodka delivers a smooth rubbing alcohol finish that hits me in my bones and is great for unwinding and blacking out at the end of a work day or lunch break.
My issue comes from my lack of consistency. It’s not nearly as bad of an issue like my lack of not being fat or my lack of intelligence, but it’s still a habit that affects my life as a writer.
I’ve started and abandoned so many blogs. I made a blog where I wrote about how I hate everything, and then followed that up with a blog dedicated to how much I hate everything and commented on the news of the day. Then I had a blog about the Rams football team, which even fewer people read. A few blogs later, I finally have this blog, which is dedicated to writing about stuff I hate.
The only consistent thing about me is my loathing for anything even slightly irritating and abandoning stuff. They say write to your niche, but the passion for writing and abandoning dwells only in me and liberal art majors who work at IHOP.
Do you have negative thoughts about yourself?
I have a folder in my Google Drive called “Pile of Dog Turds” and it contains everything I’ve written and never published in the last year or so and there’s maybe 45 works of garbage. So, you could say I am not fond of me or what I do.
Remember: It’s important to be honest with yourself, but realize that you can do anything you set your mind to and people who write “kill yourself” underneath your work are jealous.
That last part was written by me. The pamphlet went on about “giving into a higher power” or whatever. It’s binge drinking, not heroin. It’s not that big of a deal unless a Twitter mafia deems it so and tries to get me fired for saying the opposite.
The only way to get better is to do it every day. That’s why I’m so great at watching TV at work without getting caught sometimes. Repetition is the best remedy for improving skills, and this is the start of that improvement.
Am I hilarious now? Absolutely. But I need to get better at dumbing down my words on a more consistent basis for you apes so that you can understand the brilliance of my humor.
Have a blessed Easter Monday.