It has now been almost a month since I have quit my copyediting job and I have lost all motivation to apply for other jobs right now, not really sure what it is I want to be doing, but also wanting to put those decisions on hold for a while, thinking to myself that I might want to just try to procure shitty temp jobs when I have to so that that way I can have more time to myself for a while, hopefully write some, and hopefully take lots of little trips and visit people and places I have been wanting to. And were I to obtain an amazing job, something more along the lines of a career, then I surely would have trouble taking any vacations a month or two after getting the job.
I am not totally umemployed right now and have been working at the P.R., though last week I did only work eight hours for them. Hopefully though, I can counterbalance that by working a lot for them this week if they have work, and then next week, I think I might be working for the business mag perhaps for the whole week, and so little pieces are coming together, allowing me to not have to wake up early, allowing me to linger around the house in shorts for hours in the morning, eating and drinking coffee, reading, masturbating - whatever it is exactly I feel like doing. And if I ever want to do anything, if I ever hope to become the thing I sometimes say it is I want to become, then these weeks are the time to put that in motion, to utilize this free time for the precious thing that it is, and truly, I am going to start that today.
This weekend, though lots of fun, was bad in the sense that I totally bombed out my mind, getting so drunk that yesterday I could do nothing for most of the day except stare into space, totally braindead, slowly recovering my basic mental faculties. On both Friday and Saturday, the party started early for me with galleries in the evening and the drinking continuing until too late. There were some truly nice moments to this weekend, among them getting to see Jaymay play at Pete's Candy Store, a round of bingo, dinner with friends, a bunch of new pants obtained for free, and a boy at a party, a very specific boy, Matt, allowing me to sniff his armpit, him rubbing it against my face, and coming home alone afterwards with the scent still on the tip of my nose, and beginning to masturbate to this smell, to the memories it evoked as well as the fantasies that may yet (put probably won't) be realized, and did this, not even coming, until I fell asleep, lights still on, contacts still in, and things that I had hoped to realize, simple things like jacking off, unrealized, and that, my friends, is the issue at hand writ small; the thing, the issue, is this inability to realize things I want to because of distractions like booze and social interaction. Nice as they are, they are not the things I tell myself in ambitious moments I would like to be doing with my life.