Keeping Up With The Times

An attempt at a refresh has occurred today. It's important to note: an attempt.

I'm struggling to even write this. My brain, on some level, has regressed—spelling is poor. Two sentences ago, I typed "right" instead of "write." And that's not even scratching the surface of my ever-rising tide of stupidity. I'm not sure what’s going on with me. Having a proper conversation is another battle; I can never summon the right words to articulate what the hell I'm trying to communicate. I mispronounce words that I damn sure know how to pronounce. Is this the end for me? Am I dissolving into a pink mass of goo? Can you drink me through a straw? Am I yummy?

Anyway. Right. A refresh.

This blog. This website of mine. I've let it get buried under a pile of trash—distractions, mostly. I'm a hoarder, you see: piles and piles of goals left by the wayside. I can barely walk through my own brain without stepping on a moldy pile of shit that was once a shiny aspiration. But here I am. After digging around, I managed to pull this blog from the stink and dust it off. It now sits on my desk, eager for my thoughts and energy.

If you look under the "Projects" tab, you'll see that they’ve been organized and updated. Archie is still my main focus as a novel, and The Last Day in the Sun is my next short film. Pearl Heart will be my feature-length script after that. Those are my main three, with additional projects queued up.

I'm gearing up to leave Missouri and head back to the swamp. There isn’t anything here for me—nothing to stimulate or ignite my drive. If I’m honest, I’ve used these past five months as rehab. I’ll go into that in another post. But I’m clean, alive, on heart meds, and, more importantly, I still have hope. Until I die, I swear I’ll never give up