Ambition was making me nauseous. So I gotta stop checking the blog stats, gotta stop looking up famous people on Wiki and thinking: this person became a success when they were younger than I am now, so it’s time to hate myself.
Success just means a lot more work at a much higher level and hoping the thin ice holding you up doesn’t break. Or it means that you prune up in a jacuzzi and then get bored and become an asshole. If you don’t have to work then your whole life is that extra, antsy third day of a three-day weekend. You OD on free time and the possibilities smother you. Your worker drone brain isn’t built to handle it. Watch TV and you’ll wish you were reading and vice-versa. Watch TV and think about all the shit you’ve never done because you’re watching TV. Like apple-picking or taking a salsa class. Realize you’ve wasted your life so far and you will definitely waste the remainder of it. Better to be at work where that mental purgatory never sets in.
Goddamnit, I can’t believe I’m writing in defense of drudgery after throwing a tantrum about it online for the past year.
But anyway why obsess with success when I’m already there. My young-douche-in-Korea blog is easily the best in its niche. Great, fuck it. Just put stuff on it and don’t worry about it. I could probably sell more books. But Christ, have you actually tried marketing your book? I’d rather get another chlamydia test stick rammed down my dick than do that shit for ten minutes. Spend an invaluable hour of your life begging for a review or tweaking your Amazon search terms. People will still click to your page and think $.99 is too much, and you know that the whole time you’re marketing. Ten minutes of doing the business work behind writing feels like 10,000 hours. I just want to write, fuck the rest. That’s all I’ll do.
In the meantime I should just go to work and be glad I’m going to work. If you work then you’re royalty. It hasn’t happened yet but soon the conglomerates will win and automate the blue collars out of existence and poverty will be the default.
Every morning I slide off the mattress too early and my eyes hurt and I walk a mile to work and play the Nerdist podcast on the way. Guests on it like you wouldn’t believe. Like Bill Gates and Tom Cruise but they’re boring and never give an inch. Then you’ve got Will Forte, who’s got fuck-you money and his own show, who comes on and unloads, says the stress at the mountaintop is debilitating and he can’t even take a day off to ski. All right then, so we all have to slog it out. I don’t know where I got it in my head that I would grind my way to a magical life where I never had to do things I didn’t want to do. The VIPS are all busy as we are and everyone wants to get off the ride and that’s such a relief to know.
This is some wise shit that most of you already know. But since I’m finally getting old now, it’s my turn to say it.
As you were.