I Don’t Know What The Hell Is Wrong With Me.

So I’m working on my story for the Rock N’ Roll Issue of Hippocampus Magazine. And what am I writing about? The one album that I’ve been listening to since I’m 11 years old, the most brilliant, progressive, ethereal music ever created. Dark Side Of The Moon is so flawless it’s shocking. I know, The Wall is beyond genius, and Wish You Were Here is, well, perfect. But Dark Side is my favorite. It doesn’t even have the name on the cover. So awesome. 

I should be writing the magazine piece. But what am I doing? Watching Rocky, talking to my dog and fucking around. There’s a bigger picture here, by the way. This happens to be the story of my life. I wait until the last minute, then I hate myself and every word I wrote. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me (don’t answer that). It’s time to give myself a little pep talk.

JUST WRITE. Don’t worry about what comes out, just do it.

TURN OFF THE TV. Rocky goes the distance with Apollo Creed. Then he loses, but he loves Adrian. That’s me recapping it for myself so I don’t have to watch.

GET SOME SNACKS. Stop wondering about the chocolate in the kitchen.

DON”T LAG, RUSH THE ENDING, THEN SUBMIT A PIECE OF CRAP. I did this with a writing contest last month. So lame. 

PUT SOCKS ON. I hate being cold.

MAKE SURE THE BOYFRIEND IS GONE. His gorgeousness is very distracting.

STRETCH. It’s good for the body, keeps you awake, and when you wear skimpy tops like me you can “accidentally” flash your boyfriend (that is, if he’s sitting there because you didn’t pay attention to the advice above).

REMEMBER THIS IS FUN. It really is. What if I could get paid to write? Dream job!!

In Rocky III, Adrian gives The Italian Stallion a firm talking-to on the beach. She’s there, with her lopsided hair, telling him not to be scared to fight Mr. T, that it’s not about the money, or the fame, or dead Mickey. He has to do it for himself, and for him alone. “How’d you get so tough?” Rocky asks, because this is the most she’s ever said. “I live with a fighter,” she replies. Love it. And he becomes best friends with Apollo, faces his fear, and beats that idiot Clubber Lang.

OK, time to stop procrastinating. The deadline is in four days.  ♥ ♥ ♥

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Anne Clendening ♥

Anne Clendening is an L.A. chick, born and raised. She is a writer of creative nonfiction and other sordid tales of life, love and other L.A. adventures.

2 thoughts on “I Don’t Know What The Hell Is Wrong With Me.”

  1. I have just found your blog in a chaos period of avoiding writing myself. I fucking love it. Procrastination wise, I am screwed, and I am now digging through the archive….

    1. Thanks Jules, I’m actually trying to write something right now… but nothing magical is happening. I’m giving myself ’til midnight! Thanks for diggin’ it :-)

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