Welcome to My Brain.

An exercise in stream of consciousness.

People say that if you want to be a writer you should write 2,000 words every day.

(People? Who are these people? Eh- irrelevant. Moving on.)

Well, I don’t do that. I want to be a writer, but not enough to write that much every morning, apparently. I go to bed with the best of intentions and then wake up and- Well… I don’t write, That’s for sure. I just make my breakfast (2 eggs, ½ avocado, ½ tomato and spinach) and drink my coffee (black or sometimes with almond milk) and go on with my life.

The strange thing is that I sometimes still think, “Hey! I could be a pretty good writer if I just got some self control and did what I want to do.”

(And then I am immediately ashamed of that thought/sentence because the Grammer is so impossible. And Yes. I meant “Grammer”… Kelsey Grammer is an impossible man. [awkward pause] Continuing on…)

But perhaps that self-control to write every day is something that an actual writer has that I simply don’t. Stephen King writes a crap ton (actual unit of measurement) every day. Which is why he has written a million books.

(A literal million- I’m not exaggerating here. … Okay. I am exaggerating. God- stop riding my ass.)

All that to say. I still like to write. So, my new project is to simply write what I am thinking. The daunting thing about writing is figuring out what to say. I don’t know what I want to say until it is spewing forth from my mouth. So, if my 2,000 words can be stream of consciousness…. I got this.

So, if you have stuck with me thus far tha tis what you’re getting. Word vomit.

(Thank you Tina Fey and the epitomic movie of my generation, “Mean Girls.”)

I worry that most of my thoughts come from someone else. Hardly a day goes by that I don’t quote Eddie Izzard or Dane Cook- Laughing is one of my favorite things to do so I spend a lot of time watching stand up comics. I also spend a lot of time making smart ass remarks. Mainly to myself. I have a brilliant internal life.

The thing about art is that usually the artist is trying to make a point. I become most disheartened when I don’t know what the point is. But, maybe there isn’t one. As a human living on this planet at some point each an every one of us has had this thought.

(Alright- I can’t prove that, but I am 99.9 percent sure that I am right.)

Honestly- what if there isn’t a point. Does the absence of there being a point to my existence mean that I shouldn’t exist or does it in fact mean that I should savor every moment simply because- what else is there? Is the absence of purpose actually what gives us purpose?

(Hang with me here.)

For example- If by simply acknowledging that there is no point to life I am giving myself personal purpose (to enjoy each moment) … Doesn’t that mean that there is a point?!

(This reasoning is more circular than a time turner.)

Oh- also have you read “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child”? Because if you haven’t you should get on that. And if you have no intention of reading it… we probably won’t ever be great friends. I mean- we can hang out and enjoy a beer at Jacob’s Pickles. But, we will probably never FULLY understand each other.

(I know you’re really stressed out about that- but don’t take it too personally.)

Anyway, I probably will edit this and submit it to be in a magazine. Not because I think I have written Charles Dickens up in here.

(Also- I would never do that because I’m not a fan… oh crap- I lost all my credibility — Did I have any of that? No? Okay good.)

I will submit it because I think when you write you should share it. That is the point. Maybe? Oh wait. I think I postulated that there wasn’t a point. Okay- we’ll go with that.

Now for some coffee.