So, as you may or may not have noticed, I've failed to update this for some modicum of time. I wish it were the case that this was due to tremendous productivity in other areas, but actually it's fairly representative of the many things I've failed to do over the past few weeks. Various writing projects, laundry, unpacking, house-cleaning, personal improvement, social improvement, etc.

    One goal I set for myself was complete triumph over the sci-fi fantasy shelf of the bookshop where I work. I find work unsurprisingly dull, and so I need something to make it worthwhile (aside from the minimum wage pay). Also, I enjoy reading. So naturally, I decided on a perfect challenge for myself: I vowed to read every single book on that sci-fi shelf, alphabetically by author.

    Two weeks later, I am still not through re-reading Flatland, by Edwin A. Abbott.

    I haven't been completely un-literary though; I did read Dave Barry's new novel and a pair of books by David Sedaris. However, instead of just reading, I should be writing. Having recently hit the 60% mark of my main text rough draft, I have not done much writing for my project of late. Part of this is a lack of motivation; I keep having nagging doubts (no doubt well-founded) that I'm spending two years pain-stakingly producing a book that nobody will want to read. However, the nagging hopes (no doubt foolishly optimistic) that it will somehow become a success are enough to keep me working on the project, however slowly.

    I had a good conversation with Tom the other evening in which I finally stated out loud a realization that I'd sort of had before but had not put into words. If I'm largely enjoying myself out here, even if my spare time is spent on a book nobody will ever buy, it's no worse than the time I waste on the Internet. And there's even a fair likelihood that it'll end up being time better spent-- which is not to imply that it wasn't worth my time to write this diary, but perhaps it wasn't worth my time to write this post, especially given that by now you're wondering if it's worth your time to read it, a question to which I have no good answer, except to refer you to Leth & Sex or an earlier journal entry, because both my blog with Lex and my other journal entries generally contain more humor than this, not to mention the fact that I've forgotten how I began this sentence, and don't really know how to end it except to run it into the ground.

    The other reason I haven't been writing is because I've theoretically begun freelancing for a website based in canada. I say theoretically because while I've done 5 or 6 pages for them, they've only paid me $50 so far. I get easily paranoid when freelancing over the net, and with good reason-- I've been stiffed too many times before, including by the infamous mad Russian scientist. (He scammed people in an attempt to get free publicity, so I won't provide any link because that's what he wants.) Still, the initial money is a good sign. Still, I've failed to be freelance writing as much as I should, more in the local papers, or perhaps even sending out humor to markets across the country. Still, waters run deep.

    And, given the lack of freelancing success I'm having, the idea of finding a real job becomes more important. Nobody considers my part-time employ a real job, least of all my parents. They want the best for me, a very loving sentiment, which is why they call me a few times a week to remind me that I should get a real job, and to tell me that they sat next to a man on the train whose father's brother's nephew's cousin's former roommate used to work for a book publisher, so they've gotten me his email address and told him I'll be in touch. On the one hand, the amount of support (perhaps even undeserved) my parents are giving me is much appreciated. On the other hand, I just don't know what to do with all of this. On the other hand, Oh my god it's a mutant hand attacking me, HELP!

    Many years back, when I was less bemused by my life's lackings, I told a friend that I felt like a failure. He replied, "Seth, your life's not a waste because I can laugh at you." This cheered me up tremendously. I recalled it tonight, as I went to the contradance and had numerous acquaintences tell me that they saw the scurvy story. And much more so than in my youth *creak*, I've become able to laugh appreciatively at my failures, which is a good thing.

    So I guess you could say that if I'm trying to be a complete failure, I'm failing.