Writing

I just did an online career aptitude test because when I have to make a decision I like to base it on information that is all sciencey and shit, it said i was 100% suited to being a writer, which is a bit of a slap in the face because what on earth does one do to achieve that, I'll tell you what, you sit in your pajamas and do your blog with 41 page views and two followers, because practice is why and because, well some super rich person with a whimsical attitude towards what they invest in will be like "This is the whiney voice I've been looking for, come! Write for my small but elegant publication and I will pay you handsomely!"

That's what's going to happen, no doubt about it. Also I'm trying to get more productive in my art and people seem to think that writing in the mornings is helpful to that, the idea is to write whatever comes into your head and spew vent with no censorship which is sort of like what I do here but not really so maybe sometimes I'll just do this and then I can tell myself I'm establishing a productive routine, Then I don't have to leave the cosy comfort of my computer and venture into the sparse world of loungeroom where housework looks at me with passive judgment and scribble in a notebook that wishes it was filled with more interesting things.

The boy is still asleep. I think it might be fun to go jump on the bed to wake him up but then he will hate me for the rest of today. Perhaps this is why I should do it, perhaps his hate will fuel me and inspire me to new levels of excellence. Blah bitty blah. We got a new fridge the other day which is great because the old one didn't fridge, it freezered everything, and it smelt like beer and piss, not my fault, it was a free hand-me-down from my brother.

I worry that my intent is misunderstood by everyone including myself, it gives me a headache. Blah.