Thursday, September 9, 2010

Why fat people aren't good at exercise and why I'm not a good writer

I'm sure if you went through a collection of all the blog posts in the digital universe the most popular topic would be something along the lines of "Sorry I haven't blogged in so long.' The Apology Blog about why they aren't disciplined or some such other excuses for not having posted. This post doesn't fall into that genre. I am not sorry I haven't blogged. You should be sorry.

Now that I've forgiven you for me not blogging we can move forward.

I'm blogging today because while I have kept a sometimes journal of thoughts since we began our adventures in February, it hasn't been disciplined or consistent. Additionally, since my handwriting is harder to decipher than prehistoric cave drawings I'm sure it will never be of any use to me or to you. Although I like the thought of some professory type anthropologist studying my journal for years, actually becoming an expert in my specific type of scrawl and I imagine him in his wool sweater talking to a camera saying "we've discovered from these texts that the author had a severe predeliction for goats and while we're not really sure what any of this means we believe if with additional research further clues will be uncovered." I'm not sure if everyone imagines their life as History Channel Documentary but I do.

The point is the people who love me and want to be proud of me tell me that I'm a good writer.  They always ask if I've been writing. They say, "I hope your writing, your such a good writer." I lie and say yes of course. My wonderful girlfriend tells me I should write more. When I ask why,  she says, "because your such a good writer." I usually just nod with guilt.

And so now that we've been in Aruba I've realized these people, the people I love are absolutely fucking wrong about me. I'm not a good writer, a decent writer or even an adequate writer. I am a piss poor writer because I don't write which is why fat people are bad at exercise. Them and I, them being the fat people, have no fucking discipline, me for writing and them for exercise. You can't be good at something you don't do. So loved ones please, stop telling me a good writer. Stop accepting my lies. Tell me what a fucking loser I am for being such a lousy writer.

But what I can't understand as to my discipline problem is why. I'm highly obsessive and addictive. Now that we're in Aruba I am exercising in a routine again with the same discipline I had when training for a triathlon. Eating right, running three or four days a week while increasing distance and pace each time, lifting three or four days a week with increasing intensity. For some reason I can't apply the same disciplined approach to writing as I do exercise. As I was completing that last sentence I had an idea. It occured to me the way my body feels when I put on my shoes before running. It makes me feel like start your engines folks, like a horse in one of those, whatever those things are horses are in before the gun goes off and they race. Perhaps the remedy is a writing outfit. Tomorrow I will pick out an outfit I will wear whenever it's time to write. A robe may be involved, possibly a snorkel but maybe the act of getting ready to do, the anticipation and the tension that, "okay Jeff you're about to write now, now you're ready, go" is what I need.


  1. Can't wait to see your writing outfit! Ok, GO!

  2. I think you're a great writer and I'm not a liar.

    I want you to publish the stories form Wakulla before you forget about them.

  3. You are not a liar but you are nice and as a nice person you are obligated to say as much. I'm bad maybe I should say more of naughty, no good, wretched.

    oh yeah...i should do something with those, thanks for reminding me scott.

    P.S. I miss you.

  4. Love it, wish I were there to see the writer's garb! How about a thong with your dingy anchor around your neck, symbolizing "what a fucking loser" you would be if you didn't write!

  5. Sometimes, I think fear can keep a writer from being consistent everyday. Honestly though, I also feel that those who are writing everyday, aren't really living. And a writer who isn't living, I don't want to know what they have to do I know it is genuine if they haven't lived it (in some form or aspect).

    And while, in the case of your writing, I pause because I'm awestruck or because by reading Goodbye Socks I've learned something new, I'm also itching to fix the typo I spot, to pencil in a missing comma, (I wonder if these are the result of finding yourself in a mad rush to post, which in turn makes me laugh at all the times I have posted in a hurry) until suddenly I don't care what is missing, I just don't care...and I keep reading, and reading...on and on. I turn my editor brain off.I'm thinking, does this blog have an end (because what a disappointment, what a shame if it does) hell if it does, because so far what you have written has taken me through a range of emotions, a roller coaster of thought, A tidal wave of surprise, tears too shy to fall down my cheeks (this is where I turn away from the computer screen) because I'm thinking this guy is capable of pulling that much out of me with his words, and I'm not sure I want him to know that intimate detail, that I get emotional over words. So to you Jeff, wherever you are at the moment, I hope you take this to heart, "D*** the torpedoes, full speed ahead." always keep writing, and often, por favor. :)