12/31/2020 .. 10:50AM
I'm sitting at Hastings Tea in White Plains. Tomorrow starts a whole new year and I want to tell myself things will be different. I want to be motivated. I want to tell myself that I'll write at least once a day for the first 3 months. I want to be creative. But I know myself. The only thing consistent are the resets. "I'll start again next week" is my favorite line. Pretending to have a plan. Desperately needing a routine. Maybe a routine just isn't for me. Maybe not knowing what's next and living day by day taking shit as it comes is my thing. I should be use to the resets by now. Normally I don't even need a new year to come around. I'm good at just shutting down and resetting. I use to be a writer. I use to put words together beautifully (in my opinion at least). That seems like ages ago. I've lived so many lives since then. I've worked in insurance. Dying behind a computer screen from 9 to 5. Watching paint move around on walls for 4 very long years of my life. I was a producer. Started shooting and editing crappy interviews for free. I continued to move up until I became an actual associate producer for a major network. What should have been one of my dream jobs, what could have been so easy.. Maybe I should have stuck that out. I worked for a tow truck company dispatching drivers for a week, a wine warehouse wrapping expensive wine bottles for 3 days. I even worked for fed ex over night stacking boxes for literally 1 night. And now I run an indie film theater. Not exactly what I want to do but pretty close. I think it's just about time for another reset. So here's to the day before day 1. Today.. I am a writer.
