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I am out of my fucking mind right now. Apparently, I was mistaken when I declared myself full of fuck because the fucktruck is still making deliveries. I am halfway through Beck’s writing mastermind, I’m supposed to have PAGES of my memoir written and all I have is dick. I want to do this but every fucking fiber of my being resists. If I’m lucky, there will be 5 minutes of fiery drive and then, nothing. No words, no ambition no vision.

A middle finger nopefest. The frustration is blinding.

I made myself accountable by announcing to everyone that I was writing a book. I joined NaNoWriMo. Did that help?


Oh, but I know what you are thinking. Here’s how it goes: You read my words and pick one of two roads. One road is the rainbow-crapping cheerleader. You can do it. Keep trying. Pretty soon it will all come flowing like a river. You have so much talent. I wish I could write like you. The other road is the asshole parent. Quit wallowing in self-pity. Stop complaining. Grow some balls and be a MAN. Compared to you, my life is/was way more challenging AND I GOT SHIT DONE. Stop being a pussy. JUST DO IT.

Here’s the thing, I’ve already driven up and down those two roads in my head. Over and over and over and over. All day, everyday. THEY DON’T FUCKING HELP.

There are so many facets of my life where I feel like I’m being told to tie my shoes with fingers cut off at the first knuckle. It fills me with naked wrath. I don’t want to be coddled. I don’t want to be beaten. I want some fucking nurturing — not some sick dysfunctional wet nurse that emasculates and cripples, but some REAL unselfish support that empowers and gives me the tools to thrive. I got very little of that when it was critical to my development. And yes, I have the audacity to say that most of us didn’t. That’s why we are in this mess we call “The World.” We enact and perpetuate a culture that keeps us emotional infants while it blames and shames us because we fail to be functional adults. It is complete bullshit.

So here I am. A good man who wants to love and grow, support and protect. A man who wants to connect, not divide. A man who wants to teach and nurture, to help heal wounds and serve. And instead, I waste that energy warring with myself and sifting through generations of bullshit with a fractured heart and broken wings.

I’m furious.

How dare you break me and then mock my struggle to be a noble man.

{ 5 comments… add one }
  • Renee D Pellegrino November 4, 2013, 2:55 pm


    I am your accountability partner again…and this story has been opening my eyes to different things, ask yourself do you really want to do this? My one professor use one writing thing, type Remember when….and maybe the words would flow.

    • Cab November 4, 2013, 3:09 pm

      Being pissed seems to work… Thanks Renee.

  • Rebecca T. Dickson November 4, 2013, 3:48 pm

    The mistake here seems to be that you believe writers are full of passion – or whatever it is we use for fuel – to write. But that’s not true. Sometimes (lots of times) you have to make yourself do it. Even though every fiber of your being is screaming quit, you just can’t. You must push yourself through.
    So maybe your answer isn’t in being cheered or beaten, but simply in accepting the process and doing it anyway.

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