Showing posts with label dashboard confessions. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dashboard confessions. Show all posts

Friday, January 29, 2016

What About What I Want

I want a Louis Vuitton Speedy Bandouliere 35 Monogram or Damier Ebene. I want to go all around Ireland and live there for free for at least a month. I want to eat and watch movies for a living. I want to lose 50 lbs. and look good in tight fitting clothes and swimwear. I want to have radiant, flawless skin. I want a celestial body named after me. I want to wear heels all day everyday and not feel pain. I want to travel to Korea, Japan, Canada, Australia, the UK, Cambodia, Vietnam, Italy, France, Czech Republic, Brazil. I want to fly first class. I want to take a selfie with Ethan Hawke and Henry Cavill. I want passion. I want to be good on the drums. I want to have a decked out home office. I want a free lifetime subscription to Netflix and iFlix. I want the perfect little black dress that will make me look like a million bucks every time I wear it. I want to take a long, leisurely shower with absolutely no distractions and interruptions. I want to hibernate in a 4-star hotel room with a king-size bed, round the clock room service at no extra cost, and the fluffiest pillows and duvet in the world. I want the latest iPhone and MacBook Pro. I want to use a skateboard with no fear. I want to sing a duet with Gary Lightbody and our song goes to #1 on iTunes and the Billboard charts. I want perfect-fitting, flattering jeans. I want a kick-ass kitchen. I want to go to the supermarket and fill the cart without having to worry about how much it's all going to cost. I want to be adored, acknowledged, complimented, desired, loved. I want to go shopping whenever I want. I want Luna to grow up responsible, respectful, grounded, successful, healthy, beautiful. I want more kids. I want a happy home. I want to want for nothing.

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Giddy Up

My name is Fritz and this is my first attempt to writing anything in the last, err, I don't know, I can't even count anymore. I've been with Blogger since 2007 and I don't think I've blogged about anything remotely interesting since, well, let's call it "The Great Depression." Go to my old blog, you'll know what I mean. I'm a website copywriter, too; website owners pay me to write original copies for them. So, you can see how that's a problem for me.

No, it isn't writer's block. It isn't just writer's block, to tell you frankly. It's a slew of things; excuses, reasons, happenstances really. I was working 8 hours a day, 5 days a week. Until I downgraded to just 4 hours a day, 5 days a week. THEN I started missing deadlines and, as a result, I was not getting paid for work I wasn't doing. Rightfully so. I tried to get my groove back, but it was too late at that point. I got pregnant, which was nothing short of a miracle. But the whole experience, no matter how happy it made everyone, just made it hard for me to get any work done. Life, the good and the bad side of it, got in the way. I know that doesn't justify anything. But that's what happened.

I miss writing, that's another motivator right there. Lately, I've been feeding my brain with so much fiction, so much stories from other storytellers that I kind of forgot how to tell my own story, my own non-fiction. I'd like to change all that. I have no idea how, but this is a good place to start, I think. I'm bidding adieu to my old blog and starting a new one. A fresh start. A clean slate. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes. A bajillion tons of ashes.

Consider this as the first step to get back on the horse. A wee tiny horse, sure. Like a cob - those cute chubby Hobbit horses they used in the Peter Jackson movies. Ok, fine, a donkey (happy?). I just want to get out of this rut. I don't want to be idle anymore. I want to make my mark in this infinite cyberworld. I want to wake the sleeping dragon, revive the creativity and the eagerness I once had, and write. Write exceptionally well. LIVE exceptionally well. I would very much like for my daughter to look back one day and tell me, "You're a friggin' amazing writer, Mothergoose." Yes, those exact words.