cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Good Enough isn't Good Enough Janet sent me a picture of herself this afternoon. That was nice. I like it when she does that. I haven't explained Janet here yet, but most of the last 5 years or whatever is missing here. We'd be dating if we lived closer or if I had more money to visit her. I really enjoyed fucking her and sleeping with her. Since Helenah left a few years ago, I have had sex with around 28 different women (yes, I've been tested). It was the first time I have ever been single since I was 17 so I've had a lot of catching up to do. I'm really over being able to fuck a lot of different women. I'd probably be willing to marry Janet. Yesterday my (probably?) last article for Smithsonian in 2016 ran. I wrote it in about 40 minutes after an hour long interview with a scientist and an evening reading her paper and checking supporting materials. Looking over it again today, I have gotten really good at this. The work that I consistently bang out in an afternoon is every bit as good as most of the science writing in The New Y0rk Times (which I have written for, in the science section, but it was a different type of piece). I think that I am now fully qualified to be a staff writer for any English-language science publication in the world. What I want to do is go apply for staff jobs at major magazines and newspapers. But I can't. Because I have two kids here and an ex-wife and if I try to move to another city then I either have to leave my children or deal with a massive, life-ruining custody battle. There are no magazines or major newspapers in this Southern college town. All I can do is freelance. I am just plain fucked until one of my TV shows gets picked up. Tonight I am working on transcribing hours of interviews for a front page feature I'm writing for a local alt weekly about the history of goth culture here and about a storied goth club night that used to book big deal bands and was an incredible scene. Now one of the guys who started it back in 1996 is trying to get something similar going again. This story has made me so happy while working on it. It is the sweetest thing. I used to go to this club, back in around 1999-2004. I've always wanted to write something about it. Even at the time, I knew that it was something special. I remember being there, in that red basement, dancing around with friends, and in my mind I was literally imagining how I might write about this in the future. Entire paragraphs. It is a story that appears to be about people dressed in black and playing in bands and listening to The Cure and Bauhaus and Wolfsheim, but it's really about how people create and maintain community. In a specific, logistical sense, how you take this weird thing that a lot of people are doing off on their own and bring them together. A lot of people were a whole lot less lonely for a lot of years because of what these guys did. People moved to this city because of it. Couple met, married. Babies were born. Careers were spawned. It is Christmas Eve. I feel barely functional as a human being. I would like a normal, salaried job at a magazine and a real home and wife there for me. I've done the work. I've earned it. Why don't I get to go home? 10:33 p.m. - 2016-12-24 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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