Schrodinger's Cat Returns - And It Sounds Like the Dread Pirate Roberts

I think that, with the focus on the world outside myself the past three entries, I may have lost track of who I am a bit. It is a scary thought. This blog might be my best friend. MainEventoftheDead.com is the only thing that wants to listen to me and know who I really am.

https://www.rockpapercynic.com/

My plans on moving on from Champaign before middle age hits may stem from writing something that I intend on being read. Before I moved out to the CU, writing was strictly practice, journals for the most part. There were my Schrodinger's Cat blogs about whether or not I truly existed, but Peoria was the box.

They do not write about the cat scratching the shit out of the sides the box and the inevitable hissy fits. I guess the scientists did not account for sounds when they discuss the hypothetical contraption. Or they knew that if it fits, it sits, a universal fact that was known before the memes.

My cat blogs were not about trying to be insightful, it was searching for insight. Those blogs were about why should I try instead of actual trying. My MFK series was about randomness and making sense of it. Not attractive like aborting 18-month old "children", killing the annoying and demanding customers, or wrestling (Yay!), but they were more helpful to me.

I guess the point is, I am trying again after two and a half year of gritting my teeth through lousy hotel ownership, the Trumptastic assholes that you would expect a Jimmy John's executive to invite, and thin walls that made sure every guest in the hotel knew it was some cunt's greatest day of their lives and they want it to last until Wrigleyville's last call.

Now I get to fearing, so, you work at another hotel in a big city. Where will you get to write there? The support staff you lack at those will be there, and they will probably have there eyes on you deterring creativity. You will not be what is presumed to be Kansas anymore. If that does not sum up downstate's problems, I do not know what will.

Peoria was a dead end for me. I did not fit in, and I knew the dancers would move on. Why would not I? It was fear: fear to disappoint my parents by not being able to cope; fear of failure; fear that the rest of the world had the same opinion of me that P-Town had. And since it was Champaign instead of Chicago, fear that Stefanie Smith would be waiting to scream, "Told you so!"

Moving North or West is going to require me to do even more research towards making my writing turn into a living. Chicago, improv classes to in turn write and get my writing exposed. Las Vegas, driving to Los Angeles whenever I can to whore my scripts out. No days off, but I might finally be ready to hit the towns again.

Aside from the debt, which a lot carried over from out west, it seems that I have finally succeeded at something since I donned the Tigger Mask outfit in AAW continuity. The sad thing is not that took 11 years, but that the years did not end in round number. Call it OCD or call it superstition, that make me dread the next step. At this rate, I will not succeed till I am 42.

Then again, that is the answer to life, the universe and everything. Be patient and do not lose hope. Losing length on this blog entry is enough.

Kevin Bolk - The Princess Bride Dread Pirate Roberts Westley