A Moment Of Deep Desolation

Once upon a time, when I signed up with the Queensland Writers Centre, they gave me a free badge which says I Heart Writing. It's on my bag right now and it's taunting me.

What do you heart about writing? it asks, all cocky and button-like. What do you heart about it so much you want to be one of those writers?
Oh, I don't know, Badge, maybe that it is the ultimate way to guilt-trip yourself? I offer.
(It is, it really is. There is nothing in the world that makes you feel more like an ass than not writing - or not writing what you feel needs to be written. And it really doesn't help to churn out thousands of words every day about the beauty of horse racing and the utter and entire greatness of loosing all your money at an internet casino - only to come home and not write anything. No matter how good the excuses are that you inevitably make up [I got my friend staying from Germany, my eyes will turn square if I spend another minute looking at a screen, I will spend my whole weekend doing it I swear but right now I deserve a break], you will still feel utterly awful. It is almost a physical reaction. Palpitations. Panic attack.
OH GOD! I WILL SPEND ALL MY LIFE WRITING TERRIBLE CRAP! I AM GETTING STUCK! I AM GETTING COMFORTABLE! MY LIFE IS OVER. OVER. OVER!!)
That must be it, says the badge. But I know! Why don't you use some of your work time to write that terrible blog nobody will ever read? That ought to make you feel like you're doing something worthwhile.
(I really hate that badge. It's an asshole. But it does make a good point.)

Tonight I am taking my friend back to the airport. Which is great news for the Reasonably Priced Car Project for two reasons:
1. I won't be able to use her as an excuse for my painfully slow editing.
2. I again got to borrow a car and drive it. And it was great.This morning, for the first time since I was nineteen years old (back then when I still owned a car of my own) I got to drive myself to work. Which seemed like an outstanding idea until I came to realise that there would be much more people on the road between 7am and 9am than early in the morning or in the early afternoon. Also, I wasn't quite sure about my way.
But it turned out to be the best possible conditions. I swore at five different motorists this morning - accused them of cutting me off, being hideously ugly and disobeying any traffic rule I could dream up. I wiped cold sweat off my forehead. I smoked a cigarette - an entire cigarette - at the worlds slowest traffic light. It was outstanding. It's amazing how just being inside a car instantly integrates you into the stream of outraged, freaked out people who don't have the freedom to read on their way to work.

Thats enough, says the badge. You're rambling. You're making an ass of yourself. And stop telling them you broke into sweat driving along the Inner City Bypass - that's not making a strong case for you.
Sure, I say. Sure.

(The badge is full of shit. My inability to drive in the company of other motorists has nothing to do with driving the reasonably priced car. Firstly, there'll be no one else on the airstrip or wherever the most beautiful day of my life will eventually play out. Secondly, there will be fire trucks and ambulances and bales of hay to cushion my crashes.)

Now. How about telling some vulnerable souls to give all their money to the internet and receive nothing in return?
Splendid.