I’m not. Maybe I could have been. I don’t know. Many people wish they had time machines. I know I do. Actually, what would be better would be the ability to go back in time in my own body with my knowledge of the future intact. That is, go back to when I was about seven and be a seven year old but still have all the knows I have now. Like of English. It sure would make school easier. I could also fix all the stupid things that I’ve done that led me to this point in life. Alas, it is not be.
The other thing I would like to have is an alternate Earth machine. I’d like to slide to all the alternate dimensions of Earth and see what was different in each one. Like the show Sliders, except controllable. What would the world be like today if Atari hadn’t been mismanaged so badly by everyone? Who knows?
I’m writing twice today because I have nothing better to do. That’s a lie. I have a lot of things I need to do, I just didn’t feel like doing them. Being an adult, I can say things that like. Take out the garbage? I don’t feel like it. Wash the dishes? I would, but I really don’t feel like it. I should take a shower, except I don’t feel like it. And there isn’t anyone to know the difference because I am alone.
Since I had four days off again (for the third time in the space of 30 days which would normally seem pretty cool, except it’s only just screwed up my sleep/wake pattern. Indeed, having two days off work so many times has just made it even more difficult to do what I want to do because I’m so tired I need the rest so by the time I feel like doing something, I’m on my way to work). Oh my God, that long parenthetical derailed my train of thought.
Oh, right. What I should have done was grabbed the camera and gone off to one of the towns I’ve been meaning to go to. I like taking pictures of small towns. I think they’re neat. I wish I could move to a small town that had a restaurant and a bar and where my house was close enough I could walk there. I would never cook dinner and I would seriously try to get drunk at least one night a week. I’d be around people, presumably. Hopefully people who wouldn’t want to hit me on the back of the head and leave me in a ditch.
I also should have done some editing on my two remaining stories for my other blog. Maybe it would be nice to put some effort into them for a change, rather than just dumping them out and letting them loose on the world. The three people that read it might appreciate that. On the other hand, those three people rarely understand what I’m trying to accomplish, anyway, so maybe they wouldn’t.
What does any of this have to do with being famous? Not a lot. I could have played football for my high school. Maybe it would have been a way for me to get into college. Maybe I could have gone pro and made some money before my knees gave out. I could have been having sex all the time until meeting someone to settle down with in my mansion paid for by Japanese soap commercials.
Maybe I could have really buckled down, gone to college, and started writing. Really writing. With, like, a circle of like-minded friends who would be a kind of inspiration or competition environment. Maybe I could have written a best selling book about a boy who turns out to be the most powerful wizard ever and then had movie deals out the ass and be a multi-billionaire heroically funding the exotic car market.
Perhaps I could have gotten into photography earlier and had started taking pictures of models and having sex with them and then getting all pissy because I’m an artist, damn it! Everything I do is art! Soup cans my ass! Let’s go to a rave!
I’m not any of those things. Hell, I can’t even work up the energy to be a kind of lovable villain who commits crimes and the public loves them. I’m just a sad old fart writing an incognito blog. I don’t even have a Patreon account.
Maybe I should find something serious to write about. Something that people might actually look at when they’d like to know something. But what?