Wishing I Were… Dumber?

There’s a part of me that truly and honestly believes being (a certain kind of) dumb is a good thing. If I were dumber it wouldn’t mean I couldn’t kick someone’s ass for calling me a retard. If I were dumb I wouldn’t think about all the possible outcomes before I do something. So I’ve got to confess, so far writing has been one of the things I’m willfully stupid about. I know there are supposed to be rules. I know you’re supposed to learn them and practice, and that nearly everyone thinks school is the answer. Here’s the thing: I do not give a fuck. Here are some facts…

• I hate school. I made it through high school and unless I find a damn good reason to spend the kind of money and time it takes to get a degree I am not going back.
• I love writing. I do it whether I’m being productive or not, use it to work through my frustrations and to bring my opinions and worldview into focus. I’ve fantasized about making money off of it.
• I have watched my smarts get me nowhere. I have also watched other people blunder through life towards their dreams and succeed. Passion trumps planning.

So when people say there are rules to be learned and that yes, it’ll kill the fun of it but it’s only temporary… I understand. And sometimes I’m pretty receptive to learning. I get curious about the things I’m passionate about and I love writing, so sometimes I get interested in the technical side. I also get really absorbed in it, like anything else, and I suffer for it. All well and fine but I’m not about to deliberately take my medicine just so I can have the pay off later. I’ve been telling people to shove that argument since I graduated high school and I don’t really feel differently about this.

My “school”? If I’m going to learn, why not on my fiction site?

I don’t have shit to learn about blogging, not really, so I do my thing here with almost absolute confidence. I mean sure, sometimes I fall short of what I’d like it to be but that’s not a genuine issue. This is blogging after all and it’s not meant to be taken to fuckin’ seriously. I sometimes think about signing up for a few classes at my local college. The structure would probably do me some good. The regular practice. But… why? I’ve got Sparks of Insanity, and while “at your own pace” is a dangerous tact to take there are also a lot of self-made men and women out there.

People who bypassed the system, the rules of our modern college loving culture, to rise up from nothing. They’re the exception to the rule for sure but you know what? Maybe I want all or nothing. Maybe I want to be somebody on my own terms or die a nobody. I don’t really know if that’s true because (and I’m sure I’ve said this before) I’d sell my soul for fame, fortune, and success if I thought there was anyone to sell it to directly like that… It feels true though, so I’ll go ahead and say it. Because this is blogging, and it shouldn’t be taken to goddamned seriously.

This is supposed to be fun you nutters, and being the child I am in so many ways, I refuse to let anyone or anything ruin that for me. Unless it’s at the expense of my dreams ’cause… well, I’ll comprimise myself in any way necessary to make those happen if I think it’ll work. I kind of doubt that excludes the possibility of being stubborn or childish though, so we’ll just assume I won’t let anything kill the fun of it for me, period.

Bottom Line

I’d rather be an idiot blundering my way through life and living it the way I want than cleverly, cautiously walking across all these imaginary eggshells other people have dreamed up, living an empty life I don’t want anything to do with. I already feel trapped, so why the fuck would I take steps to trap myself even more? I only want to be smart enough to know whether or not I’m getting what I want out of life. Smart enough that if I’m not, I can figure out how. Beyond that I don’t give a fuck.