It’s not a lie if you believe it.

It’s been a long, long time since I’ve even tried to write anything, and I’m not exactly sure why. It’s possible that Political Twitter has ruined me, stealing all of my best insights and randomness and shoving it down the memory hole. It’s also entirely possible that I’ve convinced myself that it was time to give up. The landscape has changed. While talent and original insight were never the only reasons that people have succeeded in the realm of public opinion, it has become even less important in the age of blatant branding and resurgent tribalism.

It’s also possible that I simply hate working hard for something — especially something I’m naturally good at — and that conformity makes me break out into hives. I’m idealistic, disagreeable, and outright difficult, and I don’t have the luxury of being any of those things without an established record of marketability. But it chafes to be unproductive. I end up buying a lot of things I don’t need on the internet, apparently attempting to find purpose. Shopping like a bored mob wife without the funds to support the habit is a recipe for disaster and credit card debt.

So maybe I should do something about that.

One of the things I dislike about myself is that level of self-awareness I am burdened with. Knowing that you’re supposed to be doing something more meaningful but instead trolling the web for hours looking for the perfect mascara when you have several serviceable tubes in your vanity just sucks. Telling yourself that you really should be writing bad speculative fiction when you spend restless hours reading everything you can find on national security and foreign policy is stupid. I am a terrible liar. Even I don’t believe myself.

I am not George Constanza.

So what have I been doing, besides burying myself in mascara and 400 variations of red lipstick?

Watching a lot of French and British sci-fi series, for one. Black Spot, Ad Vitam, Transfers, and this week, The Feed.

Reading Batman comics. I really hate some of the storylines. Can someone just kill Selina Kyle already? For fuck’s sake.

Learning by osmosis everything I never wanted to know about Transformers lore. Holy hell, my kids are obsessed. Even the Teen has gotten into it. I don’t even have an opinion on all of it anymore. It’s just a part of my life now.

Help me.

This is an official cry for help, and I’ve got to make some changes. I need to do something different, which apparently means doing the same thing I always do — write. Specifically, writing about my opinions on things that are happening in the world around us. In my more lucid moments, I know it doesn’t matter what I have to say on anything. The rest of the time, which is the majority, I don’t care if it matters. I can’t stay quiet.

It’s a blessing.

And a curse.

One thought on “It’s not a lie if you believe it.

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