Well, you know that I fell in love, I guess. Like deeply, problematically in love. It’s weird, though because, like, its just barely starting to not feel novel and feel like, almost normal. He’s so fucking perfect I literally can’t believe it’s real a lot of the time. Like, we talk and he’s honest and doesn’t beat around the bush, and he doesn’t get upset when I don’t either. We just talk and fix stuff and get each other on the same page, or at least give each other the page numbers.

If I start, I am literally just going to gush about him until my laptop dies and I have an excuse to talk to him instead of to you, dear reader, but that would be unfair to all three of us. I can’t lie to you of course, elsewise what would even be the point, so I’ll just come right out and say it: It’s really hard to find anything else TO write about.

Oh. Well, here’s one that I don’t think I mentioned here as yet. It goes somewhere, I promise. A long time ago, Tim Dillon was doing an episode of his podcast where he was talking to a guest (I forget who, I think it was either Ray Kump or Devan Costa) and they were talking about starting out as comedians. And it came up in the conversation how you categorize someone as a comedian. Because obviously there are the people who’re starting out and not making a living at it yet, but they’re working hard at it all the time and even if they’re probably not going to make it, they still could. And they go through all these other like edge cases of people that you could reasonably call a comedian, and eventually Tim just cuts through the whole conversation and says something to the effect of, “you’re a comedian if doing comedy is the organizing principle of your life.” And that hit me like a lightning bolt from Zeus on Mount Olympus. Like, the thing that makes you whatever you want to be isn’t how much money you make, it isn’t how much time you spend on it, it isn’t any of that. The thing that makes you what you want to be is whether or not everything else in your life will move around it. If you’re organizing the rest of your life around making sure that you are able to do standup comedy as much as possible, you’re a comedian.

And so on. For me, a few years back, when I really got locked into playing esports for the grind of all grinds, that meant that my esport was the organizing principle of my life. I got a job that I could make sure was going to let me play when I needed to and be as well rested as possible when I had my most important matches. I started learning ways to manage stress and stay physically healthy so I could play as well as I possibly could. I moved into an apartment so that I wouldn’t have to worry about late nights bothering my family anymore. For about a year straight, my entire life revolved around my esport. And it actually payed off. I rose higher and faster in that year than I had ever before in my time playing videogames. I reached my goal so fast that I honestly didn’t know what to do with myself anymore.

Then I let things start to slip. My work asked me to open up my schedule some and I said that was fine. My friends wanted to hang out more and more around my game time, and I slowly let my exercise regimen slip. I started dating and the stress got so bad I could barely sleep anymore. And I started playing a lot worse, and eventually the fire in my belly stopped withering because it had finally gone out.

Anyway, I’ve been pretty much listless since then. Executing a random walk, trying to figure out a way to set myself up for success, so that I would have the time to figure out how to be happy again. And then, of course you know, I met a boy. And he’s been wonderful, of course. It’s like I’m literally addicted to talking to him. Anyway, the point is, in one of our intimate moments I told him how I’d been like obsessed with David Foster Wallace because he saved my life, and I want to be a writer so that maybe I can save some other kid’s life some day. Or you know, at least make him feel like he’s not totally alone in the world. And he asked me about what I’d been doing, and I told him I’d been writing this blog, but point one, been doing it badly, and point two, been doing it only infrequently. And he just cut through the conversation like Zeus was giving me a second shot at this and I’d better not fuck it up this time.

So, writing’s currently my organizing principle. Mostly, I still think I would rather be talking to him than doing literally anything else. But I’m starting the process of making sure that I have structured time, I’m going to start picking up the pace of posting, I’m going to start making sure that my brain is in good shape to actually DO the writing part, because sitting here for 40 minutes with writers block and nothing flowing except this awful terrible no good very bad screed was agonizing. And I want to make sure that I have like, things TO write about, to, so I think I’m gonna try and take up some hobbies instead of sitting around the house and doing nothing but watch YouTube videos whenever I’m not talking to my boyfriend (bizarre feeling typing that word). Maybe I’ll stop being so coy about who else I am on the internet so that I can tell some stories that would make it obvious who and what I am.

Lately I’ve been thinking about another book that helped me not Do Something Awful. And also inspired me to have this blog. And also inspired the look of this blog. And also inspired tons of other things that I’ve had like rattling around the inside of my skull for about seven or eight years. It’s called The New Adult’s Guide to Sweating and Breathing in the Twenty-First Century. It’s a memoir of this guy who’s just like me. He’s supposedly autistic. He does a lot of things that I read about and say, ‘I would have done the same thing.’ Anyway, I’m fairly certain it’s unpublished, at least it was when I dredged up my copy (And I don’t want to know if he’s published it since I got my copy, either.). The first time I read it, I literally read the entire first volume (it’s got five of them) in one night and when I was done, I laid on the floor weeping until the sun came up. Similar story for Good Old Neon, by the way, if anyone was wondering.

I think I’m going to reread it. tim rogers (sic.) is a very interesting guy. His story is both inspiring and eerily familiar. tim has obviously accomplished more, is more talented than me, is more driven than me, and has had a far more interesting life than me, but none of that is what I find fascinating and alluring about him. It’s the way he attracts people. The types of people he talks to, the ways he talks to them. At this point, a lot of what I find so familiar about him is probably learned behavior from having obsessed over this memoir for a month and a half and spent the next five or so thinking about it pretty much constantly. But I wouldn’t be weeping at the end of the first book if I hadn’t immediately become obsessed. Or maybe I would have, the first volume ends so dramatically it’s almost as if it’s not entirely really the way that the events unfolded in reality.

So that’s what’s going on in my life. I’ve fallen in love and he’s really Fixing Me like I needed it. I think I might be fixing him, too. I’m still obsessed with Dave Wallace. I think I’m going to try to work on improving my life so I can write more and betterer. I love you.