I think I have to agree with Pete, who sent this my way this morning: “Woody Harrelson was born for that role.” Trust.
So maybe the reboot isn’t quite as successful as I thought it would be: last day of work is tomorrow and Moving Day is Monday. I imagine this fallow period won’t extend much beyond that, as I delve back in to the soft bosom of South Carolina before driving west with my Dad.
Manifest Destiny! Westward expansion! Purple mountains majesty (wait, that’s probably not Arizona, is it?). Anyway, if you’re reading this, thank you for putting up with me during this transition period; a better blog will emerge on the other side, I promise.
Zombies are slow to move; so are blogging transitions. Although, it might just be that I’ve been watching this video on repeat for the last solid week (um, I’m not kidding):
If you’ll pardon me, I’m going to continue my quest to stand out above the crowd, even if I gotta shout out loud, ’til mine is the only face you see…gonna stand out ’til you notice me…
[Here's the full version of the song, which now has an embarrassingly high play count in my iTunes. Don't judge me.]
So remember how my blog died for a couple months and then I reanimated it using birthday magic? Hmm, what do we call something that dies and then sluggishly pulls itself back into a grim facsimile of life…
Zombie blog. Obviously.
Will Think for Food will be undergoing some major design and identity shifts in the next couple months, and while I’m trying to decide what it wants to be when it grows up, let’s have a zombie-fest!The walking dead, the infected, the “zed” word…however you’d like to put it, my blog will be celebrating the undead (of the brain-eating variety, not the blood-sucking variety) until further notice in all the literal and figurative ways I can devise.
So check out the new design, let me know what you think, and catch up on zombie ruminations from the days of yore. Set a course for (zombie) adventure!
Confession time: one of my biggest personal flaws, I think, is my overwhelming desire to be comfortable. Which is why, many moons ago, I bookmarked this Ward Six entry on “Being Comfortable” for potential blog fodder—it agitated me, to have something I fear holds me back from Writing Big outlined in such casual black and white (and on the INTERNET, for Gawd’s sake).
But I was Comfortable then—in February, when the entry was written, I was all applied to grad school (even hearing back from one or two), though my future seemed abstract and very far away; frankly, I was more excited about Dollhouse than getting my MFA (a fact that might still be true…will get back to you).
What bothered me about this idea of comfort acting as compliance and, therefore, laziness is two-fold: firstly, it perpetuates this annoying idea that writers, for whatever reason, must be impoverished, drunken layabouts sleeping on threadbare sheets in an empty room in order to write anything worth reading and secondly, the fact that comfort leads to laziness is utterly true.
Right? Annoying as it is, if we have everything we want, we don’t want for anything. And it’s okay to live like that for a while, but I realized, as I was thinking over what I wanted to write about today, I am smack dab in the middle of my decision NOT to live comfortably—because six months ago, I decided that as nice as reality TV after work was (ohhhh Millionaire MatchMaker, I will long for your blunt bangs and dead eyes in grad school), I wanted an adventure.
Well, mission accomplished: I’m giving myself an ulcer for worrying over this move, which is anything but comfortable. Haters, as they say, gon’ hate: the value of an MFA in creative writing will continue to be hotly debated and even I’ll admit that it’s questionable if heading back to an academic playpen can be anything BUT comfortable (oh, to be a student again!), but for now, this is me, cracking open my universe like a piñata with the fervent hope that something awesome will spill out.
Ultimately, I think I agree with the thought Ward Six ends on—that being aware of the idea that your brain gets proportionally softer the more you surround yourself in luxury is enough. In the meantime, I’m not going to worry too much; frankly, between packing, closing out all my N.C.-based accounts, and making increasingly desperate phone calls to moving companies, my pillowtop mattress is all I’ve got going for me.
P.S. I think I might be turning colors from eating too many carrots. The issue seems to be limited to my extremities; for now, consider this blog at Threat Level Orange.
