I think I've come to a point in my life where I have no idea what's going on with me. 9 years ago I was convinced I was going to do something huge with myself and be some great artist and I had this passion for creating drivel and I wound up doing nothing and stuck with a $30,000 debt. Now I'm some kinda mom living off unemployment checks till that runs out in hopes my husband gets a job that will pay enough so I can continue being a stay at home mom. It sucks. But I've had this weird feeling that I haven't had in 9 years: I feel like I am on this earth for something bigger, something greater, something that has nothing to do with working in an office or making a lot of money but just for being notorious.
That's right. I will be notorious. Somehow I will be this hermit who lives in my little apartment or wherever we wind up living in the future who somehow becomes famous amidst a small cult following based on the fact I make a big deal about nothing. My life will become someone's obsession and not in a stalker way, but in a fascinated by my musings way. I've come to believe my life has become a car crash that others can't help but stare at even though they know they should look away.
I thought about starting up a zine again and either doing small runs and leaving them in random coffee shops and thrift stores around town or a semi-larger run asking for donations to help with printing costs in exchange for *gasp* advertisements! I know! How un-zine-cool! Advertising! So commercial. Frankly people, blogging is great, but there's something about a black and white poorly xeroxed stapled hunk of crap in your hands as you sit at a couch sipping your coffee and talking with your friends and doing a double take to see whether or not you just saw something about preparing for a revolution next to a pie recipe. I dunno. I think because I'm now in a smaller town, so to speak, this ability of becoming a pseudo local celebrity known for my little ramblings can somehow be achieved? We'll see. I'd basically see it as some sort of offshoot of my bloggings but a little like what I used to do. True stories. Just more expanded. But still the same crap. Pointless stuff most people would either not discuss or not care to discuss told in a lighthearted way that makes them seem enjoyable...
So I have a few different zines I'd like to make. One just my own thing. One maybe a collaboration with Jesse as a shooting zine about stuff that's not tactical, 1911's, safari hunting or hunting in general. Just like stuff people could enjoy. Like extreme plinking. Practical plinking. Maybe we could do a going-green plinking? Who knows. But I would love to do a segment in there as an advice column because I have always and forever been obsessed with advice columnists. You can really get a sense of the writers from their advice. Best of all, most of them seem to have all these fancy credentials. Not me. You know what my credentials will be? I was born in 1982. I have 26 years of experience living life and seeing others live their lives to go by. I didn't go to some fancy pants school and get a tell-you-what-to-do degree. So I thought it might be kinda fun to have the column, Ask The Gunsmith's Wife. It could be anything. "How do I defrost a turkey?" "Should I dump him?" "What kind of gun do you recommend for shooting rock chucks?" My slogan will be: Being a gunsmith's wife, you have certain expectations to live up to. Ask me anything and I can help you!
Other than that, I noticed I have started drinking coffee. I guess that means I'm grown up now. I never used to drink it and hated it for that matter, but I find that if I mix in a nice amount of milk and sugar, it's pretty yummy. So I'll probably merge over to the dark side of things that will disturb my ability to sleep and screw my teeth up even more.
I think my RSI is coming back. Oh and I think I may be onto something with my breathing called LAM. It's a scary thing that sounds like eventually one will die but we all die eventually so who knows. It would explain a lot though, like why doctors think I have asthma and why my lung x-rays always look fine and everyone says I'm fine but I don't feel fine. I'm the #1 believer that I know my body better than any doctor and I've finally figured out the perfect description to my breathing problems: I feel like I'm being suffocated. It's not a shortness of breath. It's an inability to get air and striving to get it in. And I seriously don't think it's asthma. One day I'll see a lung specialist. One day.