Tuesday, June 1, 2010

It's not cussing, God, if I write it funny

My ego can only take so much burning. The shadowy, translucent thing can only survive within my rashy skin for so long before I have to give it a break. Too much rejection -- too many long, dark silences and phones that don't pick up and form letters that friends say I should keep so that I can laugh and laugh and laugh at all the pain they once caused me when I am finally finally roosting high upon my gilded throne of literary / tv / film / dermatological success -- combined with life's little unexpected twists and sidesplitting turns and well... sorry, where was I going with this? Oh yeah: L'eggo my frozen waffle, already. L'eggo!

So this is it. I'm giving it one more shot with L.A. TV Agent Man and that'll be that. He either wants me or he doesn't but I can't chase him down any more. I think it's too shameful an act to follow up more than twice. And, given how little shame I am personally capable of (a cup of ADD mixed with a soupcon of sociopathy? Mom? Thoughts?), that's saying a lot.

So, in honour of the dignity that I had before I began this whole grand writing experiment (and the tiny scraps I still have left) as soon as I'm done this teensy weensy post, I'm going to send L.A. TV Agent Man one final e-mail. I will remind him of my existence without sounding desperate or pitiful. And, yeah, it will still totally come off sounding desperate and pitiful because I'm just so freakin' in your face and real like that. But at least I'll have tried, Dod gamn it. At least I'll have tried.

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