Dissatisfied

I think my desire for weight loss is subtly connected to the two stories I wrote and submitted to the graduate program this summer. One of the stories, the one I’m editing now, “The One About Ian,” is about a fat kid. The other story, “The One About Carl,” is about a football player. I guess I’m sick of being the fat kid and I want to be the football player. I don’t really want to play football and I’m not concerned with being that built, but I would rather be closer to that side of the fence than the fat side. Do you get me?

Tomorrow morning will mark my eleventh day of edits on “The One About Ian.” My hope is that on Tuesday morning, the twelfth day, I will be done with it, at least for the time-being. I’d really like to move on to something else for a little while. I have felt that following my advisors instructions has been beneficial. To look this hard and long at one of my pieces has been eye-opening. I love it and then I hate it, but eventually I come to respect it. I want it to do well and that means polishing the imperfections.

I was thinking today about how dissatisifed I am with so many area of my life. JonMartin brought this up a little yesterday as well. I’m dissatisifed with where I live, with my financial and familial (kids) situation. I’m dissatisifed with having to work a job instead of work on my writing full-time. Hell, I’m even dissatisfied with my entertainment. When the Patriots lose I get bent out of shape at them for wasting my day.

For so long I’ve been satisfied with the one thing I should’ve been dissatisified with — my writing. In many cases, I was willing to let second-best be good enough. Now I’ve learned never to be satisfied with a story until it’s done. And I’ve learned that getting it done takes a very long time some times.

This leaves me, essentially, dissatisifed with life as a whole. But, I’m hoping to learn how to be satisfied with the rest of my life so that my critical nature continues to make my writing better but ceases to make my life worse.