which I think is merely all a metaphor for my lack of self confidence.
My fears that I'm actually a horrible writer, or worse still (because horrible writers can get better) a mediocre writer.
"Yeah, that steve, he can string some sentences together, but when he tries to write about the stuff that really matters, well, it just comes across as contrived, cold, or unconvincing.
His humor is stale and trite.
Look at him, eating a fucking Lean Cuisine pizza and drinking wine in the middle of the day. The lush. The drunk. The alcoholic.
And Lean Cuisine? Who is he trying to fool?
That's all he does, you know.
Well, that and sleep.
He just eats and drinks and sleeps.
The lazy degenerate.
He should be spending hours each day, honing his mediocre skills, so that maybe, one day, he can edit something for another mediocre writer, and get paid for it.
And these ideas that he has...
the magazines, the webzines, the record labels, the one-off colection things...
anything that has ever seen the light of day has done so because someone else took it over, finished it, not because steve had some sudden drive and determination.
He's only willing to try if it's easy.
That's why he dropped out of things, almost flunked out of school.
Watch, he'll do it again.
He's already behind.
He's already not trying, finding excuses to give up.
By the end of next year, he'll go limping back to Tulsa, failing at something else because he lacks discipline.
The girl?
Oh, she'll realize all of this, she'll wonder why she was ever attracted to him, she'll leave him for someone smarter, someone with at least a hint of work ethic, someone who speaks french and deals well with strangers at parties.
He's worse than a has-been.
Just a never-will-be, always letting people down, never even trying, that's what kills me."