Aug the Twenty-Ninth – Untitled Bigfoot Project (39/224)

Aug the Twenty-Ninth

You know, Journal, I was going to write this whole big thing about how I feel about King’s inclusion of himself in the most important story he ever wrote, but… I don’t know. It almost feels fake to do so, to even want to do so. I know how I feel about it, and despite the fact that I call you Journal, you’re not real. Even if I “told” you, like… it’s pointless.

Maybe keeping this journal is pointless. Maybe everything I do is pointless…

…                                     …                                    …

God, I’m so full of doubt today. I can’t even write a fucking journal entry without having an issue with it. I think I’m fucked up, ‘man, my mind’s never been like this, I… maybe I’m just off because I smoked the day before yest’ and I had the night sweats again last night. Didn’t sleep well at all. Everything feels kind of blurry.

Either way, Dark Tower: I left off at The Last Palaver. Almost halfway through book 7. I don’t know if I’m ready for what comes next… like, I’m ready, but the emotional toll it took on me my first read-through… I don’t know Journal, I might need to smoke again!

!!!!

Just kidding. I don’t know that I’m never going to smoke again – actually, I know I’m going to, because those two ounces of Hippie Crippler I brought home still walk this mortal coil – but I’m not smoking until I get through this last book. I was pretty hazy reading Song yesterday. A big part of that book was King’s alcoholism, I remember reading somewhere that one of his biggest regrets was keeping up the drinking habit (among other habits, Polly wan’a coco?) while he was writing. For him it got to the point where he wrote entire books that he doesn’t even remember writing. I don’t want that to be me. I’m not writing any books, granted, but I don’t remember writing yesterday’s entry, and considering how weed makes reading – which used to be the easiest thing in the world for me – so difficult to the point where I have to keep going back and rereading the same paragraphs over and over just to understand what they’re saying? I felt fine yesterday, but today… I don’t know, Journal.

Weed honestly makes a lot of things harder. Why did I start smoking it all the time in the first place? I think it’s fine to smoke every now and then, you know, control your dose, uphold a sense of balance, but every day? I don’t know about that one, Journal. I never even considered using it all throughout high school. Makes me wonder how much different I would be if I didn’t leave Logger’s Pond (at least I don’t forget that) and rack up all that debt. Maybe I would be compiling poetry anthologies, maybe I’d already have a career. Maybe I wouldn’t be so afraid of making the idea of writing a THC novel real. I don’t know.

I am so out of it, Journal. Why did I smoke the other day?

Why the fuck did I fucking smoke?!


Hello Commons, this has been the next journal entry from Untitled Bigfoot Project, a novel about a writer who writes a novel about bigfoot.

Untitled Bigfoot Project is part of the Third Spiral, an anthology of sorts called The Here and Now which is comprised of stories told from the various planes of Existence.

Untitled Bigfoot Project is available to read for free in its entirety on my website. Click here to check it out.

I’ve written a few other books, too. Click here to see the list.

If you like Untitled Bigfoot Project and would like to help support my work, click here and buy an autographed copy of the book (or anything else!) from my store. Alternatively, you can snag a cheaper (and unsigned) copy from Amazon by clicking here OR you can buy the ebook for even cheaper here.

If you’re there, hypothetical reader, thank you for being there. Be well Commons~

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