Mojo Missin'

You know what it is, don't you? I've lost my mojo.

Life has just had too many surprises these past six months and I feel I've grown years. My birthday's next month and for the first time, I'm really having one of those pre-mid-life crises. Like, the reality that everybody I work for is younger than me. Nice reality check there. Here, I'll take two.

But here I am, staring this podcasting thing in the face, and I'm just a total puss. I don't have any fight. It's just that time where I wanna go on in and lie on my couch awhile between rounds.

You know, I'm just constantly brimming with anger of one sort or another and I just CAN'T get it out. I think something needs to snap, something seriously needs to snap. And then WHOOSH. It will all come tumbling. Always does. But I want it NOW. I need it NOW.

I'm working on the podcasting, people, I am, but I just haven't found the right voice yet, you know? With writing, there's a vibe I can usually kind of find. I know there's a certain key of Steff, so to speak, a key of me, a certain sound -- almost any writer has one. You just got to read 'em long enough so youse knows it. That's all.

And deejays are like that too. They have their voices. Me, I KNOW what my voice is, okay? I have the perfect mindset in mind. It's just like writers block -- somewhere between my brain and my mouth, the vibe gets absconded. Poof! Away wit you.

It's a fucking CRIME, baby. A travesty! A good word -- nay, a good idea should NEVER fall to waste! Not ever. Nevah. Nev-uh. Evuh.

Okay, enough redundancy, but you get my drift. Fuck, man, to have a good notion and see it all fizzle before you! That's what's happening in front of the mic for me. Bah! I'm angry about it and it's causing me problems.

Well, fuck it, says I. Tomorrow, I'm going to look for a pair of jeans. Yep. Fuck it. I'm going shopping. A new pair of jeans that fits like a glove will be a sign that the cosmos is taking sides, and it's looking like the favour's on me. Let's hope.

Incidentally, even though my shitstorm continues at full boil (I've been a 7 out of 10 with 10 sucking badly very consistently of late on the depress-o-meter. I'm so depressed I don't want to think about it, so I'm not bothering. Incidentally, and all.) ...I still have not taken the beautiful, shiny 2006 penny I found on the sidewalk out of my wallet. It's taped there. It's a reminder that there's still enough time left to make this year become a positive.

The odds might be getting mounted, but I'm still in a fighting stance, you know? I have goals before my 33rd birthday as of yet, and that's just six weeks from today.

I tell you, I'm getting right fucking fed up with life picking on me, and I'm a-thinkin' it's time I pick back. Enough. You know, it figgers that I was a big Ann Landers fan as a kid -- always Ann, not Abby. I thought Abby was common and lowbrow -- and she used to say that no one could walk over you unless you let them. Right now I'm starting to feel like I've been just lying down for this shit. I haven't, but it feels that way, 'cos I know I'm tougher than that. It's been a lame-ass time of things, and I'm about to flip the switch.

Okay, knowing me: Tomorrow will be a mediocre day. Wednesday will likely start a little down, but my chiropractic adjustment will fix me up, and by nightfall, I'll finally be feeling a little electricity for a change. I'd probably come home and write, and I could, 'cos I wouldn't work the next night. Nice. Tomorrow's a me day (after my work day).

And a jeans day. Snug, like.