March 7th, 2022 - One Sun Only
Dear TNY,
“One Sun Only” is fucking dumb.
It’s another story about a writer. Big surprise. Who relates to this shit? Is the totality of your readership snooty fucking writers that don’t give a fuck about good literature, instead eschewing that shit in favor of a story by someone they know that, at the end of it, they step back and say, “Hmm, yes, hmm, topical, yes, hmm?” And for what reason would they say this? These stories are for fucking idiots. Like, what redeeming value does this story have? It’s not fresh. Original. Well written. Interesting. The beginning has too many characters with no characterization attached, so even though they have names I can’t keep them apart. And they are all talking over each other, changing positions in space/time, confusing what the fuck is going on. And then there’s all this inner monologue that doesn’t move the story forward because it just stirs shit, pointlessly. And then we have this cool bad dream disposal idea, and a kid drawing some real trauma (that we can perceive), but we have to read 6k garbage words for a mediocre 300.
Why does this shit get published? What’s the fucking point? I guess we’ll never know because people like me don’t matter to you.
Oh, a couple weeks back I wrote Ms. Groff. And she wrote back. What a nice person. What a dinger of a story. Loved it. Loved that she was real. Loved that she wrote back. That’s what this game is all about. Human fucking connection across an art medium. It’s about mattering. Not your bullshit (I recognize that you published that story, but even a stopped clock and all that…).
Speaking of, I got published in The Sun this month and I have already received two letters from the public at large. The first was funny because the lady said I was fortunate to have family and have lost them and we’ll see how this Ukraine shit pans out because they might lose a lot more than I have (that’s how it felt reading it, not her exact words). I thought it was funny because in less than a sentence she made it about her (you’d have to read it to see that, so you’ll just have to believe me; and I know you won’t). I imagine she reads your rag, TNY, religiously. And the second letter was from a guy that said my story made him cry and he was thankful to have found it in this world. I wrote him back. I won’t be writing the lady back.
Also, speaking of fucked up shit (are we speaking of fucked up shit? Spoiler alert, I don’t fucking care), I had an incident occur in my life this week that really made me understand how a person becomes and sustains being a suicidal alcoholic. So, we already know about my kid situation, right? That I have bent my life (self-employed, fully-funded van life) so that I have time for my kids. Whenever they have time outside of school, I try to spend time with them (in their neck of the world, which I had no choice over, and have spent, I don’t know, somewhere around $80-90k since 2013 going to and from or moving them where I am (that does not include child support)) . Anyway, I altered my life to fully accommodate a situation that I dislike and don’t approve of (location and schooling, both equally disliked). Cool cool cool. Dad rights are tip top titties. But I did it. Fuck it. And I get asked what I want because I’m unhappy with the situation. Which is funny, because why ask if nothing is going to change? Because they always think they will change it but then don’t (because they don’t want to). And what I want, TNY, is to hang out with my kids, travel the fucking world, laugh, make fun of each other, learn shit, get hurt, cry, etc, until they get old enough to leave on their own and go off to become amazing, humble, capable, empathetic men. And there are three people who don’t want that. My kids and their mom. So my whole fucking life is bent to their will, and they don’t want it. Meanwhile, this has royally fucked my personal life up because I can’t have a relationship with anyone, because no one will live on this schedule (nor should they, because I shouldn’t even have to, but hey, dads are deadbeats, right!) and friends don’t have time to spend with me either, because everyone has a job and their own schedules.
So, in summary, I have modified my life to meet the impossible requirements set by other people about spending time with my children (requirements which are not equal, mind you, and I don’t approve of), while maintaining the standards of parenting that I wish to uphold (parenting standards which are also not equal, even though I made 50% of each of those kids), and the people I have made the modifications don’t want my time (even though, equality wise, it’s required); AND the modifications I have made have ensured that no one can participate in my life the way I want them to, so everyone 1) doesn’t participate in my life, 2) gets upset and leaves, or 3) I leave ahead of time because I can see what’s going to happen.
Fuck yeah! Bring on the death! What’s the fucking point of continuing down this path? No one wants my life. Not the people I made. And not the people I meet. They all want a localized part to appear in their life. Fuck my face, what a lottery win.
So, what? I give up time with my kids and my parenting standards so that I can keep people in my life? Or I could give up my parenting standards and people in my life for more time with my kids? FUCKING SWEET SWEET BABY JESUS’ BREASTMILK FED LEAKING ASSHOLE. And also, please take note: Where does my life fit in there? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Also note: I understand that parenting is the giving of oneself up. Check. Done. I don’t need to fit in there. What I’m talking about is having to bail on parenting obligations to do anything, when I’m not even allowed to parent the way I want to in the first place. I know plenty of people who have kids in their everyday lives and abandon parenting standards. Must be fucking nice to have the choice. Ignorance is bliss, I guess.
Goddamn it. I was going to compare myself to Job, but now I’m just being a fucking prick and feeling sorry for myself (and I don’t have boils…yet). My kids are healthy. And safe. And so are a lot of people. I seem to be the unhealthy one, mentally, for being observant. And having “needs” and “wants”.
I’d LOVE to see someone else’s response to the years of neglect that have occurred in this meat vessel. Then maybe we could talk. But yeah, I get that there will be ill will out there when reading this. Sometimes we don’t fucking care, right? Ugh. Wrong. I know complaining is wrong. I’m just fucking done with all this shit. I hear you, world. Send the forces. I’m ready to leave. You don’t want me. Cool. I can deal with that. Just get her done now, fuckers, because legging it out is getting harder by the day.
But, you know, maybe it’s normal that we never fully understand anyone and that’s how this can happen to a person. That if we could walk the miles the others have gone, we wouldn’t shit all over each other like we do, and maybe we would be a lot more empathetic.
But I’ll tell you this: When one moves around a lot like I do, and hauls his or her pain away from other people’s faces, it’s really easy to forget that person exists and has a soul and heart and wants to love and be loved as much as you do.
#vanlife, baby!
Fuck your stupid fucking story, TNY.
Nick
P.S. There is no purpose for war other than we are not an advanced species and must adhere to the tragedy of the commons at all costs. And that’s an educated opinion. I sit here having gone to war. Have you gone to war? No? Then your opinion is about as good as a newborn’s filled diaper. But because one asshat decides we need to go to war, then someone else has to go to war, and someone else then goes to war, and someone else…and fuck. FUCK. So fucking pointless. I did chuckle to myself, though, at this bar when a woman I know who is a huge Trump supporter said she wouldn’t buy PBR because it’s Russian owned, and I wondered if she was aware that her political savior said Putin’s actions were “genius”.
