Do I share too much?
I mean, I'm doing something fun tomorrow night, and I'm not telling you what it is.
And it's perfectly acceptable, I think, to vent one's frustrations into the e-ether. I'm not telling you everything. I'm just saying, grr, sometimes. Because we all feel the grr, right? Even super-successful people, by my standards, are frustrated.
Celebrities in particular, I'd imagine. And when they get angry, it's usually directed at a paparazzo who won't give them a moment of peace. At least here, on this silly little blog, I can't be sued for assault.
At least, I don't think so. Who knows what stupid laws LA has that I don't know about...
But in any event, I don't complain about my job, I don't complain about my lack of a love life, I don't complain about what amounts to intense nepotism in the field in which I work, and I don't complain that I deserve better. 'Cause what the hell do I know? Just because today I think I'm a great writer or that I would be possibly the world's best PA or writers' assistant, period, doesn't mean tomorrow I won't know better.
I don't brag too much (what's there to brag about?), but I do get excited about things sometimes, whether they're meeting someone cool or reading a great book or finding an out-of-the-way place, and I want to share or remind myself for later. Diaries don't last. This is just... better.
Speaking of great books, I'm reading No Country for Old Men. It just makes me appreciate the Coen brothers all the more. And what a casting job! I mean, spot on. Spot the hell on.