Narcissit? Who me?

Wednesday, August 11, 2010


So I recently got a Twitter account. I said I was never going to get one. I said: "Pfftt.... What would I have to say to people? Especially in 140 characters and less."

Pause for Effect.

Now I will hardly have to bring up the fact that I have a blog, read by ten(s) of people, filled with meaningless stories, and let's face it, pretty much a jumble of words. I will also refuse to acknowledge the reprieve I would be giving people if I just limited myself to short bursts. Hell, I could limit it even more than that. I could fill up post it notes and then stuff them in a desk drawer. And really, it would do me the same amount of good, and spare you the injustice of having to read it.

But that doesn't help my neediness, my attention-whoring, nor my boarder line psychotic tendencies to be the center of attention. All things that lend themselves better to internet self-publishing.

But that is not to say that this (spreads arms wide, gesticulating to the blog occupying your screen) is not merely a means to an end. Out there, somewhere, sometime, the energy I exert in typing this blog will come back and grant me my every wish, or to bring about my eventual demise. Either or.

I have an over active imagination. I jump to conclusions, simplify. shrink my world view to the one off my front porch, and greatly exaggerate my place in the universe. Which usually results in either far fetched plans, and high hopes, or conversely depression. Right now I am teetering in between.

I'm blaming the twitter account. But I think maybe it stretches back much further to around the time I moved home for the summer.

I digress...

As you may have read in a terribly sappy, and stupid post earlier talking about my trip to Paris, and how monumental all that was and blah blah blah. Well, apparently the last of the Paris air has left me, and I've washed the last of the ocean salt from my pours. I have emerged from my chrysalis at the end of my greatly lauded metamorphosis, to come out - exactly as I was. Even worse, living in the exact same reality as before. I am unemployable, worse yet unemployed, lazy, with bloated pride, poor, over-emotional, untalented, and unskilled. As expected and as planned upon my return I was destined to go out and make my fortune, earn my living, carpe diem, make lemonade, and bunch of other crap. But as it turns out the "butterfly" Daniel Dalman has just as terrible a time making it in this Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, as ever. I wonder if I should have remained a worm.

This is where the over-active imagination really screws with me. In addition to expecting that my life would be any different because I took a plane ride, and at any moment to walk into a great-big-giant surprise party in my honor (even if my birthday is months away!) I was expecting the sky to open up, the universe to deliver grace, and for once in my life- to catch a break. But that just isn't my destiny. SO I am going about changing it.

I know this is going to sound stupid, but there is "fairy tale" evidence to support me, (I'm sure. Somewhere.) so I decided that I would simply take matters into my own hands and become famous. I am not cut out for hard work. and I can barely show up to bite my fingernails on time, so I decided that making myself famous, and earning a modest amount of money would suit me perfectly.

But once again I am fighting an uphill battle. Just as I am in trying to find employment. Only this time, I'm blind. While I may know how to apply for (and subsequently not get) jobs. I have no idea how to get famous. But I decided that I would use this, my blog, (as wobbly as it is) as my platform. So I've been blogging everyday, but have no idea how to garner attention. I assumed people would flock to hear what I have to say (Excuse me while I vomit here) but save for one Anonymous comment (To Whomever you are, even if I do know you, the mystery and the message made my month!) I haven't increased the ol' traffic here at "Confessions" nor received offers for television, film, or books. Unbelievable!

So I got the damn Twitter account. The land of famous people, and of millions of eager followers. My lost city of gold! But alas, still no flock. It is more deserted there than it is here. That account is the Sahara, to this Mojave. While little has action, people at least drive through one. (At least I think so, I am not a "Desertologist", nor can be bothered to look it up) And again, I can't seem to drum up business. I am selling glasses of water in a rain storm. I am a drop in the bucket of attention seeking, hipster, pop-culture know-it-alls. More unpopular than I was in high school, my apparent salvation, my get-rich-quick scheme, my rescue from obscurity is turning out to be a mirage.

Now most of you might say " Daniel, dear, these things take time.. (pat on the back)" or conversely: "Shut the hell up you whiney Bitch!... (Slap across the face)" but this is where the bloated sense of importance takes over the limited space in my brain. It doesn't want to, nor should it have to, in It's opinion, have to wait around to get noticed. It takes the wheel of my emotional roller coaster, and drives it to peaks and valleys. It deserves things. It's efforts should be repaid ten, no, one thousand fold. It shouldn't have to suffer, sing for it's supper, or starve for attention.

But then like the flick of a switch, light ceases, and Depression takes over. Because it wants to or because It imagines how impossible I am to live with under Ego's reign of terror, whichever, it all encompassing. Even the memories of bloated Self Confidence, his pal Arrogance, and lackey Hope are wiped clean. Then there are only tears, and grim imaginings of reclaimed employment in sandwich artistry.

But I'm here. I'm writing it down. For my emotional leveling, for your reading pleasure, for posterity, for attention, for salvation, for fame, or for France. This is my sounding board, my port in the storm, my release. I write it here and I gain my happy medium.

So I guess what I am trying to say, which isn't clear through this mess of complaint, stressed metaphors, and grammatical errors is that I would like to thank everyone, my friends, family, and maybe even anonymous internet weirdos (just kidding I bet your great) for reading this. Because it's knowing that someone reads this, my stupid little corner of the internet, that makes me feel really special.

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