Ben Bonkoske

I gave it all up. I’m very generous. If I’m being honest, I am doing all the bad things I shouldn’t be. And surprise, surprise, I’m more depressed and doing less. Well, I am more content. Comfortable. I am not gnawing at my teeth and my skin isn’t crawling from mental fatigue and withdrawal. I don’t hate my life for not being as exciting as it could possibly be. But with all this indulgence it is never enough. I’ll start over again tomorrow and that is the real secret to success. The subtle art of not giving a fuck is really not the way I function. Perhaps it is OCD or just a disgusting amount of egoism, but I want to fix things. Little things that shouldn’t make a difference but I swear do. Work twice as hard as everyone else and never take Christmas off. I really don’t know for what. It’s not like I’ll have more than one wife. My expectations for my writing is so low. I don’t know what happened to my courage. My brilliance was only a product of being stupid. After the hangover wears off, you realize how normal you really are. I didn’t go to Harvard. I can’t even read my first book. It is deplorable. Spoon in the Road. Get the first edition while it still exists. It cost me more money to make than it ever earned. It also cost me a lot more. Fuck the day I was ever told I was good at something. Once you learn to read, you realize you are a slave.