Yesterday topped out with 358 page views on BetseyHorton.com! Woo hoo! My life is a mess, but at least people are reading about it. I have an audience! That’s all that really matters to a writer!
If there’s one thing I can always count on Bloody Mary’s for, it’s a massive spike in readership. And people wonder why I still engage with it. It’s because you fucking click on it. Derp! “Stop writing about that bar?” Why? I literally just got 358 hits in a 24 hour time span. How is that incentive to stop? I literally just cannot understand the logic at work here. It makes no sense to me at all. All I can say is that they are not writers, lol.
Some people say I’m intentionally just trying to get attention. Those people don’t understand basic concepts like PR, marketing, and advertising. Ignore them. They think watching someone have a mental breakdown is entertainment. That’s because they don’t realize there is a magical place called a library where they they can go to read books. It’s sad but what are you going to do? At least they are reading my book, lol. I win!
Managed to salvage my depression last night by taking Mad Dog to the grocery store and out to the overlook to look for fireworks. Speaking of fireworks, the aliens did not show for the Big Mount Rushmore Circle Jerk last night. I’m super disappointed, but I can’t blame them for not wanting to be associated with that horrific shitshow.
Our governor is so fucking stupid she is saying that removing Confederate statues is offensive to the Founding Fathers. LOL! What even is history, you guys? She wouldn’t know! She was too busy taking care of the soybean farm to go to school. Why she feels qualified to have an opinion on history, I don’t know. She must need something to do in her little home TV studio that my tax dollars paid for instead of coming back to me via Unemployment during a pandemic. What a terrible state. I have no idea why anyone would ever want to raise a family here. It’s a joke.
Well, I don’t know what I’m going to do now. My life is officially in ruins. It’s fine. There library was left untouched during the explosion, so the writing remains. There is nothing else in this world ahead of me but writing. It’s clearly the only thing I am actually capable of doing semi-correctly. Ugh. Jobs? No. Socializing? No. Dating? No. Family? No. Making it five whole days without having another meltdown? No. Writing? It’s always there, especially on days when I literally cannot function! It’s gotta be that.
Ugh, what a terrible reality to live in. 2020 is awful. Can you believe I was actually in Paris this time last year? Sad. Well, technically, it’s a very happy memory. I’m just sad that I’m trapped in this horrible little town instead of trapped over there. If only functioning on a daily basis wasn’t such a struggle for me. I might have a real job and money and the ability to travel abroad for long periods of time.
I know what you’re thinking: “Bitch, get some therapy.” My question is… where? Do you have any idea how hard it is to find that shit around here? I could start looking now and not get an appointment for 6-9 months. Mental illness doesn’t exist out here. People think it’s a joke. It’s easier just to wait until I move back to civilization where I can actually find someone. Unfortunately, I now have to delay that process even longer because of Mr. Psycho Jackass Owner of Bloody Mary’s.
God, what a fucking prick. Even Mad Dog said, “I don’t know who he is anymore. He used to be cool. Now he has changed for the worse.” Ahh, nothing like the transformative power of marriage and children. It really turns people into… jerks? Huh? What? Yikes! Not sure what’s going on over there, but… wow. That’s all I can say about that.
At least now I’ve officially created my mental picture of the character Sam. I’m doing the big musical number outside of Bloody Mary’s, and he comes out at the end waving a broom at me and screaming unintelligibly to chase me off. Then he angrily sweeps up the glitter as he mutters to himself and shakes his head. He comes back later and sees the janitor dancing with the broom and singing to song from the musical. He yells at him too. Soon enough, all the patrons start singing the musical number. He totally freaks out and explodes. There’s blood and guts everywhere. It’s gruesome AF. The End.
So that’s that character, I guess. Good to know. At least we know for sure he’s not really Andrew now. Mystery solved, gang! Let’s head over to the malt shop to celebrate!
Andrew says, “And then the guts all crawled back together and he came back as a puppy. But the puppy ran out into the street and got hit by a car, so he came back as a painter named Diego. Diego fell off the ladder and died, but he came back as a turkey. The turkey was shot and roasted for Thanksgiving Dinner, so he came back as a Rooster. The Rooster was attacked and killed by a coyote. There was blood all over the garden. The blood became a Snake and the Snake crawled into his hole to sleep for the rest of the season. And then-“
Ughh…. wait a minute, what just happened there? I really do have a problem with this character, dont I? Either way, it’s clear he’s got a problem IRL too. So there you have it.
I really need to leave. Should I be a fugitive from the law? I can never come back to South Dakota. If I do I’ll have to be super incognito. Undercover. How badass would that be? It’s actually kind of cool. I’m like Jesse James, running from a law. And that law is that this guy doesn’t actually own the street, lol. What a massive waste of my time. Sigh.
How do I feel about my life today? Not great. But it is the Fourth of July, so a viewing of Independence Day is happening. If I don’t get to watch Donald Trump get zapped, I’ll watch Bill Pullman make an inspiring speech about coming together as a world to stop the alien invasion. If only we’d had such great leadership during the Coronavirus pandemic. Instead we got… this.
How do I feel today? Like crawling back into bed and being sad about my life. I feel like a failure, even though I’m not because I have readership. Real readership. Not bots. Real people. That’s what really makes it count.
I cannot see the forest from the trees. That’s what makes me the saddest. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what I look like. I don’t know what any of this shit is. All I know is that I’m writing a story. Hopefully someday I’ll figure out what the fuck it is.
Thinking about the police thing. I feel like there were multiple ways they could have de-escalated the situation before all of that happened. They didn’t have to rough me up that much. God dammit, I would use this incident to reflect on police brutality and the heavy militarization of the police.
Stupid bar. Why do you always have to inspire me? Can’t you see you’re ruining my life? And by that I really mean… giving me hundreds of page views?
Well, all I can say is that I hope you got all of that on tape. I’m sure it’s the crown jewel of your movie collection. That was top quality entertainment, if you ask me. We really put on a show. It was a great show. And I’m sitting here laughing about it because I think what everyone else perceives to be a serious situation is a big fat joke.
Will I ever learn my lesson? Maybe. I guess you’ll just have to stay tuned and find out?