The other day I was stuffing a piece of doner kebab pizza into my mouth whilst ordering a well known fitness application for my phone. Already my stomach signaled that it was time to stop eating.
My behavior that afternoon just wasn’t right.
My conscience wasn’t speaking to me, I’d made it sick. I shouted to the children through a mouth stuffed with processed, over seasoned meat, salty sauce, dough and cheese to cease scrolling through Netflix, searching for films I knew were too scary for them.
At that point my conscience crawled out of its sick bed and said in a gruff voice that shouldn’t belong to any lady’s conscience,
‘You are actually going to have to go in there and stop them from putting on a horror movie. You know it’s going to give them nightmares. Let’s be honest you don’t want the not-so-little anymore buggers to be clinging to you at midnight, while you are struggling to sleep due to a bloated stomach and heavily put upon digestive system. Do something with yourself! You horrible, horrible person.’ My conscience then slammed the door, grumbling about what a jerk I am and how tragic my first world problem obsessions are and stumbled back into its lair.
My conscience, by the way is a really disillusioned washed up old drunk.
It might not be the most gorgeous, sparkling conscience in the world, but it does know what’s wrong and what’s right.
Monday meant premiering my fitness app. This well known fitness app involves message notifications, exercise goals and a pre-set timer and requests to connect to my camera and all my other apps. This makes me uncomfortable even though I see the point in using it for social media and sweaty selfies, etc. Promotion. Convenience. Surveillance and money laundering. Whatever.
I could say I’m disappointed with it, but in truth it motivates me.
To my shame, seeing images of beautiful young, fit, likely wealthy and successful women doing exercises motivates me. It’s not that I want to compete with them. I will never be a beautiful fitness guru. They just look so friendly! I like them. My conscience thinks I’m pathetic but God help me, I actually like the fitness ladies who now live in my phone.
Surely, they are re-inventing the stereotypes surrounding attractive go getter type women. They aren’t all cruel, tan, toned creatures seeking to crush me. It’s okay not to hate them. It’s okay to buy an app like that. It doesn’t make me a dork/sheep. Right? I won’t wake up one day to a world where I am a starving beggar in their empire of pretty, young, tech savvy and healthy.
This whole affair makes me feel quite pathetic yet…I know it’s doing me good? Conspiracy theories of ebusiness and app tycoons seeking to run our daily lives aside, what harm could it be doing?
I did yoga this morning via said app. I even listened to the music score that went along with it. I didn’t hate all of it. When it came time to do the ‘balance’ moves I struggled. I kept keeling over and needing to grasp onto a chair. I’m not particularly balanced physically. Or emotionally.
I ate vegan sausages on whole wheat pasta with roasted tomatoes and garlic for dinner this evening. There is no wine in the house. This is on purpose. I am physically incapable of ladylike drinking.
As I said, my conscience is already a drunk. There is no hope for me.
I’m trying to save money. I’m trying to lose weight. I’m trying to be a good parent. I’m trying to do the right thing. I’m trying to succeed with my writing.
*Conscience pipes up from its lair* ‘You are talking about yourself like ALL the time!’
Yes, thank you conscience. This is a blog and blogs are very often exercises in admittedly self centered ramblings and personal opinions so why should mine be any different?
That aside, I keep seeing tweets and articles about how talent is not exactly rare. There are many creative types around with the ability to write something interesting. What makes them succeed is their tenacity. The moves they make and the work they put in to succeed. To get your work seen, you have to complete all manner of research. You have to know who would want to help you get your work out there. You have to source dozens of these people. Then you have to present something impressive.
So, you’d better have it.
Even then, chances are the ones in positions to help you will be incredibly busy, dealing with the thousands of other creative types trying to make a living from their art. FYI, if any ‘agents’ ever ask you for money after getting you all excited, telling you that you have a strong voice, etc., do NOT engage with them or send them money.
*Sound of creaking bed springs as my Conscience sits up slightly*
Conscience: ‘F-wording vultures.’
Writer’s write. Talent is common. Tenacity is what makes or breaks you….etc. etc. etc. Eye Roll. Yawn.
*Cue the sound of empty bottles falling and rolling on a wooden floor, shuffling feet and a groan.*
Okay, I’ll formally introduce you. Everyone? This is my Conscience. Conscience? These are like the two people who occasionally look at my blog…
Conscience: ‘Okay. I suppose getting your work seen is like getting fit or being a better person. You have to make the effort. You have to ‘get over yourself’ and just work at it. Stop obsessing over your little insecurities and the many things you become paranoid about. Grow accustomed to rejection and the fact that higher ups might look at you and think ‘Wow, that sucks. Go away.’ Steel yourself against that because it doesn’t matter. What does matter is what you learn in the process and that you never EVER give up. And the fitness ladies in your phone are not your friends, okay? They are attractive fitness people who had an idea, pursued it and now they make money off of people like you. But that’s okay, because you do need to get healthier. And maybe….just maybe one day those ladies will buy your book and find it an emotionally enjoyable read and will get in touch about how much they liked your book. OMG you really want that don’t you? You’re so freaking sad and weird at the same time! You really, really need to get out more. Jeez…crazy obsessive woman hauls herself over the coals for buying a well known fitness app and there are people starving in the world. Give money to charity or something. I need a drink….’ *cue the sound of a bottle uncorking and a body collapsing on a bed with broken springs*
Okay. So…I won’t order Doner Kebab Pizza next weekend. Or any apps for that matter.
My name is Jessica and my conscience is a disillusioned, washed up old drunk.
Once upon a time, I imagine it was a glorious, bright eyed sort with the world of moral choices at its feet.
I’ll get back to work then….