self.

I have multiple personalities. The one that writes is mean. The one that edits is sarcastic. The one that reads it later online is 80 years old, keeps too many cats, has never heard the word cunt uttered, is repulsed by homeless people asking for cigarettes and paranoid the neighbors are looking through her garbage.
You have no idea how difficult it is for me to function.

My husband told me yesterday I suck at painting.
Lie.
My husband told me yesterday I was better at writing than all of the other creative visual nonsense distractions I continuously pour my heart and soul into, which produce no money what so ever, not even enough to reimburse my expenses and only wears me thin enough to be on the verge of total nervous breakdown 85% of the time, so help us all.
Total lie.

He did say, yesterday, HONESTLY (way more than that Glenn Beck guy), and RATIONALLY (way more than that Christine O'Donnell chick) that he thought I could make money writing.
Beer money, maybe (lie, I'll be the top 1% supporting Bush tax cuts screaming in outrage that the help is stealing the silver).
I know what it can absolutely do and that is entertain like, 20 people I personally know. So far that's working out pretty good for me. Liking at least 20 people that is; most of you already know how I feel about the exponential troglodyte population growth curve. Other than that, it's a total crap shoot in my opinion. People these days tend to hand out cash to overly made up plastic housewives, people who birth more than 10 kids at once, and anyone willing to eat cockroaches for others entertainment. That cash, is not my cash.

I decided to submit some written work to a random internet website I stumbled upon while looking for porn. Sorta. More like I am submitting my already written blog, because I am both:
1. Lazy
2. Currently involved writing another "thing" which I am pouring my creativity into, minus this and thatfox, which really only keep the mania going so the cycle can continue (3 c's in a row, score).
I have no time for scheduled writing assignments, which reeks of rules and time management I will no doubt, fuck up. Besides, thats their schtick; republishing web content in print form (and the roster is not so bad). So if they liked my asshole-ish email, and then my erratic blog content, I will be totally internet famous and promise to buy all the pitchers of beer for the rest of time!!!
If not, I got another days worth of writing done, entertained myself, 20 others, plus, found some more porn.
Now that's a score.

The submission request forum post asked for a two paragraph email on why my voice was important.
Shit.

Why My Voice is Important
By
The Blog Goddess former known as HeyJules
(Who once blogged, was stalked and threatened, and eventually deleted all online content from the internet only to start blogging again because mania causes her to make loads of irrational decisions. Also, boredom.)
Now Known As TheWoodRabbit
(Who is in the process of making more irrational decisions: Hooray for us all!)

My voice isn't important.
THE END
Kidding (lie). But neither is yours. Or theirs. So there. Funny, the only voices that seem to impact repeatedly are those who, strangely enough, don't speak for themselves. They buy self-images from public relation specialists, have representatives that issue edited press releases on their behalf, or do speak only to retract everything uttered for having offended someone who has little reason to be offended in the first place. So uptight, this tiara wearing, entitled populace of sheep. The voices that are actually important warn us about overpopulation and disease; enlighten us to the possibilities of stem cell research or exploration of our universe (in which the voices that monopolize then scream bullshit and try to enact legislation instructing us all to believe in the tooth fairy or some other nonsense).
They aren't considered important because they haven't starred opposite Matthew McConaughey nor have endorsement deals with Coca Cola. Oprah or Bill Maher isn't waiting to book them for any upcoming shows. They don't know "The Situation" and probably don't own anything to have been seen on a runway.
They could think you out of a paper bag, turn it into a origami King and use it to beat another intellectual at Chess before you replied "plastic" to the cashier in the checkout line. Value misplaced on what's in the bag, the distraction, an endless nauseating cycle of consumerism far out of control (my reply is valued at $29.95).

This illusion of importance is created by our recent technological advances which allow anyone with an opinion, internet access, an email address, and limited ability to type phonetically embarrassing idiot code (LOL) to share themselves via social media, blog, forum, comment, or the lesser known bile of the great cyber deep: the chatroom. To put it simply, we aren't that important, any of us. Just a random group of cells, housed in a complexly constructed but extremely fragile shell, living with other organisms, attempting to forever kill each other (and destroy the environment that sustains us) like psychotic viruses, stuck on a big chunk of rock circling a star, in a evolving solar system, helping to make up only one of a bajillion galaxies, in an ever increasing universe.

What I say isn't going to change anything, therefore my voice isn't important; not even in Ego-land, where Id and Superego point out gross grammatical errors and tell me I'm fat.
But(!) but, some people tend to think my voice is interesting (might be the tourettes). Some days, even amusing (might be the prescription medication). I suppose on that account I fall into one of your categories o'publication. Or maybe you'll just have to pull restraining orders after the barrage of WHY NOT ME I'M IMPORTANT TOO emails you are bound to get, henceforth. Either way, we'll be in touch.
THE END