Anxious and Worryin'

Ok, so this can be considered the first of my blog entries for Writers in Action, a unit I'm doing at La Trobe Uni. I'll be updating it (and you, whoever you are) regularly, if things go according to plan, with heaps of info on the Bendigo Writers Festival for this afore mentioned unit.
I feel I should mention that I've tried keeping a blog once before but it felt a lot like masturbation. Don't get me wrong, I love a good wank, just not things that make me feel like a wanker. Blogs definitely make me feel weird. Like I'm trying to be clever for a crowd of strangers that I've never met and failing. Nevertheless, as my primary school motto proudly proclaimed "I Strive!"
If only that were true, reader. I was a horrible student as a kid. A feral bush-rat with a mullet and a mouth like a sewer pipe. Smart enough to love books and smart enough to hate work. I breezed through primary school, half arsedly dragged myself through high school and then spent my 20's in a haze of pot smoke, alcohol, good books, bad company, frustration, nihilism and ennui that eventually found an outlet in music and poetry.
So now, I write. Since I was that feral bush kid I've always wanted to be an author. It's the only ambition I can ever remember seriously harbouring. My dabbles in poetry, music and tragic relationships have all convinced me that the only thing worth writing down is the truth, so that is what I strive for. Lately the truth has felt pretty strong in me, like a volcano in my gut waiting to be spewed out. Due to innumerable circumstances, however, I have been constrained. Constrained by the city, constrained by routine, constrained by anxiety and the god damn clock I have yet to give vent to anything at all.
Except this.
The Festival starts in two days and I've finally gotten the internet to work on my new laptop I bought with my Centrelink money. I've finally set up a blog and had a look at the outline for the festival and I'm shitting myself. I'm disorganised. I have fuck all money. John Marsden's going to be there. There's a Fringe Festival.
Somehow that makes me feel better. I'm a fringe dweller really, and of all the things on the menu, this is what most suits my diet. I can see myself there, with the acid burnouts, the hippies and punks, the poets and the awkward folk who don't fit anywhere else. Somehow, somehow, that makes me feel better.
See you at the fringe.
Worthwhile.