A good way of gauging my mood is to check my blog.
Many of my entries are written from a feeling of invulnerability. You can tell I’m not feeling accountable to the rules of decent behavior.
Most of my entries are neutral. My lithium has kicked in and I’m just doing my job.
Then there are the posts coming from despair.
You should understand that as a narcissist, I have no core. There’s no there there with Luke Ford. Some moments I’m just writing the most outrageous things to get attention. Other times I’m desperately trying to cobble together my shattered credibility so that I can earn a living.
I’ve been feeling particularly unsettled this week while composing my entries for the Los Angeles Times Dust-Up. It’s my biggest professional opportunity ever yet I want to be as outrageous as possible. I yearn to say the opposite of what is expected from me. I want to dance in my tighty whities before the world.
Luckily I keep rewriting until I have a few ideas I might possibly believe (for a few minutes anyway).
Then I email my essays to Tim Cavanaugh, online editor of the LAT’s Op/Ed section.
You could say I’m not a rigorous thinker. I’m more a kid who likes to throw manure.
