Random title. Random post.
Helped a friend find an apartment today. Yay!
My hand is still crazy sore from yesterday. I realized that my injury was caused by me attempting to cut my dog's hair with scissors while she was halfway through her bath. Foolish idea and it will never happen again. In the meantime, I have my wrist brace on as a helpful thing. It doesn't really work 100% for the palm of my hand where the muscles have been overworked, but it does help at least a little.
Also had the opportunity to share a story with my friend. Yay! I was glad for the conversation and the helpfulness it brought about. You know who you are and thank you very much! We stayed up late even though you were probably dead tired, and I thank you for that as well.
So like I said in yesterday's post, I finished a story but I need to rework some of the details after the reveal. It is the monster story, so it should be more monstrous. In the meantime, the apocalypse story is on hold until I feel like I can write more than what you'll get in this blog post.
So I think this week will be for reading. I'm going to shoot for finishing Let's Pretend This Never Happened (Jenny Lawson), The Illustrated Man (series, Ray Bradbury), and The Island of Dr. Moreau (H.G. Wells). And then it will be on to other titles that I have not yet explored. I feel I need to re-read The Hero With A Thousand Faces (Joseph Campbell) so that one is likely next.
And now my wrist is tired. TTFN.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Sunday, July 1, 2012
#70--HOT
Today the low was WAY TOO HOT.
I have finished a story!!
Hooray!
In the process I pinched a nerve in my shoulder!
Gah!
And now I am showered and waiting for my friend to get here.
I gave the dogs a bath. I cut off some of Sydney's multitudes of hair. She looks "skinny." I put it in quotation marks because she doesn't look like *as much* of a moose as she did before I cut her hair. Fonzi didn't get a hair cut because I don't care enough today. Plus that's an outside activity. Plus he's not that bad right now.
In the meantime, my shoulder hurts. I probably shouldn't be typing. Oh well.
I was trying to figure out what to do for dinner, since it is getting to be about that time, but I don't really want to cook and it's too hot for that action anyway. Milk was a bad choice.
La la la. I finished a story! La la la!
Cheers--
I have finished a story!!
Hooray!
In the process I pinched a nerve in my shoulder!
Gah!
And now I am showered and waiting for my friend to get here.
I gave the dogs a bath. I cut off some of Sydney's multitudes of hair. She looks "skinny." I put it in quotation marks because she doesn't look like *as much* of a moose as she did before I cut her hair. Fonzi didn't get a hair cut because I don't care enough today. Plus that's an outside activity. Plus he's not that bad right now.
In the meantime, my shoulder hurts. I probably shouldn't be typing. Oh well.
I was trying to figure out what to do for dinner, since it is getting to be about that time, but I don't really want to cook and it's too hot for that action anyway. Milk was a bad choice.
La la la. I finished a story! La la la!
Cheers--
#69--Heh heh.
So I took a glance at some of my past posts. Of course, every writer should do this when they need a blurb of inspiration or something else to reflect on. Maybe I do too much reflecting but that's alright.
Sixty posts ago (#9) I read again. I was angry. I think I somehow managed to forget that anger. Maybe I buried it that day, leaving it to rest and be outside of me. I don't like being angry. Does anyone? There was another post regarding the same topic though I don't remember what post it was...I think it was called "Was It Worth It?" But anyway, I am astonished at myself. Because during that meeting, that one lunch time, I did not say to you the things I wanted to say. I did not really express all of my pent-up anger, because I had stowed it away in a corner of my mind and I had allowed it to gather dust. Does that mean I am moving on from that angry person I was/am? Rereading that post made me realize the disgust is still there at least. But what can I do? What does it matter if I'm still angry with you or not? If I die without telling you how angry I am, is there guilt attached?
I suppose it is enough to know that you don't know me, and that you likely never really will. And still, even after that brief meeting and attempt at discussion, things are still broken and unfixed, rusting in the rain and wind and sun. It was never a problem that would be solved with a simple apology, not that you offered one. I suppose in that way I'm just as bad as you because I didn't offer one either. In fact, when you put me on the spot about the wedding I lied to you, just the same as I imagine you would have lied to me in any other situation. Why did I lie? I hate confrontation. I hate fighting. I hate yelling. I hate feeling guilt for something I shouldn't feel guilty for. I didn't invite you because you would have been upset. I didn't invite you because you didn't invite me. I didn't invite you because you never come to things that I do, things I'm involved in, or even just for a damned visit. Would people have liked you better if you had? Probably not. But at least they wouldn't have been able to speak out against you. And that's the worst bit about it too, is that they tore me apart. Every mention of your name and they cringed, they grimaced, they spat it at me like it was poison.
I saw something recently that hit me like a brick in my gut. It was a meme-thing that said basically, every time a parent bad-talks the other parent in front of/to a child, that child feels like shit because they are one half of each parent. And that's so true. So a big shout out to anyone and everyone who ever had something nasty to say about you, and who said those nasty things to my face. Thank you for making me feel like one-half a loser. And you know, once you're halfway to something, you just keep on going. Thanks for impressing upon me that I am one-half bum, liar, scumbag, cheater, thief, coward, gossiper, sleazy, likely drug abuser, whore of a person. Because those are all things I heard about you. And will you ever admit the truth? Will you ever own up to your own past and your own actions? Did you ever? Not likely. And here I am, an adult, trying SO hard NOT to be you, based only on what I know from other people. Here I am, half-poisoned. And whenever anyone said I did something that reminded them of you, I sunk so low. Instantly. I was the lowest thing ever. I was despicable to them. Unmentionable. Disgusting. Worth spitting on. ONLY worth spit. And sometimes not even worth that.
This seems--is--a defining characteristic for me. I am the offspring of all of the above. There is no escaping that, even if I try my damndest to be a good person. Even if I struggle and fight and claw my way up out of this hole.
I did not intend for this to be a violent post. I think this is something that I will have to deal with perpetually for the rest of my life. Unfortunately.
On another note, I went to a BBQ this afternoon/evening at a friend's house. It was quite fun, the conversation was engaging and such; I got to hang out with Baby Z and Miss Jewel & Miss Cordee, though the girls were more involved with the rabbit and tribal drums. It was a little uncomfortable though, since I was the only one there who didn't bring a child along, having none to contribute. I'm still not sure how that makes me feel. And of course, there's never a "perfect" time for that sort of thing... Anyway. I'm not getting into that. It was a good time. I took beer bread & some dip, both of which were quite tasty. I had a couple servings of strawberry daquiri but all that did was give me a headache that took FOREVER to get rid of. And yet, here I am at 230 cranking out the longest blog post in history. I don't mind calling attention to my actions in this way. Random.
I stayed up with the intention of writing more on a story I've been working on (the one about monsters) but I didn't do any writing since I re-opened my computer at 100. Ah well. At least I have all day tomorrow to do something. While my body is wearing down, my brain is still pretty awake, so I may end up staying up longer after all. Who knows. I feel like this post is too long so here it is.
Happy 69 to all.
Sixty posts ago (#9) I read again. I was angry. I think I somehow managed to forget that anger. Maybe I buried it that day, leaving it to rest and be outside of me. I don't like being angry. Does anyone? There was another post regarding the same topic though I don't remember what post it was...I think it was called "Was It Worth It?" But anyway, I am astonished at myself. Because during that meeting, that one lunch time, I did not say to you the things I wanted to say. I did not really express all of my pent-up anger, because I had stowed it away in a corner of my mind and I had allowed it to gather dust. Does that mean I am moving on from that angry person I was/am? Rereading that post made me realize the disgust is still there at least. But what can I do? What does it matter if I'm still angry with you or not? If I die without telling you how angry I am, is there guilt attached?
I suppose it is enough to know that you don't know me, and that you likely never really will. And still, even after that brief meeting and attempt at discussion, things are still broken and unfixed, rusting in the rain and wind and sun. It was never a problem that would be solved with a simple apology, not that you offered one. I suppose in that way I'm just as bad as you because I didn't offer one either. In fact, when you put me on the spot about the wedding I lied to you, just the same as I imagine you would have lied to me in any other situation. Why did I lie? I hate confrontation. I hate fighting. I hate yelling. I hate feeling guilt for something I shouldn't feel guilty for. I didn't invite you because you would have been upset. I didn't invite you because you didn't invite me. I didn't invite you because you never come to things that I do, things I'm involved in, or even just for a damned visit. Would people have liked you better if you had? Probably not. But at least they wouldn't have been able to speak out against you. And that's the worst bit about it too, is that they tore me apart. Every mention of your name and they cringed, they grimaced, they spat it at me like it was poison.
I saw something recently that hit me like a brick in my gut. It was a meme-thing that said basically, every time a parent bad-talks the other parent in front of/to a child, that child feels like shit because they are one half of each parent. And that's so true. So a big shout out to anyone and everyone who ever had something nasty to say about you, and who said those nasty things to my face. Thank you for making me feel like one-half a loser. And you know, once you're halfway to something, you just keep on going. Thanks for impressing upon me that I am one-half bum, liar, scumbag, cheater, thief, coward, gossiper, sleazy, likely drug abuser, whore of a person. Because those are all things I heard about you. And will you ever admit the truth? Will you ever own up to your own past and your own actions? Did you ever? Not likely. And here I am, an adult, trying SO hard NOT to be you, based only on what I know from other people. Here I am, half-poisoned. And whenever anyone said I did something that reminded them of you, I sunk so low. Instantly. I was the lowest thing ever. I was despicable to them. Unmentionable. Disgusting. Worth spitting on. ONLY worth spit. And sometimes not even worth that.
This seems--is--a defining characteristic for me. I am the offspring of all of the above. There is no escaping that, even if I try my damndest to be a good person. Even if I struggle and fight and claw my way up out of this hole.
I did not intend for this to be a violent post. I think this is something that I will have to deal with perpetually for the rest of my life. Unfortunately.
On another note, I went to a BBQ this afternoon/evening at a friend's house. It was quite fun, the conversation was engaging and such; I got to hang out with Baby Z and Miss Jewel & Miss Cordee, though the girls were more involved with the rabbit and tribal drums. It was a little uncomfortable though, since I was the only one there who didn't bring a child along, having none to contribute. I'm still not sure how that makes me feel. And of course, there's never a "perfect" time for that sort of thing... Anyway. I'm not getting into that. It was a good time. I took beer bread & some dip, both of which were quite tasty. I had a couple servings of strawberry daquiri but all that did was give me a headache that took FOREVER to get rid of. And yet, here I am at 230 cranking out the longest blog post in history. I don't mind calling attention to my actions in this way. Random.
I stayed up with the intention of writing more on a story I've been working on (the one about monsters) but I didn't do any writing since I re-opened my computer at 100. Ah well. At least I have all day tomorrow to do something. While my body is wearing down, my brain is still pretty awake, so I may end up staying up longer after all. Who knows. I feel like this post is too long so here it is.
Happy 69 to all.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
#68--Sleeping Past Dawn
Yesterday I did some writing and finally made my music files MUCH easier to navigate on my computer. Now I don't have to worry about creating files as I upload discs and downloads from the internet. As for the writing, I started over on a story. I was about five pages in (single-spaced for my English friends) when I started anew. Same character names, different events. And then, ultimately, new characters.
Well anyway, I was thinking about my story progress and how to make the concept original when I was struck with some new ideas. I haven't sat down to work them into the story yet (since I'm here typing this) but I think they will result in some interesting paths. The only trouble is, I have until tomorrow, probably in the afternoon, to "finish" that story and one other.
So I suppose I should stop being vague about it--the first story is an apocalypse tale, and the second is about monsters. I can't say much about the monster story as I haven't started that one yet. I should also probably mention that each story should be no longer than 10 pages. This is a prompt given by Alex, and he didn't specify whether it had to be a complete story arc or not, but I'm assuming it does so I should really get off here and get working on it.
I should also mention that I didn't even wake up until 12:30 today, and didn't get out of bed until an hour later. It was kind of nice, but I'm still a bit drowsy (the consequences of sleeping for too long). Otherwise, I am feeling fine.
ALSO: I have about 400 vinyl records for sale, mostly 80s rock. If you're interested, please send me a message or somehow otherwise indicate your interest.
And now I'm off to work on story writing.
Ciao!
Well anyway, I was thinking about my story progress and how to make the concept original when I was struck with some new ideas. I haven't sat down to work them into the story yet (since I'm here typing this) but I think they will result in some interesting paths. The only trouble is, I have until tomorrow, probably in the afternoon, to "finish" that story and one other.
So I suppose I should stop being vague about it--the first story is an apocalypse tale, and the second is about monsters. I can't say much about the monster story as I haven't started that one yet. I should also probably mention that each story should be no longer than 10 pages. This is a prompt given by Alex, and he didn't specify whether it had to be a complete story arc or not, but I'm assuming it does so I should really get off here and get working on it.
I should also mention that I didn't even wake up until 12:30 today, and didn't get out of bed until an hour later. It was kind of nice, but I'm still a bit drowsy (the consequences of sleeping for too long). Otherwise, I am feeling fine.
ALSO: I have about 400 vinyl records for sale, mostly 80s rock. If you're interested, please send me a message or somehow otherwise indicate your interest.
And now I'm off to work on story writing.
Ciao!
Monday, June 25, 2012
#67--Today I _____________
Today was a full day. Started with a lengthy post about who knows what really. I reread it and it makes sense to me anyway, and it is just as impacting as it was earlier when I wrote it. I suppose that is nice. That is something that I love about words and their construction. If you do it right, they never lose their power. Really, they never lose their power anyway, but still, I think you get my meaning here. I had some things today I meant to do that didn't get finished. For instance, I washed and dried laundry but I didn't get it put away. So the mess that was in my room that I cleaned up is back, as if it never moved, except it did, to get washed and then to get all dumped back on the floor again.
I made a couple trips to the store, once for baking soda and again for vegetables. I suppose those are good things to buy. I said to myself that I would make cream puffs today but I didn't. Instead I made oatmeal-choco-chip cookies for the hubby. I DO intend to make those damn cream puffs this week--or I won't ever make them. The only problem with this is it is supposed to be over 100 outside all week, and that means it will suck to be standing over a hot stove. However, cream puffs are the kind of treat that are nice to have around in the summer when it is hot, so I'm hoping for a stellar win on this one so that my intense heat cooking time will be totally worth it. Except I'm not sure it will be because I've never made them before. Which is good. I guess. It is good to experiment in the kitchen as long as you don't get too crazy with it and end up throwing out more food than you can actually tolerate to eat.
I'm sure you don't really want a piece-by-piece reconstruction of my day. If you did, it would only be because I'm a celebrity and everyone wants to know every little detail about THEM. Why is that? Only "important" people are paid attention to.. Isn't everyone important? I must be off my rocker today because I'm asking some funny questions (see previous post).
I'd like to go ahead and apologize right now to anyone who attempts to read through all of these posts. If you are a regular (Jason) then I thank you for taking the time to read these and being interested in what I have to say. At the same time, I shouldn't have to apologize for the length of my posts because if you've stuck around this long then obviously you're interested in what I have to say and that's not only cool, but not apologizing is totally fine. I mean, it's all legit right? Oh, it is late and I'm not sure I'm making any sense. Anyway, I felt compelled to write on here again today and so I did. So there.
I made a couple trips to the store, once for baking soda and again for vegetables. I suppose those are good things to buy. I said to myself that I would make cream puffs today but I didn't. Instead I made oatmeal-choco-chip cookies for the hubby. I DO intend to make those damn cream puffs this week--or I won't ever make them. The only problem with this is it is supposed to be over 100 outside all week, and that means it will suck to be standing over a hot stove. However, cream puffs are the kind of treat that are nice to have around in the summer when it is hot, so I'm hoping for a stellar win on this one so that my intense heat cooking time will be totally worth it. Except I'm not sure it will be because I've never made them before. Which is good. I guess. It is good to experiment in the kitchen as long as you don't get too crazy with it and end up throwing out more food than you can actually tolerate to eat.
I'm sure you don't really want a piece-by-piece reconstruction of my day. If you did, it would only be because I'm a celebrity and everyone wants to know every little detail about THEM. Why is that? Only "important" people are paid attention to.. Isn't everyone important? I must be off my rocker today because I'm asking some funny questions (see previous post).
I'd like to go ahead and apologize right now to anyone who attempts to read through all of these posts. If you are a regular (Jason) then I thank you for taking the time to read these and being interested in what I have to say. At the same time, I shouldn't have to apologize for the length of my posts because if you've stuck around this long then obviously you're interested in what I have to say and that's not only cool, but not apologizing is totally fine. I mean, it's all legit right? Oh, it is late and I'm not sure I'm making any sense. Anyway, I felt compelled to write on here again today and so I did. So there.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
#66--Abnormally Normal and Vice Versa
"What I mean to say is,"
"What I've been trying to tell you..."
"Well, frankly, I just can't find the words."
"When was my last attempt? I'm not sure."
"It's been awhile, I can tell you that..."
[pause]
"No, no one has looked after me in a long time. Should they have?"
"Who would care enough?"
[lengthy pause; playing with a napkin on the counter]
"Oh."
[quick sigh; leans forward to prop head in hand]
"Well, I don't know."
"When you figure it out you should let me know."
"No, I'm not trying to be sarcastic, I just mean if you hear anythin--"
"Fine."
"Sure."
"Yeah, I'm okay with it...If I wasn't I'd have told you."
"I'm sighing because I'm tired."
"Right."
[pause]
"Thanks again. Let me know how it goes."
"Yeah. Bye."
[drops phone onto counter. leaning on hands, pushes back from counter and walks away.]
A one-sided phone conversation and of course no one knows. No one knows what the point is, not even me and I wrote the darn thing. I'm sure there is some sort of meaning if someone dissected it and presented their theory to me. I might then find something enlightening about this work. Yet I don't want to know either. And sometimes I think it is this sentiment that prevents people from giving a damn about what it is that they do in life, or the people they come across each day, or the task that they've been entrusted with. For here we see a lack of compassion, or maybe too much--which is the problem in itself, don't you think? That leaves us in a sticky situation. We're unable to sympathize/empathize with others, and more significantly we don't want to. But when we do--Oh! when we do--that is when we really fall. We cannot contain ourselves. Our passion for caring for others bursts forth into the world, where it overwhelms everyone and makes the passionate man a lunatic (at least according to everyone else). And here we find frustration with the world, with those that label us, and with ourselves for being so overly passionate and caring and mindful and considerate of others that when we are treated unfairly or poorly we cannot stand it, and we often resort to anger and violence, purely out of frustration regarding our own emotions. Where does that leave us? Misunderstood? Certainly. Uncertain of ourselves, and our passion, and if it is even worth the trouble. Is it? I don't know. I can't answer that. But I will tell you that sometimes, which is more frequent now than before, I don't want to be compassionate. I don't want to be emotionally strung out over other people. I don't want to be the one they come to when their lives fall apart. I want to be that person that is....(I can't find the words to finish this sentence). Maybe that's because I don't know who I want to be. Maybe it is because as people we are always in flux, even if we refuse to acknowledge it. There it is! I'm just nervous because I change all the time. Right, it shouldn't be that easy for me to diagnose myself and my psyche all at once like that. But I am scared. I am nervous. Will this new "me" be worth it? Will I like it? I'm sure I will, otherwise I wouldn't morph into that person. But my past self--does it haunt me? I don't think it does, but I could be wrong there too. I should say "selves" because there are more than one historic versions of me. Identity, like a river, is never solid. Even if the colds of winter freeze the surface, the water moves and the life thrives beneath. For a river there is no death. Here lies immortality, for ever and ever, always in flux, never constant except in its constant change. And so in this way of growing and molting and shedding and bursting forth from my own cocoon, I could in time, achieve immortality. Whew.
*Letting that digest for a moment*
So then, in the plot of life, I don't suppose I have to care, or change, or morph, or be passionate about others and things. But if i didn't, and if I weren't, then what kind of anyone would I be? A simple human drone? People say that, "human drone," but that's impossible. We were given the ability (by someone/something...I'm not pointing any fingers here) to think for ourselves, to make choices, to see and understand death, etc. We can never be drones as long as we possess these abilities. Yet they are neglected, malnourished, ignored. And what then? Does that make a person a drone? No. I don't believe it does. They just likely haven't been taught or haven't discovered that they have these abilities, their own super powers. Not everyone will use them for good, and that is already true and I understand that. But I also know how easy it is to feel completely justified in an action while no one else understands you. That is a tricky slope in itself because then you feel alone and unable to speak about that which you would most like to share. So you do and you get confused looks, or snickers, or your friends stop talking to you. And then you wonder about yourself and you wonder about your friends and the types of people you keep around and are they worth it and here you are, back at square one.
I feel like I have tons more to say about this but in all honesty, I'm hungry and I'm going to end it here or nothing else will be accomplished today except the depraved ramblings of myself. Hooray.
"What I've been trying to tell you..."
"Well, frankly, I just can't find the words."
"When was my last attempt? I'm not sure."
"It's been awhile, I can tell you that..."
[pause]
"No, no one has looked after me in a long time. Should they have?"
"Who would care enough?"
[lengthy pause; playing with a napkin on the counter]
"Oh."
[quick sigh; leans forward to prop head in hand]
"Well, I don't know."
"When you figure it out you should let me know."
"No, I'm not trying to be sarcastic, I just mean if you hear anythin--"
"Fine."
"Sure."
"Yeah, I'm okay with it...If I wasn't I'd have told you."
"I'm sighing because I'm tired."
"Right."
[pause]
"Thanks again. Let me know how it goes."
"Yeah. Bye."
[drops phone onto counter. leaning on hands, pushes back from counter and walks away.]
A one-sided phone conversation and of course no one knows. No one knows what the point is, not even me and I wrote the darn thing. I'm sure there is some sort of meaning if someone dissected it and presented their theory to me. I might then find something enlightening about this work. Yet I don't want to know either. And sometimes I think it is this sentiment that prevents people from giving a damn about what it is that they do in life, or the people they come across each day, or the task that they've been entrusted with. For here we see a lack of compassion, or maybe too much--which is the problem in itself, don't you think? That leaves us in a sticky situation. We're unable to sympathize/empathize with others, and more significantly we don't want to. But when we do--Oh! when we do--that is when we really fall. We cannot contain ourselves. Our passion for caring for others bursts forth into the world, where it overwhelms everyone and makes the passionate man a lunatic (at least according to everyone else). And here we find frustration with the world, with those that label us, and with ourselves for being so overly passionate and caring and mindful and considerate of others that when we are treated unfairly or poorly we cannot stand it, and we often resort to anger and violence, purely out of frustration regarding our own emotions. Where does that leave us? Misunderstood? Certainly. Uncertain of ourselves, and our passion, and if it is even worth the trouble. Is it? I don't know. I can't answer that. But I will tell you that sometimes, which is more frequent now than before, I don't want to be compassionate. I don't want to be emotionally strung out over other people. I don't want to be the one they come to when their lives fall apart. I want to be that person that is....(I can't find the words to finish this sentence). Maybe that's because I don't know who I want to be. Maybe it is because as people we are always in flux, even if we refuse to acknowledge it. There it is! I'm just nervous because I change all the time. Right, it shouldn't be that easy for me to diagnose myself and my psyche all at once like that. But I am scared. I am nervous. Will this new "me" be worth it? Will I like it? I'm sure I will, otherwise I wouldn't morph into that person. But my past self--does it haunt me? I don't think it does, but I could be wrong there too. I should say "selves" because there are more than one historic versions of me. Identity, like a river, is never solid. Even if the colds of winter freeze the surface, the water moves and the life thrives beneath. For a river there is no death. Here lies immortality, for ever and ever, always in flux, never constant except in its constant change. And so in this way of growing and molting and shedding and bursting forth from my own cocoon, I could in time, achieve immortality. Whew.
*Letting that digest for a moment*
So then, in the plot of life, I don't suppose I have to care, or change, or morph, or be passionate about others and things. But if i didn't, and if I weren't, then what kind of anyone would I be? A simple human drone? People say that, "human drone," but that's impossible. We were given the ability (by someone/something...I'm not pointing any fingers here) to think for ourselves, to make choices, to see and understand death, etc. We can never be drones as long as we possess these abilities. Yet they are neglected, malnourished, ignored. And what then? Does that make a person a drone? No. I don't believe it does. They just likely haven't been taught or haven't discovered that they have these abilities, their own super powers. Not everyone will use them for good, and that is already true and I understand that. But I also know how easy it is to feel completely justified in an action while no one else understands you. That is a tricky slope in itself because then you feel alone and unable to speak about that which you would most like to share. So you do and you get confused looks, or snickers, or your friends stop talking to you. And then you wonder about yourself and you wonder about your friends and the types of people you keep around and are they worth it and here you are, back at square one.
I feel like I have tons more to say about this but in all honesty, I'm hungry and I'm going to end it here or nothing else will be accomplished today except the depraved ramblings of myself. Hooray.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
#65--The Places You Used to Know
All gung-ho to start, but not sure what to start with. I know I have cleaning to do, and playlists to make and papers to sort through. But I don't want to do any of those. Who knew Pinterest & Tumblr could be so useful for idea sprouting and for designing characters? Sometimes I think about how each character I make is a little part of me. And after each story is written, each plot arc is fulfilled I wonder which parts of me have made it to the page. Are these things I want to happen? Things I'm afraid of? Do I openly subject others around me to the same violent emotions that I write on the page? If I write only the morbid, dark, and grim, am I destined for misery? Am I unable to be happy? I don't think that these sorts of examinations of writing are ones that should be taken on alone, not to mention late at night and right before bed. These considerations lead to bad dreams and worse waking.
I am not imprisoned here, by my words. At least, I don't think I am. I could be subject to the Stockholm Syndrome, but I'm not sure that these bits of sound, these utterances, these twisting phrases and these spilled bowls of alphabet soup--that they are indeed restricting. Certainly there is more that I want to say that I struggle to find words for, and thus I am in a sense imprisoned. As long as I continue, the words will finally come, and even if they are not 100% what I want, they are always adequate at least, for their understanding by others. And I don't care if the grammar falls apart, that overlying structure that is supposed to be a rule system but that is more like guidelines for sounding credible and like you have half a brain...
But here I am rambling. I'm avoiding the issue. An issue that is impossible to grasp--so slippery that I cannot even in full confidence guarantee that it is an issue at all. Am I silly? Am I paranoid? Over analyzing? No matter. I've been here before. Well, it isn't quite the same spot exactly, but the foliage is familiar. I can see old trees I've passed by before, not too far from where I am now. Do I regret having come around this way again? Probably not. After all, there must be something to be gained from this area if the resources are plentiful enough that I should return, consciously or not.
I find these images on Pinterest & Tumblr and I think that maybe I'm not projecting my true self via a physical outlet. And sure my physical and mental states don't have to be identical, but is it obvious to others? Does it need to be? Again I'm stuck figuring myself out, or trying to. But none of that is important. I already know that my whole life will consist of me trying to figure myself out. Which is, what it's all about basically.
Except not today. Today I don't know what it's about. Have I changed again? Perhaps that is what it is--an internal shift that I have yet to fully recognize and acknowledge. Here I am again, analyzing myself. Perhaps it isn't the change itself that is significant but the source of the change, or the parts that are different from what they were. Perhaps also it does not have to do with a change of existing parts, but an addition or subtraction of parts. Of course, this only makes it more confusing for me.
In the end...well, I cannot come to a conclusion yet. Maybe it is not an overnight change but something that will take a bit. Which is okay. I'm not going to rush it and come out with a half-finished product. I must be thorough. It is interesting though, that I should be conscious of a change now when previous changes I've gone through have been much less obvious to me until after the fact, and even then they usually have to be pointed out by others. But maybe this is part of the change itself. Becoming aware.
Does this even make sense anymore? Is this a clear thought progression? Maybe not. Regardless, I feel better for having written it out. Until more is discovered--
I am not imprisoned here, by my words. At least, I don't think I am. I could be subject to the Stockholm Syndrome, but I'm not sure that these bits of sound, these utterances, these twisting phrases and these spilled bowls of alphabet soup--that they are indeed restricting. Certainly there is more that I want to say that I struggle to find words for, and thus I am in a sense imprisoned. As long as I continue, the words will finally come, and even if they are not 100% what I want, they are always adequate at least, for their understanding by others. And I don't care if the grammar falls apart, that overlying structure that is supposed to be a rule system but that is more like guidelines for sounding credible and like you have half a brain...
But here I am rambling. I'm avoiding the issue. An issue that is impossible to grasp--so slippery that I cannot even in full confidence guarantee that it is an issue at all. Am I silly? Am I paranoid? Over analyzing? No matter. I've been here before. Well, it isn't quite the same spot exactly, but the foliage is familiar. I can see old trees I've passed by before, not too far from where I am now. Do I regret having come around this way again? Probably not. After all, there must be something to be gained from this area if the resources are plentiful enough that I should return, consciously or not.
I find these images on Pinterest & Tumblr and I think that maybe I'm not projecting my true self via a physical outlet. And sure my physical and mental states don't have to be identical, but is it obvious to others? Does it need to be? Again I'm stuck figuring myself out, or trying to. But none of that is important. I already know that my whole life will consist of me trying to figure myself out. Which is, what it's all about basically.
Except not today. Today I don't know what it's about. Have I changed again? Perhaps that is what it is--an internal shift that I have yet to fully recognize and acknowledge. Here I am again, analyzing myself. Perhaps it isn't the change itself that is significant but the source of the change, or the parts that are different from what they were. Perhaps also it does not have to do with a change of existing parts, but an addition or subtraction of parts. Of course, this only makes it more confusing for me.
In the end...well, I cannot come to a conclusion yet. Maybe it is not an overnight change but something that will take a bit. Which is okay. I'm not going to rush it and come out with a half-finished product. I must be thorough. It is interesting though, that I should be conscious of a change now when previous changes I've gone through have been much less obvious to me until after the fact, and even then they usually have to be pointed out by others. But maybe this is part of the change itself. Becoming aware.
Does this even make sense anymore? Is this a clear thought progression? Maybe not. Regardless, I feel better for having written it out. Until more is discovered--
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)