Stalking Bliss
Monday, May 17, 2010
Still here.
The Word of the week is 'uncanny.' I always think I know exactly what this word means, but, checking the OED, I'm reminded that the definition in my brain is always slightly off from the actual one. Uncanny is just a slippery word...mischievous and unreliable, actually. Despite my hazy grasp of this word, I think it still applies to my week. And here is why: First, I spoke with someone about the passing of one of my favorite writers, only to find out later in the day that it was the 126th anniversary of her death. Second, I've been running around and writing about falling down and getting hurt, and that's exactly what I did this weekend. "Partaking of a supernatural character; mysterious, weird, uncomfortably strange?" Check. "Careless, incautious, dangerous, unsafe"? Check. Check. Check. Lovely grayish purple ankle, you better heal soon.
¶ 3:57 PM 0 Comments
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Wow.
The gray, cold wetness is making me sleepy. Carl Sandburg was so wrong -- fog does not come on little cat feet. Fog shows up in the morning like a cool, slimy salamander on the bathroom wall. The next time you look outside, it's gone.
Wait...I've only been surprised by salamanders on bathroom walls while traveling in places that are incredibly humid. Fog and humidity are not at all the same, though related. Salamanders are unlikely in places that are foggy, not humid. Then this simile is cheap and faulty? Uh oh...I feel a little faint...like I might...fall off...the treadmill....
In other news...I had a great time working the late, extended finals hours shift here at the library. I was glad...and then kind of sorry. Formal schooling gives the illusion that things are done. The final is finished. The semester is over. Pass or fail, you move on. Some of these kids will flourish when they learn that real life has none of these markers. Others will feel lost. They'll feel like they're in a never ending final for the hardest course and it will just be...life. I reveal my own experience. I am jealous of the first year freshman who have another three years of structure. They think they know how great it feels to know that school's out for the summer. They don't know, though. ¶ 2:42 PM 0 Comments
Wait...I've only been surprised by salamanders on bathroom walls while traveling in places that are incredibly humid. Fog and humidity are not at all the same, though related. Salamanders are unlikely in places that are foggy, not humid. Then this simile is cheap and faulty? Uh oh...I feel a little faint...like I might...fall off...the treadmill....
In other news...I had a great time working the late, extended finals hours shift here at the library. I was glad...and then kind of sorry. Formal schooling gives the illusion that things are done. The final is finished. The semester is over. Pass or fail, you move on. Some of these kids will flourish when they learn that real life has none of these markers. Others will feel lost. They'll feel like they're in a never ending final for the hardest course and it will just be...life. I reveal my own experience. I am jealous of the first year freshman who have another three years of structure. They think they know how great it feels to know that school's out for the summer. They don't know, though. ¶ 2:42 PM 0 Comments
Friday, May 14, 2010
Back to the Blog
Ok, so I'm a really, super bad, horrible blogger. I have evidence to prove it: I've started two blogs in the last two or three years and have posted to them a total of about 6 times. I abandoned both of the blogs shortly after making a post on one of them...about two years ago. I can't even call myself a blogger, or even a wanna-be blogger, for that matter. I'm not a blogger.
And I think I know why I am not blogger: I am not a writer. I am not a writer. I'm trying to get comfortable with this, because I think I've been dishonest about this for some time. Writers actually write, goes the old cliche, and I, friends, do not write.
I read - a lot - but I don't write. Reading is soothing and exciting at the same time. I could read for hours and hours and days and weeks and months and years. It makes my brain feel quick and smart and happy and alive. Writing makes the gears in my head instantly grate against each other. Slowly. Very slowly. Painfully. Very painfully...for about ten minutes until I can't take it anymore, and I stop. Normally, I stop writing, suddenly and immediately have the urge to vomit, and then, so embarrassed, I go to sleep.
So here's the thing. I know a million and five people have said this somewhere, but I need to embrace the overused analogy anyway: Writing is like exercising. Right now I'm really, really, really out of shape. The visceral reaction I described above? I'm pretty sure it happens to people who jump on the treadmill, having not run in months or years, and try to run a mile or two. A lot of people collapse.
Is it possible to build up writing endurance, like a runner? That's what I'm going to try to find out. I'm going to write here for a very short amount of time each day to try to build up strength, word by word, flexing the muscle that pulls the thoughts from my brain to the page/screen. I need to remember to start small and to be consistent. consistent. consistent. Frankly, I know even a silly, basic goal to write for ten or fifteen minutes on a blog that no one reads will be like this: I jump on the treadmill all excited, try to run a couple of miles, collapse, and on the way down, smack my chin down on the treadmill consul, bite my tongue hard enough that it bleeds, snag my nose and lips on the dirty treadmill apparatus, hit my forehead on the part of the treadmill where the stationary consul meets the rotating track, roll back a couple of inches on said track while I come to and gather what has just happened, and finally rise again, pretty sure I will vomit.
So be it. ¶ 8:20 PM 0 Comments
And I think I know why I am not blogger: I am not a writer. I am not a writer. I'm trying to get comfortable with this, because I think I've been dishonest about this for some time. Writers actually write, goes the old cliche, and I, friends, do not write.
I read - a lot - but I don't write. Reading is soothing and exciting at the same time. I could read for hours and hours and days and weeks and months and years. It makes my brain feel quick and smart and happy and alive. Writing makes the gears in my head instantly grate against each other. Slowly. Very slowly. Painfully. Very painfully...for about ten minutes until I can't take it anymore, and I stop. Normally, I stop writing, suddenly and immediately have the urge to vomit, and then, so embarrassed, I go to sleep.
So here's the thing. I know a million and five people have said this somewhere, but I need to embrace the overused analogy anyway: Writing is like exercising. Right now I'm really, really, really out of shape. The visceral reaction I described above? I'm pretty sure it happens to people who jump on the treadmill, having not run in months or years, and try to run a mile or two. A lot of people collapse.
Is it possible to build up writing endurance, like a runner? That's what I'm going to try to find out. I'm going to write here for a very short amount of time each day to try to build up strength, word by word, flexing the muscle that pulls the thoughts from my brain to the page/screen. I need to remember to start small and to be consistent. consistent. consistent. Frankly, I know even a silly, basic goal to write for ten or fifteen minutes on a blog that no one reads will be like this: I jump on the treadmill all excited, try to run a couple of miles, collapse, and on the way down, smack my chin down on the treadmill consul, bite my tongue hard enough that it bleeds, snag my nose and lips on the dirty treadmill apparatus, hit my forehead on the part of the treadmill where the stationary consul meets the rotating track, roll back a couple of inches on said track while I come to and gather what has just happened, and finally rise again, pretty sure I will vomit.
So be it. ¶ 8:20 PM 0 Comments
