Quote for today: Life is what happens while we are busy making other plans.
Ok, so here is some of it anyway.
I am writing in a haste today with a book upon my knee because I have so many thoughts and ideas that I need to pin down to this page. To catch and stick down like insects on a styrofoam board. They buzz 'round my ears incessantly.
On coming into my own:
I have more and more each day been forgiving myself and accepting the imperfection that is being human. I am making an honest effort to allow myself that at least. Of an arm gesture here and a fumble there, what does anyone make of it anyway? To constantly remind myself that yes, I am human, that dastardly form. I have two arms/legs, two eyes, things that come in twos, for what reason I don't know, perhaps balance? And then to exclaim to myself in the corners of my mind, "Do not be so fixated on these things!! Surely at some other point in time, another human has had this same posture, this same stance, committed this same fumbling!" And as we are all but human, that is precisely what we are meant to do. So that when I, in all my self conscious frenzy, am showing great concern about what others will think, how others might view me and what tragic accident or folly will befall me if they all discover that I am truly as human as they, I can finally then remove the blindfold, give my head a shake a little and realize to my own surprise and chagrin that truly, I have not been noticed at all, which could be an even greater tragedy considering my whole hearted belief in my central location in this universe. So notwithstanding my own world revolving ideals and ambitions, I have been and continue to go unrecognized. And in this charming state of anonymity, I still exist, and I can behold myself in all of my private thoughts and begin to dedicate myself to becoming a model that is not necessarily perfect but human, of which I can put on display. A model or motivation which uncovers my secret inner being and allows me secrecy no longer. To come into my own. To become human and at the exact same moment display that humanity as it ought to be, as it is and not as a form of some other illusion. All of my illusions have been betrayed! In this positive glow of becoming, I now see clearly what it means to be different. Oh to be different! To absolutely revel in it! I have never quite understood it. How two people can get along, where others can not. That being a casualty of my perfect chameleon skin. Not once having a problem with other humans, concentrating all of my energy mainly to ensure with accuracy and skill every time that they would fail to find a flaw within me. Becoming that which is adored for a short while, but pull away come midnight for fear the pumpkins would reveal themselves and her dress in tattered rags. And so as my magical charade comes to a close and my fleeting fancies dissuade me, I must exit the masquerade and allow this world to uncover me. This sort of behind the scenes look at who I can really become, besides just a puppet on a string. The curtain is coming down for me and it is time to pack up the glitter, go home and put on the flannels and come into my own. Welcome to my beautiful alive. This is a bright, excited alive. One can't help but notice especially when one encounters an idealist such as myself who is completely thrilled in regards to where exactly the focus of all things ought naturally to be and could not possibly be mistaken.
The nutty bourgeois in me: I have decided that I am an elitist but not in the way everyone expects. For the most part, I am just giddy with disillusionment. It used to be different, I had such high hopes. Back in university, we had a promise. Everyday it seemed I was constantly drowning in that promise that I was one of the elite few, the treasured, the golden children of a generation, the educated and career bound, one of a unique group of mind challengers/brain users. And I took bites of all of this and swallowed it down, content with this ever important knowledge and proud to spend thousands of the government's dollars, wading up to my neck in debt with this smugness that it was worth every penny to be a broke starving student for five years of my pittance of a life. Yada yada. Just to be a member of this secret, elite club. To remind myself that even if all of my dreams didn't come true, it would be really, truly, genuinely, down to the bottom of my heart worth every drop of blood. I have been like a prisoner, so grateful to serve the time knowing that he finally belongs somewhere. I hope you sense my bitter sarcasm. I have only just recently realized that all of this is a big sham, but it worked. It really did. I am still here in this pot aren't I? This money pit. An advertising ploy each and every one of my professors was paid to employ in order to ensure that we as drones feel a sense of elite belonging and will yearn to return time and again to have our pockets emptied. 'You are the elite few that can make a difference in this world. You are the educated. You will rule the world!! Bwahahahahaha!!'
So then, why is it that now that I have finished my magical tour, when I have, according to the institution, become rehabilitated from rude peasant to professor of that same stiffness about the collar, and fulfilled every requirement of a specific education so much so that they will all now consider me over-qualified, as though there is nothing left to teach me in this life, why now do I feel so unprepared, incapable and even betrayed? To pull the wool off of my eyes for the first time and discover that my collar really isn't that stiff after all and that the magic, mind altering, attractive, genius enhancing potion that they have been feeding me; dumping down my throat in fact and drowning me in for all these years has nought but the strange and suspicious likeness to that of cherry wine with no magical properties whatever and all of the bitterness about it. And yet, I still uphold an elitist's confidence which I recognize to be as thin a veil as air but at the same time which I grasp onto with such a violent fervour for fear of life and death. We shall see how time passes in this life.
That's all there is to say. I can always tell when I am done writing. My brain just shuts down and no more thoughts will come. There I will be, writing furiously with such an adrenaline that it surprises me sometimes that the callouses on my fingers remain uncracked, half expecting them to split open and run down to the keys where my words land like sparks ready to ignite only to be quenched by the flow. My cursor skipping across the lines as a flint, awaiting the charged blow. And then it all stops, it falls silent. Then I can tell that I am done. Houselights go on, the magician steps out from his hiding place, the vanishing act revealed. No more to ponder. Nevertheless, it is all to be replaced, next show. I have completely run out of fuel. Imagine, to write until you have nothing else to say or think. Isn't it the brain's major function to think? To shut down this main feature of the body's most vital organ is quite impressive indeed. I am not thinking clearly at all anymore.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Writer's Block
Quote for today: Can you possibly imagine how it feels to fall in love with a mermaid?
The sidewalks are smoking. So are the rooftops. Like one giant WestSide Story poster and the jitterbug in my heart is screaming like it must be spring. But the weather is still refusing to break. Can't shake this feeling.
I am not making any sense today. I keep trying to write something. Writer's block. Blocked in, locked in, cooped up. Frustration! That is the main thing about writer's block. I could pour out meticulously all of these bright, masterpiece style ideas and they will still read simple and dull to my mind in the grip of writer's block. I could rival the works of Amis and Tennyson and still come off sounding more like Dr. Seuss. Maybe this isn't so bad. I will remain colloquial and satisfied.
I wonder if animals have a sense of freedom. For example, do animals that have been born in confinement still have that natural instinct? Can they sense that they are trapped or are they just accustomed to it? Does freedom mean little when they are provided with the main elements of survival? What about animals that have been captured from the wild? Do they just view their confines with acceptance seeing that they are provided for or do they long for the places they were born? Many scientists explain that because animals are always on the move searching for new sources of food that it is easy for them to adapt to an environment that provides all of their basic needs. It is almost like relief to them because life in the wild is quite precarious. Captivity being a safe haven where they are guaranteed protection from predators and three square meals. Also, animals generally don't stray too far from a habitat that meets their needs anyway. They don't tend to head off on great expeditions or have sudden urges to vacay in the Bahamas. Perhaps there I have come to my conclusion. This is how I feel today. I do want the all expense paid trip to the Bahamas.
I live in an animated world. I am not making any sense today. :) I am back at my novel but it endlessly pisses me off because it won't fly no matter what. I might just have to start smoking again. I was far more creative when I could just drink a bottle of cheap whatever and smoke until the ashtray overflowed and the sun came up. Voila! My manifesto piled on the table, a tribute to my impoverished lungs.
I have decided to accept the conspiracy. Stockholm Syndrome. Sometimes I write things that make sense to me in my head at the time. I wish I had no boundaries. That is the major difference between writing a journal and writing on here. I wish I had a sparkly clever topic to discuss. But my insides are so dazzled right now that I couldn't write it down even if I took a month of Sundays. Not to do any of it justice that is. What is wrong with me, I need an obscenely large cup of coffee or maybe a jolt cola. Something to wipe this damn grin off my face. Geezus. This is when I regret quitting smoking the most. When I am fidgety and nervous, about nothing. This is also my most vulnerable time of the year and I recognize that. My flighty, agitated state proves it. Spring fever. It's like something in me is fighting me tooth and nail to escape, a giant tiger cat pacing, a ball of liquid fire.
Can't shake this feeling. Damn it, writer's block.
Oprah once said that we should make a list of all of the things that we wanted to experience in this life while we are still alive. I was thinking about this the other day because I have realized that I don't want to leave this world the way that I am right now. I feel unfinished. I feel like you are only given one life, one chance at bat. So here is my list:
1. Take a hot air balloon ride
2. Go snow shoeing
3. Learn how to sail
4. Go snorkeling
5. Visit the tidepools and swim with dolphins
6. Skydive again
7. Make snow angels
8. See the castles of Britain/Scotland
9. Swim in an ocean with white sand
10. Go whale watching in Alaska
11. Learn to tango
12. Go to a luau on the beach in Hawaii
13. See the rainforest
14. Go to Mardi Gras
15. Touch an iceberg
16. Ride a camel
17. Explore a pyramid
18. Paddle the Amazon River (is this possible? I have always wondered.)
19. See the Coliseum and the Parthenon in Greece
20. Visit my friends overseas
21. Go to the Tomato Festival in Spain and watch a bull fight
22. Meet each of my rock star status authors
23. See the Taj Mahal
24. Visit Stonehenge
25. Write a monthly column for a popular magazine/paper.
I don't know how many are supposed to be on the list but these are my top 25 at the moment.
So there you have it. Even with writer's block I can still manage to take up all of the space in the blogroom.
And no, I won't go and undo two years of hard work by starting up with smoking again. This better be worth it though. I had better live at least forever.
There are so many little things that go forgotten but become cherished when a slight reminder suddenly gives the mind a hearty nudge. I love it when you can't tell just what is about to happen next. That is my favorite part of life.
The sidewalks are smoking. So are the rooftops. Like one giant WestSide Story poster and the jitterbug in my heart is screaming like it must be spring. But the weather is still refusing to break. Can't shake this feeling.
I am not making any sense today. I keep trying to write something. Writer's block. Blocked in, locked in, cooped up. Frustration! That is the main thing about writer's block. I could pour out meticulously all of these bright, masterpiece style ideas and they will still read simple and dull to my mind in the grip of writer's block. I could rival the works of Amis and Tennyson and still come off sounding more like Dr. Seuss. Maybe this isn't so bad. I will remain colloquial and satisfied.
I wonder if animals have a sense of freedom. For example, do animals that have been born in confinement still have that natural instinct? Can they sense that they are trapped or are they just accustomed to it? Does freedom mean little when they are provided with the main elements of survival? What about animals that have been captured from the wild? Do they just view their confines with acceptance seeing that they are provided for or do they long for the places they were born? Many scientists explain that because animals are always on the move searching for new sources of food that it is easy for them to adapt to an environment that provides all of their basic needs. It is almost like relief to them because life in the wild is quite precarious. Captivity being a safe haven where they are guaranteed protection from predators and three square meals. Also, animals generally don't stray too far from a habitat that meets their needs anyway. They don't tend to head off on great expeditions or have sudden urges to vacay in the Bahamas. Perhaps there I have come to my conclusion. This is how I feel today. I do want the all expense paid trip to the Bahamas.
I live in an animated world. I am not making any sense today. :) I am back at my novel but it endlessly pisses me off because it won't fly no matter what. I might just have to start smoking again. I was far more creative when I could just drink a bottle of cheap whatever and smoke until the ashtray overflowed and the sun came up. Voila! My manifesto piled on the table, a tribute to my impoverished lungs.
I have decided to accept the conspiracy. Stockholm Syndrome. Sometimes I write things that make sense to me in my head at the time. I wish I had no boundaries. That is the major difference between writing a journal and writing on here. I wish I had a sparkly clever topic to discuss. But my insides are so dazzled right now that I couldn't write it down even if I took a month of Sundays. Not to do any of it justice that is. What is wrong with me, I need an obscenely large cup of coffee or maybe a jolt cola. Something to wipe this damn grin off my face. Geezus. This is when I regret quitting smoking the most. When I am fidgety and nervous, about nothing. This is also my most vulnerable time of the year and I recognize that. My flighty, agitated state proves it. Spring fever. It's like something in me is fighting me tooth and nail to escape, a giant tiger cat pacing, a ball of liquid fire.
Can't shake this feeling. Damn it, writer's block.
Oprah once said that we should make a list of all of the things that we wanted to experience in this life while we are still alive. I was thinking about this the other day because I have realized that I don't want to leave this world the way that I am right now. I feel unfinished. I feel like you are only given one life, one chance at bat. So here is my list:
1. Take a hot air balloon ride
2. Go snow shoeing
3. Learn how to sail
4. Go snorkeling
5. Visit the tidepools and swim with dolphins
6. Skydive again
7. Make snow angels
8. See the castles of Britain/Scotland
9. Swim in an ocean with white sand
10. Go whale watching in Alaska
11. Learn to tango
12. Go to a luau on the beach in Hawaii
13. See the rainforest
14. Go to Mardi Gras
15. Touch an iceberg
16. Ride a camel
17. Explore a pyramid
18. Paddle the Amazon River (is this possible? I have always wondered.)
19. See the Coliseum and the Parthenon in Greece
20. Visit my friends overseas
21. Go to the Tomato Festival in Spain and watch a bull fight
22. Meet each of my rock star status authors
23. See the Taj Mahal
24. Visit Stonehenge
25. Write a monthly column for a popular magazine/paper.
I don't know how many are supposed to be on the list but these are my top 25 at the moment.
So there you have it. Even with writer's block I can still manage to take up all of the space in the blogroom.
And no, I won't go and undo two years of hard work by starting up with smoking again. This better be worth it though. I had better live at least forever.
There are so many little things that go forgotten but become cherished when a slight reminder suddenly gives the mind a hearty nudge. I love it when you can't tell just what is about to happen next. That is my favorite part of life.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Socks and Baseballs
Quote for today: I want the frosting left off the spoon that iced the Cake of the World.
So we have moved and survived. Life continues and now I can sit on my couch and eat bon bons all day long. Like Marie Antoinette, I mean if I had a couch that is. I thought this quote was appropriate because it explains what I feel right now. I am definitely excited, sort of like a champagne that has yet to pop. That is how I feel. I know, I am weirdly insane or at least on the brink. It is the kind of feeling you get when you are in anticipation of something. I just don't know what it is exactly that I am waiting for. Maybe I am just excited to buy new furniture. I don't know, but my gears are spinning again and that is what inevitably builds up the bubbly in me. I really live in this silly, odd, little world. I am not really composed of the stuff it takes to be serious or worrisome. I have to express myself differently and a lot of the time this comes across as plain silliness, eccentricity and maybe a bit loony bins. I promise though that I am not losing my mind. I am more like the duck that believes in her own rare sanity amidst a world of quacks. And I just can't be serious in this life, please don't ask me to be! Especially in the grip of such a light, giddiness that I can't quite understand. Like the winter that seems to never want to let us go. How is that funny? It's almost like a quirky epic poem. Oh neverending winter!!! The satire is nearly complete. Yet without love, we will never be free of such a turbulent storm!! ha ha! Can't you just see me here? In this tower, sort of like Rapunzel except I cut my hair off and then realized that layers are just not my style because they make my face look really fat. Not really a mad scientist. Although the effect could very well be the same. At least I brushed my hair. Life to me is really just a farcical charade, a play that I did not memorize my lines for and so I deliver them in that same doubled over fashion as though this were the first time around and I were laughing as much as the stagehand. I wish I could be the stagehand, maybe I would have more composure and find my own way in the world. Maybe I could then set the stage for what is meant to be and perhaps then I wouldn't keep tripping over the curtain.
I did make it though, I have moved. And now I live on Planet Suburbia where everyone has matching hot tubs and playcenters in their backyards and the MomBrigade hangs out in the cul de sac watching each other and sipping their coffee like substances. It is as though I have moved right into Wisteria Lane. At least as far as I can tell so far. I am going to try not to judge although I did notice a bit of the Stepford Wife coming on in me before I quashed it directly and succinctly. I love the house though and I am loving the extra room since my baby girl was starting to take over every inch of breathing space available in the other house.
Also, my sister is getting married in October. So now it is my duty as the maid of honor to put on the wedding shower. If this doesn't keep me busy enough then certainly her Bridal Bootcamp will. Apparently we bridesmaids are now all enlisted and we get to sit through torturous hours of scrapbooking, sewing and who knows what all else as she supervises. I have dubbed her BrideKong and this to me is the funniest thing in the world and I actually can't type for a few minutes because I am rolling on the floor laughing so hard at myself. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! I didn't realize this before but bridesmaid has the word maid in it and this does not sit well with me. Especially since I get to be the Maid of honour. Does this sound a bit fishy to you? I guess it is better than being called the brideslaves. I don't really know how I would feel about that although after she shouts, "Again!!!" and "No soup for you!" I think that is exactly what we are going to begin to feel like anyway. Now isn't it ironic that this is the second wedding that I have ever been in and I am wearing yet another black dress.
My daughter is now reminding me that Planet Earth is a good place to come back to and that the real world is waiting impatiently for me to get on with it. In other words, it's lunchtime and that waits for no man. I should think that I would want to live life like she does. All she has been playing with all morning is a pair of her socks and a baseball that she randomly found. I think life should be that simple. Adieu! Adieu all!
So we have moved and survived. Life continues and now I can sit on my couch and eat bon bons all day long. Like Marie Antoinette, I mean if I had a couch that is. I thought this quote was appropriate because it explains what I feel right now. I am definitely excited, sort of like a champagne that has yet to pop. That is how I feel. I know, I am weirdly insane or at least on the brink. It is the kind of feeling you get when you are in anticipation of something. I just don't know what it is exactly that I am waiting for. Maybe I am just excited to buy new furniture. I don't know, but my gears are spinning again and that is what inevitably builds up the bubbly in me. I really live in this silly, odd, little world. I am not really composed of the stuff it takes to be serious or worrisome. I have to express myself differently and a lot of the time this comes across as plain silliness, eccentricity and maybe a bit loony bins. I promise though that I am not losing my mind. I am more like the duck that believes in her own rare sanity amidst a world of quacks. And I just can't be serious in this life, please don't ask me to be! Especially in the grip of such a light, giddiness that I can't quite understand. Like the winter that seems to never want to let us go. How is that funny? It's almost like a quirky epic poem. Oh neverending winter!!! The satire is nearly complete. Yet without love, we will never be free of such a turbulent storm!! ha ha! Can't you just see me here? In this tower, sort of like Rapunzel except I cut my hair off and then realized that layers are just not my style because they make my face look really fat. Not really a mad scientist. Although the effect could very well be the same. At least I brushed my hair. Life to me is really just a farcical charade, a play that I did not memorize my lines for and so I deliver them in that same doubled over fashion as though this were the first time around and I were laughing as much as the stagehand. I wish I could be the stagehand, maybe I would have more composure and find my own way in the world. Maybe I could then set the stage for what is meant to be and perhaps then I wouldn't keep tripping over the curtain.
I did make it though, I have moved. And now I live on Planet Suburbia where everyone has matching hot tubs and playcenters in their backyards and the MomBrigade hangs out in the cul de sac watching each other and sipping their coffee like substances. It is as though I have moved right into Wisteria Lane. At least as far as I can tell so far. I am going to try not to judge although I did notice a bit of the Stepford Wife coming on in me before I quashed it directly and succinctly. I love the house though and I am loving the extra room since my baby girl was starting to take over every inch of breathing space available in the other house.
Also, my sister is getting married in October. So now it is my duty as the maid of honor to put on the wedding shower. If this doesn't keep me busy enough then certainly her Bridal Bootcamp will. Apparently we bridesmaids are now all enlisted and we get to sit through torturous hours of scrapbooking, sewing and who knows what all else as she supervises. I have dubbed her BrideKong and this to me is the funniest thing in the world and I actually can't type for a few minutes because I am rolling on the floor laughing so hard at myself. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! I didn't realize this before but bridesmaid has the word maid in it and this does not sit well with me. Especially since I get to be the Maid of honour. Does this sound a bit fishy to you? I guess it is better than being called the brideslaves. I don't really know how I would feel about that although after she shouts, "Again!!!" and "No soup for you!" I think that is exactly what we are going to begin to feel like anyway. Now isn't it ironic that this is the second wedding that I have ever been in and I am wearing yet another black dress.
My daughter is now reminding me that Planet Earth is a good place to come back to and that the real world is waiting impatiently for me to get on with it. In other words, it's lunchtime and that waits for no man. I should think that I would want to live life like she does. All she has been playing with all morning is a pair of her socks and a baseball that she randomly found. I think life should be that simple. Adieu! Adieu all!
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