I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to do next. I’ve got about 40 good years left if I’m lucky. If I am really lucky all of them will be good, mobile, thinking years.
I want to be an automechanic and a lawyer; a web designer and a photographer. Only the first two do I want to do because of money. the other two because i just want to be good at them; sort of like I want to be good at piano. Except with the piano I feel like I already know that my fingers just will not do what I want them to do. They don’t stretch to hit the right keys. I can only play the music if it’s already written and even then my ability to read what is written is questionable. If I just practiced more I would be better but at what point do you say to yourself, I really am no good at this and practice won’t make me any better it will just help me maintain my current level of mediocrity. I live in the mediocre. I want to be fantastically good at something but I don’t want to have to work at it anymore.
I’m so sick of working hard. I dream of getting rid of my possessions and living in an rv with my dogs. and doing whatever I want to do. The only problem with that is I know that it wouldn’t take long for me to get really really sick of working even harder to figure out my day to day existence. I imagine that what I would really do is lay around for a couple of weeks doing absolutely as little as possible. I’d probably waste away from not eating or drinking because that is entirely too much work. Even having the dogs would be too much responsibility for how I feel. But having the dogs would be the only reason to keep getting up in the morning. They depend on me. I invited them in and I could not abandon them because I got tired of taking care.
I wonder if those thoughts are a prelude to a depression or if it’s just clear indication that there is a void in my life that I don’t have any clue how to fill.
I am at the doctor’s office. I dont like going to the doctor although I like my doctor very much. She’s very compassionate, empathetic, takes time to talk to me. More important, she listens to me.
But still the idea that she will find something wrong (more than the minor complaint that brings me to the office) always gives me significant pause.
Then there is the idea that she might tell me that my health might require me to do something that i don’t want or am not ready to do.
I guess i better just get over it. I hate not feeling well.
There is an artistry in friendship. Friendship as a means to an end is not an art. To want someone’s friendship only as a stepping stone to what you really want but will not say is not an art. To claim friendship and abandon it at the first or second sign of something shinier, is that art?
Friendship as a fall back postion, is that art?
Art is the physical, visual, or aural manifestation of a single thought in time.
I ramble, I am uneasy in life today.
Today, I am tired of it. Ususally I brush it off as the non-sense that it is: the automatic fall back position of those who resent the fact that I will not dissappear into the floor because they have an opinion that differs from mine and I do not hesitate to actually believe that I might be right.
so it’s that I’m hostile. It gives them an excuse to behave the way they behave. I don’t deserve it so it’s bothering me right now. She was almost nice to me. Then she remembered she’s not suppose to like me. That makes me sad. That’s why it bothers me.
[hos-tl or, especially Brit.-tahyl]
- of, pertaining to, or characteristic of an enemy:a hostile nation.
opposed in feeling, action, or character; antagonistic: hostile criticism.
characterized by antagonism.
not friendly, warm, or generous; not hospitable.
Doesn’t even sound like me.
I drove 14 hours this summer on my way to a week’s vacation. The beginning– let’s say first four hours–were easy. My mind was awash with how far I’d gone, what I’d do when I’d get there, am I hungry, am I thirsty, am I good on gas, look at that car, this road is cool. The end –let’s say the last 2 hours –were about being close to the goal, only 2 more hours, do I have to use the bathroom, should I fill up before I get there so I don’t have to stop too soon on the way out, I hope I brought everything.
The middle part is a blur and it’s in that middle part where I imagine my mind was as close to quiet as it was going to get. By that middle part, not much about the journey was going to change, I just had to keep driving; keep my mileage steady, I wasn’t hungry, thirsty, or needing a break.
I feel that way right now. Like the brain is chugging away on its rails, doesn’t need a lot of watching, fiddling with, or tending. Yet, I get the sense that the light and sound that I sort of hear off in the distance might be important but all I can do is keep chugging on my present course and adjust when I have more details.
That is all.
I want to write a TV show. about a newspaper. old auburn ave feel. and i want it to be about stuff like urban sprawl. regentrification. innercity and outercity politics. mass transit. drug trade. death penalty. prison industrial complex. gay marriage/gay adoption/gay gayness. passing the torch. family dynamics. interracial marriage. suburbia. downtown. and more…
1st season- 7 characters introduced.
1 patriarch (owner of the newspaper)
2 his daughter (researcher, fact checker)
3 his son-in-law (new politician who wants to trade on newspaper contacts and history, idealist)
4 his wife (senior editor, has to be Alfre Woodard)
5 idealist beat reporter (just married, moving from downtown to suburbia)
6 new kid (writer who by mistake but with writing genius brought down a local political ‘gang’ with a series of articles on personal blog)
7 ?? (maybe six is enough)
I also want Tina Marjorino in it…
“I felt the kick, a slight shift of weight that wasn’t there before but is now” I put it in quotes because it is what I was thinking but then I thought someone (although, there is no one here!) might think there is a baby involved. There is not.
Words, developing meaning, slowly, like what was a feeling growing into something tangible, touchable, real. Not just one word. Thousands! Growing into sentences, paragraphs, chapters, one after another reborn, reincarnated, rearranged.
I’m reaching for it even when I think I’m not. It’s not a singular one time event, like once I have reached it, that’s it, that’s all. And sometimes it’s already washing over me and only then do I realize i’ve gotten it, unbidden. I still get to wonder over it, and sometimes it makes me cry with the realization and the joy of it; the clear indication of something real surrounding, enfolding, infusing me with light and life.
I admit it. I don’t know what I am doing a lot of the time. It’s not that I don’t know things and stuff but rather that I don’t know how to put what I know into a useful and accessible format for consumption.
I have this blog on which I write things that cross my mind and I don’t know what to do with it. I want to do a number of things but when it comes to sitting down and doing the things, I can’t seem to grip on what the “things” are that I want to do. As a result, I end up doing nothing which is a self-perpetuating circle of nothing ness.
How do I make the leap from thinking about doing a thing to actually doing a thing?
That is all.
There are nights I cannot or will not sleep. I stay up; my mind a monster obsessively running like a mouse on a wheel. I want to get off, but I drink Coke instead and let the monster have it’s way.
The aftermath is not always predictable. Sometimes, I’ve gotten one step closer to understanding what ever it is that has been circulating in my head; usually a problem I want to solve or a thing I can’t understand but desperately need to in order to move on to the next step or the next thing or simply to lay an idea to rest.
And sometimes, like today, I end up looking like passing over into sleep is imminent. I crave a nap like I crave chocolate after a long time away from the treat. It becomes the one thing on my mind, the mouse wheel I climb on – nap nap nap nap nap. Around and around.
That is all.