Archive for category writing
So, where do you write? I wonder. I’m curious about other people’s habits – all of them, but for this post I’m mostly just thinking about writing. And wondering where you do it.
I used to write in my journal in bed before I fell asleep. I remember doing that from the time I was 10 years old. I would write in my little diary with a lock on the front, in the pitch dark and then try to read what I wrote the next morning. I was always a little surprised – and maybe a little disappointed – when it was fairly legible. What I actually had to say probably wasn’t all that interesting, I guess.
But now I write at the computer in the room in our house that most closely resembles an office. The office look due in large part to the built in bookcases framing the window, but mostly to the wood paneling from the original design when the house was built in 1954. We decorate it now with kitschy cross-stitch pictures or velvet paintings. Paint-by-numbers and burlap big-eyed kids adorn our wistful 70s walls.
Usually I compose in my head, the first paragraph or so, and when I can squeeze in a few consecutive minutes, I bang something out. Either when Lily’s watching a movie or fast asleep – the only two times a day when she doesn’t need to be actively engaged in things only a 3 year old requires; making shopping lists full of nothing but x’s and o’s, mailing works of art made of stickers and bingo paint pens.
But most recently, I’ve been typing up posts at work, if at all.
My therapist called a couple weeks ago to check on me. I haven’t been to see her in almost 2 months. I told her I had to cancel an appointment initially because of a scheduling conflict but that lately I just don’t feel the need. She said she thinks I’m in a good place and that she would tell me if she felt otherwise.
I feel in a pretty stable place, too, for the most part. I still have moments of disbelief, regret, feeling cheated out of my happy life, stupid sadness and grief, but I know what to do with those feelings when they come around now. I’ve learned how to just feel them. Let them have their way with me for just long enough before I gently scootch them back
into their own sad room until next time.
I’m what they call, good-natured. Generally I just want to be happy, pride myself on being fair minded and pleasant. That’s one of those things about me that hasn’t changed. It’s one of those core values that seems to be what has kept me from drowning in my own sorrow.
I simply don’t want to. Deep down, I am not the type of person made to not get back up. As tiring as that sounds.
On writing…or not writing so much but wishing I was writing. Wishing I was disciplined enough to get up before the family to organize some original thoughts outside of my head. It’s so hard to write with such a cluttered mind. I used to write when I had to for school. But I enjoyed it, even if it was only for specific assignments.
I’m reading Erica Jong’s biography for some reason, even though I’ve never read any of her books, and she’s doing a lot of talking about writing. Her desire to write, her writing process, the habits that kept her focused, specifically how she would write early in the morning before her daughter and husband were awake and before her thoughts became a jumbled mess. I can barely drag myself out of bed just in time to have a cup of coffee before I have to leave for work but I’d love to try her routine. Maybe I’ll try that this week. I even cleared off the kitchen table and bought a new table cloth to inspire myself. I look forward to the clarity of a freshly awoken mind.
I discovered an artist on Etsy today. Her name is elsita and she also has a website here and here. I’m just enamored. Her stuff is beautiful! I have two lovely wooden picture frames just waiting for one of her papercut designs and a drawing. Just waiting…
I love the one called Anatomy of a Young Girl and the other one called Just Be…if you wanted to know.
This has been such a nice afternoon. I’m baking Pumpernickel bread in the bread machine (although it doesn’t really look like it’s rising and I don’t know what could’ve gone wrong but it still has an hour to rise so maybe I’m being a little premature) while David and Dale are leaf blowing the front yards. It’s nice to have a neighbor to do stuff with, even if I’m not the one actually doing anything. Dale got a hold of an electric leaf blower and they decided to combine forces. It’s taken them about an hour to bag almost 30 bags per yard. Holy crap that’s a lot of leaves and I seriously doubt we would’ve done anywhere near the same job if we’d have done it ourselves. Considering I’m 8 months pregnant and lazy as it is and neither one of us really cares that much about a yard full of leaves. I’m happy to have it done for the neighborhood’s sake, though. It makes us look more respectable, no?
Anyway, what a lovely day. David will be tired and content tonight, Lily hasn’t been yelled at once today, I don’t think, and I feel like I’ve had some quality home time. Everyone’s happy.
I realized yesterday at the grocery store, while trying to pay for my food, that I’d misplaced my debit card. Luckily I had cash on me at the moment so I was able to still pay for my swag (and also lucky I was able to scrounge up enough the second time it happened that same day). So after racking my brain trying to remember the last place I used it, I remembered. It was at the liquor store Friday night where I bought 2 bottles of wine to celebrate not being laid off from my job. I couldn’t envision the exact moment but was sure that was it.
I was going to check my desk before calling the bank, though. Then David said the bank called me already and left a message for me on his phone. The customer service person confirmed my suspicions and told me that it had, in fact, been called in by the guy at Yorkshire Liquors. It’s my favorite liquor store to go to, especially when I don’t know what to get but have something in mind. Everything he’s ever suggested has been great. I don’t even try anymore, I just go in and tell him what we’re eating or cooking and he asks for a price range. He’s an older gentleman but I do think he’s sort of flirting with me. It makes me feel good, I must admit.
Anyway, the customer service girl told me that normal procedure when a card had been found was they cancel the card and make me order a new one. “But,” she said. “They said they knew you very well,” she said, “that you come in at least once a week.” Oh. really? Once a week?
Anyway. What the hell? I am not either. I mean, I’m sure I’m there a couple times a month but, pff, whatevah.
So I picked up another bottle on my way home from work today. I got the stick wine. It’s delicious.
I’ve always wanted to be a regular somewhere.
Going through some older things I wrote back when we lived in Phoenix sans child (i.e., sans responsibilities) I found this funny entry.
I thought it was funny, anyway.
It was 2004 or 2005, so not like a century ago or anything but a lifetime mentally. I’m including it here, uncensored…unedited. Just remember, I thought I was hardcore back then so I laced the F-word through the threads of my language as if I had something to prove; as if words were the meaning of that something. Okay, I still do, but not in writing…for the most part. Excuse moi.
christmas at the office
so i work for a shipping company and we are so busy right now. not that anyone would want to hear about my crappy job, it’s pretty dull if you’re not in it, but i’m so fucking in it that i can hardly stand it and you’re totally about to hear about it (enough inappropriate prepostions for you?). this is the busiest time of year, by far, and i’m tired. only one more day until it’s all over and i can finally relax and have a lovely holiday w/my lovely asshole, i mean, husband (this isn’t the standard sentiment, i swear).
we shipped our family’s gifts today, which should deliver tomorrow. yes, we waited until the l a s t possible minute and i have every confidence our things will deliver. maybe not by 10:30, but certainly tomorrow, despite all the calls i take all day declaring we didn’t do just that for them. i’m like a professional doormat.
outside of the customers, though, there’s an interesting dynamic in my office worthy of discussion. today, for instance, our managers were randomly giving out gifts. i won this brass picture frame shaped like a school house that had 12 slots for pictures from each grade. my first thought was that i’d never be able to gather together that many pictures of myself, and surely, hopefully, i’d permenantly destroyed my 7th grade picture – the one w/flybacks when they were so not cool and old lady glasses my mother helped me pick out w/the pink tint in the lense. the frame wasn’t for pictures of myself, though, i was told it was for my “first born” and i should put it in my hope chest because it was so me. how it was me, i have no idea, since i thought it was hideous, but whatever. that’s not the point. i convinced this dude who just had a kid to trade me for the insense he got. he was like, “my wife’s allergic to all kinds of smells, anyway.” and i was all, “whatever that means”. are folks allergic to smells? she probably got nauseous easily while she was pregnant not long ago and he’s still confused. one of my other co-workers got a flashlight; she tried to trade w/me but i wasn’t having it, knowing i could do better.
we’re so busy that everyone’s all stressed out so “management” is working really hard to keep the morale up way sky high. it’s working, i guess, because no one’s killed anyone else yet and the gossip is at a strange low. we’re obviously just the right amount of busy because we’re what they call banding together and internal issues are not an issue. every day there’s a little something to look forward to, on top of the thrill of seeing what everyone else wears for “vest day” or “crazy sock day” so we can wear jeans instead of stuffy old slacks and skirts. the santa hats were out of hand on “hat day” and i swear to fucking christ if there’s another “christmas attire” day, i’m going to have to call someone a tool straight to their face. i’ll do it. okay, no i won’t, but i’ll think it.
david’s trying to get weed as we speak, so i’m sure it’ll all be forgotten in no time. in time for tomorrow, hopefully. absofuckinglutely.
[Get it? Absolutely positively…get it? Oh, nevermind.]
I read this and wonder why I even bother. I’m not terribly witty on paper…not all too witty in life either. I tend to be very dense and insanely literal, if you insist. So I’m not sure what I’m doing here, in this virtual world full of interesting, funny, witty people.
“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself,” you say. “You’re comparing yourself to someone who’s been doing this a long time,” you say. “A writer,” you add.
“Yes,” I say. “A real live writer,” I mutter.
All this to say, it is not due to my delusional belief that I am all that interesting, funny or witty, that I am here with you this day (and the others).
Just so you know. Just so we’re clear.