Seriously. I think all I need to do is forget about sleeping before midnight. 5 hours is more than enough….
Seriously. I think all I need to do is forget about sleeping before midnight. 5 hours is more than enough….
Feeling philosophical and introspective is an indulgence for me.
I revel in the moments when I feel like I understand the core of my being….or the human condition…or when I muse on the meaning of life and the origin of happiness. My ego feels free to tell me that I’m more intelligent for it..that because I’m taking the time to pamper whatever narcissistic tendencies I may have, I am, in essence, having a “me day”
I’ve noticed, though…that it can be just as nice to not be in that frame of mind.
Oh, it’s quite intellectually stimulating to discuss with someone (or, to be frank with my introverted self–to talk to myself) weighty issues and important feelings and….yes, disgustingly, even politics. But it can be just as pleasant to be lost in the day and let your experiences wash over you…no matter how small and mundane.
I’ve been feeling guilty about not pouring out my emotions on these pages lately….I’ve been feeling trite…and less intelligent. And boring.
But, hell. It’s not so bad sometimes…to just be for a little while.
Besides…there’s always 2 o’clock in the morning for that sort of nonsense.
I’m not sure why I do it…but I always seem to be living my life counting the days to some distant next event.
Looking forward to something to come is one thing…when you are excited for the next upcoming holiday…or a vacation that you’ve been planning. Knowing you are going to be moving several months from now….and so therefore never doing anything with your life because–why bother?–is not a good or healthy thing to do.
I mean..I’m not depressed. I’m not anxious. I’m just easily distracted and prone to procrastination. I know I’m going somewhere for the weekend…so what do I do? Pretty much nothing until the weekend. Work. Eat. Sleep. Get through.
I keep thinking that it can’t be a good thing.
And yet…I’m not uncomfortable. The time passes by more quickly because I’m looking forward to something.
I do feel a bit guilty, though…like I should be making the most of every moment and savoring life and smelling roses and whatnot…
But, still. Why feel guilty if I derive comfort from looking toward the horizon?
So, yes…I’m copping out and not writing an actual entry…but only for time because I’m rattling an idea in my head….and it’s almost midnight.
Looking for some ideas, I started looking online at some public domain vintage photos. The stories that they tell have always fascinated me…and I have long wanted to write about some of those. I need to be in a better frame of mind.
looking at these photos, though….I am definitely losing myself. I can see myself staying up for four more hours. And I have to be up in 6…lol
So, I guess…watch this space. And thank you for your patience.
There’s always another one around the corner.
And the self-loathing continues
Not really, though. To be quite honest, I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long time. So self-loathing is not an accurate description of my general sensibilities…more like..self deprecating.
I’m fine with that. A healthy dose of self-deprecation is appropriate. It’s the modern equivalent of humility. Especially when it’s given without the expectation of compliments.
I rarely fish for that sort of thing, although it has not been beyond me in the past.
Getting back to the happiness, though..I think it’s a fair topic for discussion.
Okay, so there’s giddiness. Most of us have been there. It’s thrilling and makes you feel young and causes those flutters that we all have fantasized about ever since whichever Disney film or romantic comedy is your first. The excitement of something new…when everything is just perfect because your imagination is automatically filling in the blanks. When you overlook any red flags and experience butterflies at every little text and sideways glance. It’s imagining the future as some glossed over utopia, where every day makes you feel like Ozzy and Harriet or maybe the love-story element from Deadpool….whichever you find most rousing.
The only downside to giddiness, though, is the fleeting nature of it.
Sometimes you fly to the highest heights, only to bruise yourself with the thud of its sudden disappearance. We all know this going in. But the soaring heights usually thin out the senses and numb the brain just enough to keep those looming thoughts out. It can be painful when it goes away so quickly.
With luck on your side, the descent is gradual; and you become slowly accustomed to the atmospheric changes and settle down from blissful into comfortable. The sweetness never dulls and never goes away–but mellows and turns into warmth and tenderness.
But what if you started off with the mellow tenderness? What if those first weeks and months feel as familiar and comforting as a favorite song?
What if, from those very first days, you are allowed to feel the rushing flutters…but instead welcome them as an old friend–one who you trust to the ends of the earth…and not some visiting stranger?
What if the warmth comes first? If you feel enveloped in a duvet of kindness, familiarity and kinship from the very first day….and yet still are able to carry on your daily duties and responsibilities without acting like a buffoon? What if you feel safe and sane and level-headed….while still smiling sweetly in remembrance of a stolen moment or a prolonged glance?
And what if, several months later, you feel just as happy as you did the first day…even without dancing on clouds?
And who decides whether you’re dancing on clouds or not anyway? An intimate slow dance, pressing your cheek to his shoulder, is no less heightened than a frantic and jolly romp around the dance floor.
Isn’t it the very thing we hope and wish for? That the end result will be the warmth and safety and comfort? Even if we never sat at the top of the roller coaster? After all, sharp corners can hurt. Gentle slopes and turns feel so much more important.
I submit that steadiness and happiness need not be mutually exclusive. And there doesn’t have to be a second shoe that drops. Your happiness can be everything you have ever wanted–really wanted–without feeling like you’ve missed out on some grand adventure. Because you haven’t. The best and most luminous of adventures are those that go on and on…and live in the imagination and heart forever.
After all, basking in a soothing and restorative ray of sunshine can be just as thrilling as the dangerous drama of being caught in a romantic thunderstorm.
And you can still have the thunderstorm. While you cling to each other…so real and true in yourselves that grand shows and the theater of courtship seem like childish and unnecessary games.
And in the morning, the sun will still rise and your phone will still light up with the same good morning as it always has. And the butterflies will still visit when it does.
I’ve come to the conclusion in the last ten minutes that writing at night is probably not the best way for me to achieve my little November goal, while also actually writing something of significance.
The truth is, I’m really tired right now. And I got distracted by a reddit post about the Nerdfighteria becoming too judgemental and overly offended by everything….something I had originally intended to write about but am now a little bit exhausted by. I do think it’s an important issue..and I definitely need to get some thoughts out about it. But tonight, like all the other nights in November so far, will not be the night.
I can see myself meandering quite a bit on any issue I’ve been agonizing about or preoccupied with. While I do still consider that a very good thing, I am just so intimidated by the path it will take if I’m not careful…and in order to be careful I want to take my time and (likely) spend hours hashing it out.
Maybe it’s procrastination. I mean, it definitely is procrastination. I’m a level 42 procrastinator, after all.
But, as a level 42 lazy person….I’m tired. I’m laying in bed. I have to drive 2 hours to work tomorrow morning. And I am feeling very whiny and all, “don’t wanna” about writing anything significant at the moment.
This has been a theme so far this month, I know. And I do hope to change it.
And in the true spirit of advanced and professional-grade procrastination, I’ll totally make it happen tomorrow.
I mean, maybe…
I mean…we’ll see how it goes.
Is writing about writer’s block 3 times in a row obnoxious?
Okay, then. I’ll write about the thing that is bugging me at the moment…
Why the hell did they change Bruce Banner to David Banner for the Hulk TV series? Was that really necessary?
About as necessary as remaking the same comic book characters every few years with different actors and storylines, thinking we’ll forget….or not notice..I guess?
That’s all I really needed to say.
We are a really odd species.
Okay, yes. I am crazy undisciplined. Today only being day 3…with me struggling to even put words down being my proof.
Bear with me, though.
I say this as much to whoever is reading this as I do to myself.
Wait….is that supposed to be “whomever”? OH MY GOD, who cares?
This week has been a giant suck-pile of stress. And it’s over. I’ve driven halfway across my state to be in my happy place….just to fall asleep holding hands in a little quiet studio…watching silly animated vampire movies and trying to get his semi-aloof little minx of a tuxedo cat to cuddle with me. Wasting time sitting on the stoop and playing mindless Ipad games….and looking forward to spending the whole weekend together with the least stressy part of my life.
I’m in heaven…and so I’m not really in the mood for an extended rant about the great 2017 War on Halloween…or some mysogynistic cheeto…or exes that make my skin crawl….or financial woes…or anything.
I’m just calm and happy and content.
Not really great fodder for ranty blog posts.
Maybe I’ll go on facebook tomorrow and see what I can find to stir up my heckles. Heh.
Admittedly, I’m still warming up…after all, it has been quite a while since I’ve gotten into the habit of writing regularly. Also, to be fair, it’s been a while since I’ve been doing anything with any regularity.
Some people are creatures of habit. Their daily routine follows a strict timeline…all parts of which need to be steady and on time in order to give comfort and balance. I do envy those who find comfort in sticking to a routine….mostly because it must be easy enough to achieve that happiness. All you have to do is be disciplined and follow your own guidelines…guidelines which are the very thing that gives you your comfort. Basically, all you need to do to feel well and happy is to do what makes you feel well and happy.
I am far too inconsistent for that sort of enterprise. Not that I’m any sort of adventurer by any stretch….but I lack the discipline to do the things that would make me feel better about my surroundings and my life in general. I would feel much more in control of my life, for instance, if I could manage to get to sleep at the same time each night and wake up at the same time each morning. I really can’t though. I find myself exhausted at 9pm but for some reason stay up past 1 most nights…and struggle through my day in a haze, only really waking up fully around noon or so.
My routine, though, is made better by the company I keep. I have no problem being disciplined at work (most of the time)…and manage to finish the tasks I have set for myself by the end of the work day. I feel that this has a lot to do with the people I work with…and the workflow in general. I don’t usually have a problem with motivation there…whereas if I’m at home alone I can’t even tell you what time it is if you asked me at random.
When I’m staying with my boyfriend, who is incredibly disciplined, I find myself folding the towel precisely after my shower…and putting everything back in its rightful place just to keep the general order of things. Compared to him, I’m still very cluttery and disheveled and lacking order….but I am much improved by just his presence.
I only wish I could harness the motivation I have when I’m around him….to set my surroundings right when I’m at home. To fold my laundry instead of piling it in a basket for the whole week…and make my bed (which I’m horrible at doing)…and make myself meals when I’m hungry instead of grabbing the closest thing. I feel like I’m getting better…right up until I go back home…and then the clock seems to reset itself.
It’s really about time I do gain a sense of order, though. I’m 42 years old, not 21. I have the ability to be organized and disciplined. I do have some sense of willpower and responsibility.
I just need to learn to channel it better, I suppose.
And with that disorganized jumble of words, I conclude my second November entry. Heh.
Christ….it can’t even be called a baby step. Sigh.
I do find myself a bit shocked every time I log in to this blog, only to find that it’s been almost a year since I’ve updated. To be honest, I was spending most of the day putting off writing at all….which is strange, since internally all I ever really do is write.
Funny, that sentence has motivated me in some ways to form another, much longer post about my….what? process?
Ew. Even thinking it feels pretentious.
Still, though….as a writer, am I not entitled to an ounce of pretention? It’s not as though I’m imagining myself as an entertainer, gifting my beloved masses with the privilege of a glimpse into my gilded mind. I do consider writing an art, though not necessarily the writing I end up spattering onto a page or this screen.
I do feel lucky to be able to somewhat effectively express myself. I know I’m rusty and undisciplined and a bit too free with the rules of grammar. I know I relish in the run-on sentences that seem to express the way I really think more accurately….but I do feel free when I actually sit down and make myself do it. And I do, in fact, consider it a gift I should be more grateful to have.
Not to mention actually using it. And maybe even put it to good use.
To that end, I made a goal for myself. In the old days of blogs…when I was a part of the popular and ground-breaking Open Diary community…we used to have a November challenge of our own. Before (if my memory serves me correctly) the days of NaNoWriMo, in which a novelist attempts to complete an entire book in a month…we simply had NoWriMo; an opportunity to encourage ourselves to write every day in the month of November. This was more suited to those of us who have found no talents in the novel-writing arena.
Okay. I speak for myself on the no talent thing. I’m sure plenty of people who choose to write journals instead of novels are incredibly talented. I’m definitely not one of those people, though..
I have no talent for storylines. I can barely keep a cohesive thought on one track. And characterizations are not really something I’ve ever tried. The format I’ve always stuck to is the one that seems to suit me best. Formally, they can’t even be known as essays, even though I sometimes identify as an essayist. I even sometimes call myself a humorist, although that could be a stretch too.
These limitations (and many more) notwithstanding, I really do want to make a genuine effort to complete a month of the blogger’s old friend, NoWriMo….and write something every day.
It may turn out to bring the muse back to me….give me some much needed discipline again…and help me to improve the thing that I really enjoy the most, even if I avoid it most of the time.
Again…more on that soon, perhaps.
Happy November….and DFTBA