It's been a few days since I last blogged, which disappoints me greatly. My original intentions were to blog daily for 30 days, but I fell miserably short of my goal. Nonetheless, despite the failure, I am going to try, try again until I hit my goal. Welcome to day one, revisited.
It was a lovely day today, though I managed to stayed cooped up for 90% of it. The more amusing part of being stuck in the house, is that I accomplished virtually NOTHING.
Ugh. Dinner is prepared, master, I must depart.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
I've been sitting at this computer for fifteen minutes now, staring blankly at this large, white box. The only things I hear in the background are a low rumbling from the gut of our beloved attack Pomeranian, and the sounds of the Wii piping "nice spare" as Katie swings her arm toward the sensor.
I've not done much today, just worked, went to the grocery store, cooked dinner, read an adult education philosophy or two, and took a long, relaxing bath, yet my writer's block is hot and heavy today. And now, the bed calls me. Until next time.....
I've not done much today, just worked, went to the grocery store, cooked dinner, read an adult education philosophy or two, and took a long, relaxing bath, yet my writer's block is hot and heavy today. And now, the bed calls me. Until next time.....
Sunday, February 1, 2009
The Detriments of Lemonade
Alas, today was much better than yesterday. I felt as if I was on a long, miserable chain quest on Saturday, and ended up failing miserably. Today I vanquished at least one quest, and got the loot. I love my Wii. :)
I was able to smile today, even when my two-year-old swiftly dipped my cellular phone into a nice, cold glass of pink lemonade. After I fished the phone out of said beverage, it went the way of Disco...dead. No amount of drying and praying or CPR would bring that little teley phoney back to life. The excellent news, after a Grant, of course, is I'll be receiving a lovely new pearly-pink replacement in the mail by Tuesday.
Tonight it is sleep. Tomorrow it is work. Today is yet another day, and I live to see the next.
I was able to smile today, even when my two-year-old swiftly dipped my cellular phone into a nice, cold glass of pink lemonade. After I fished the phone out of said beverage, it went the way of Disco...dead. No amount of drying and praying or CPR would bring that little teley phoney back to life. The excellent news, after a Grant, of course, is I'll be receiving a lovely new pearly-pink replacement in the mail by Tuesday.
Tonight it is sleep. Tomorrow it is work. Today is yet another day, and I live to see the next.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Day Three...
Tired...so very tired...day three...nothing to say...just tired...and I bought some new prints to hang on the wall. The end.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Today I Blog for Music
Hello Digital World,
Today, I blog for music. It has such a magical way of transforming me. As I listen to my most favored melancholia-flavored piano tinkling and guitar plucking, I realize my mind begins to melt and not in the Dali soft clocks kind of way (or maybe it is). My Walls, Shelters, and Dividers begin to crumble, oh so slightly, like melting icicles on the trees and cars and buildings that I see from this ant sized window.
It is only when I hear these tunes that my pensive pen begins in her fervor, and excitedly I write! I scribble and scribe like a fornicating rabbit. Odd, I think, that my pen won't budge until I have utter silence broken by the woeful wailing of some acoustic storyteller. I've often been frightened to listen to music while I write for fear I would take on the artists voice; now I realize, that's just not the case. As Tori says, "sometimes I hear my voice, and it's been here, silent all these years". No more paper cups for me. These musical choices...they are a muse of mine, I suppose.
This discovery explains to me, in part, why it has been a challenge to listen to new artists as of late. I sit and listen, but can not absorb what it is, or why I'm listening to it. This confusion is agitating, aggravating, and angering. What a delight I have discovered in these undone mysteries! I find it fascinating, though, my brain and the secrets she hides away from you and from me. I hope over the course of the next 28 days to find out more about my voice and my vices.
Today I blog for music, and I thank her for showing me something new about myself.
Today, I blog for music. It has such a magical way of transforming me. As I listen to my most favored melancholia-flavored piano tinkling and guitar plucking, I realize my mind begins to melt and not in the Dali soft clocks kind of way (or maybe it is). My Walls, Shelters, and Dividers begin to crumble, oh so slightly, like melting icicles on the trees and cars and buildings that I see from this ant sized window.
It is only when I hear these tunes that my pensive pen begins in her fervor, and excitedly I write! I scribble and scribe like a fornicating rabbit. Odd, I think, that my pen won't budge until I have utter silence broken by the woeful wailing of some acoustic storyteller. I've often been frightened to listen to music while I write for fear I would take on the artists voice; now I realize, that's just not the case. As Tori says, "sometimes I hear my voice, and it's been here, silent all these years". No more paper cups for me. These musical choices...they are a muse of mine, I suppose.
This discovery explains to me, in part, why it has been a challenge to listen to new artists as of late. I sit and listen, but can not absorb what it is, or why I'm listening to it. This confusion is agitating, aggravating, and angering. What a delight I have discovered in these undone mysteries! I find it fascinating, though, my brain and the secrets she hides away from you and from me. I hope over the course of the next 28 days to find out more about my voice and my vices.
Today I blog for music, and I thank her for showing me something new about myself.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
The Cure for What Ails Me
Hello Digital World. Here I am again.
I've decided, in what is probably an irrational attempt at rationality, to start blogging at least once a day for one month. My hope is to take writer's block on a permanent vacation, and turn it in to a dirt-napper. My initial reasons for blogging haven't changed much since my first post last year; however, I have learned some new things about myself.
First, I'm a procrastinator (okay, that's not really new, per se). So much so, in fact, when I was very young I learned the definition of the Latin word 'cras'. I became utterly in love with the word and the way it flowed like fine silk from my childish lips. Cras...cras..cras... Tomorrow, indeed. Procrastinate became the first twenty-five cent word that adorned my lips. I was, and always will be, a procrastinator in the definitive sense.
Second, because I am exceptional at putting things off, I have tried journal/diary writing at various times during my life. The first time I began a diary, I had to be roughly five or six years old. The last time I put my hand to a diary was last month. No matter what I do, I just can't seem to scribe consistently. Maybe, thought I, something digital would help. Only time will tell.
Third, I suffer miserably from a decade (or more) long oppressive case of writer's block (again, no surprise here). Based upon the way I have calculated these figures, I've simply lost my damned touch (or interest, which I do not think is the case here) as a result of NOT writing regularly. If you practice a skill, you become better at it, right? That is the plan here.
Honestly, none of these 'new' things were a surprise to me; however, for some reason, the reality of these facts astonished me and left me awestruck. I suppose the first step to recovery is admitting the addictive behavior or actualizing the problem. So I did, and so shall I write.
I've decided, in what is probably an irrational attempt at rationality, to start blogging at least once a day for one month. My hope is to take writer's block on a permanent vacation, and turn it in to a dirt-napper. My initial reasons for blogging haven't changed much since my first post last year; however, I have learned some new things about myself.
First, I'm a procrastinator (okay, that's not really new, per se). So much so, in fact, when I was very young I learned the definition of the Latin word 'cras'. I became utterly in love with the word and the way it flowed like fine silk from my childish lips. Cras...cras..cras... Tomorrow, indeed. Procrastinate became the first twenty-five cent word that adorned my lips. I was, and always will be, a procrastinator in the definitive sense.
Second, because I am exceptional at putting things off, I have tried journal/diary writing at various times during my life. The first time I began a diary, I had to be roughly five or six years old. The last time I put my hand to a diary was last month. No matter what I do, I just can't seem to scribe consistently. Maybe, thought I, something digital would help. Only time will tell.
Third, I suffer miserably from a decade (or more) long oppressive case of writer's block (again, no surprise here). Based upon the way I have calculated these figures, I've simply lost my damned touch (or interest, which I do not think is the case here) as a result of NOT writing regularly. If you practice a skill, you become better at it, right? That is the plan here.
Honestly, none of these 'new' things were a surprise to me; however, for some reason, the reality of these facts astonished me and left me awestruck. I suppose the first step to recovery is admitting the addictive behavior or actualizing the problem. So I did, and so shall I write.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
The Monster Sleeps At Last!
Ten minutes ago, I stifled the screams of excitement until they came out the other side of my body....fart...Why do I dance around the house in silent, yet bubbly glee? He sleeps, at last! I thought it would never happen.
The other one is still sleeping, but his sleeping beyond noon comes as no shock. I think the daylight hours burn his eyes--bastard! I want to sit on his chest, bounce up and down, and crush the very snores out of him as I shout "get the fuck up and do something" as loudly as I can. Ah, that's a rant for yet another day.
The girl, without much sense in her head, is out adventuring in the icy slush. No school for her today, so she's being a shutter-bug. As she is braving the outdoors, snapping lovely pictures of the frozen neighborhood, I'm thankful that she actually bundled up and put a coat and scarf on.
And I, I sit here at home typing away on my keyboard, relishing in the opportunity to write--even if I am just venting. Why am I at home, typing? I decided I wasn't going in to work today because of the treacherous roads. Amazing, I think. I'm still shocked that I didn't go in. And now, I draw to close. I'm going to go wake that bastard up.
The other one is still sleeping, but his sleeping beyond noon comes as no shock. I think the daylight hours burn his eyes--bastard! I want to sit on his chest, bounce up and down, and crush the very snores out of him as I shout "get the fuck up and do something" as loudly as I can. Ah, that's a rant for yet another day.
The girl, without much sense in her head, is out adventuring in the icy slush. No school for her today, so she's being a shutter-bug. As she is braving the outdoors, snapping lovely pictures of the frozen neighborhood, I'm thankful that she actually bundled up and put a coat and scarf on.
And I, I sit here at home typing away on my keyboard, relishing in the opportunity to write--even if I am just venting. Why am I at home, typing? I decided I wasn't going in to work today because of the treacherous roads. Amazing, I think. I'm still shocked that I didn't go in. And now, I draw to close. I'm going to go wake that bastard up.
Monday, January 26, 2009
And So It Goes
This need, this wanton desire to scribe--it won't go away--it gnaws upon this soul like a rabid beast. I can not evade it, nor avoid it, even when I use the strongest of my defensive, evasive techniques.
When I settle down to pen, and I place dripping ink to paper my heavy hand quivers like flesh being pierced. I become enveloped in wordlessness...What do you say when the absence of words and time suffocates you? You say "nothing", and go about your day-to-day routine. And I find myself here again, between rushing to work, chasing children, and sleeping.
The lady is still buried, beneath the sands of life. Occasionally, in five minute increments once in a 7 month period, she escapes.
When I settle down to pen, and I place dripping ink to paper my heavy hand quivers like flesh being pierced. I become enveloped in wordlessness...What do you say when the absence of words and time suffocates you? You say "nothing", and go about your day-to-day routine. And I find myself here again, between rushing to work, chasing children, and sleeping.
The lady is still buried, beneath the sands of life. Occasionally, in five minute increments once in a 7 month period, she escapes.
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