Verbosity has its Setbacks

I'm posting here, because my normal web journal is broken. Really, my "webjournal" is more of a diary. These posts are more fitting for a blog, mainly because they involve my musings and observations, whereas my other one has friends who actually read it and personal information.

I guess anything I write is personal.

Today, I read an interview with Chuck Klosterman. I became obsessed with Klosterman in college after obtaining Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs. He drew me in with his first sentence, "No woman will ever satisfy me." My 7th grade English teacher used to moonlight as an editor, and she said that the MAIN thing editors look for in a piece is a good first line. The hook. From that point on, I have always judged a book by its hook, which just sounds like some weird way of saying my favorite character is the villain from Peter Pan.

Klosterman is a good writer, a keen observer, and makes points in such an objective manner that even if I disagree with him, I still like him. He always makes me want to write.

Which brings me to the reason for this post. Last night, I was going through one of my stories, one where I have to do a search to find where I want to write and pick up at a certain juncture. However, I realized that what I thought I'd written in the story was actually something I'd written in one of...at least 5 different notebooks. Meaning I'd have to not only scour each notebook to find THAT part, but I would have to transfer that part over before I got to the addition I wanted to make to add on another Jenga piece to my writing.

That was frustrating, but I should take heart that I've done so much writing that I can't find the writing I want. I would rewrite what I wanted to say, but what I said at the time seemed so perfect that I wanted to see it, improve it, and then contribute more. I was also really tired, cranky, and had taken Benedryl for an allergic reaction. Excuses.

I have a lot of craft goals and such for Christmas, but as I am stinking broke/poor (I guess poor, since there isn't a big opportunity to save money, that being a distinction, right?), I think this is an excellent opportunity to go through said notebooks and just transfer everything over. It will be challenging, but it will be essentially free. I already paid the electric bill, so I might as well take advantage of it.

Excuses

It's raining outside.

Which leads to my question: why do I always find an excuse NOT to do chores/errands? To be fair, there are certain physical setbacks that happen. Ex: I have a headache right now.

I feel so good after accomplishing something! Whereas wasting time on the computer = boring, guilty, feeling bad about not being productive. Also, my mom likes to remind me I'm turning into my dad.

Then I get into the "I would if _________" or "I could if I had _________." It's not that I need more time, because all I do is waste it. What is keeping me from making incredible discoveries/crafts/etc? I blame the internet. I'm going to pretend I was more productive when I had dial up. Which is probably true.

This is turning into a serious and depressing post. I meant to prove a point, and instead I just got down on myself.

Screw it, you know what? I'm going to go do all those things (except laundry, because I can't carry ALL those clothes back and forth from the car and that IS a genuine concern).

I like griping to basically no one.

Empire Records

Good night, REO Speedwagon

A long, long time ago when I was in high school (which feels like another planet a lifetime ago), I went through an REO Speedwagon phase. I still have a soft spot for some of their songs. One I totally got over was "I Can't Fight This Feeling."

Tonight though, I am sick, completely exhausted from playing Goldmine on H's computer, and it's time to go to bed. So instead of someone finding the courage to take love into his own hands, I'm going to pretend this song is about sleeping.

"And I can't fight this feeling anymore

I've forgotten what I started fighting for

And if I have to crawl upon the floor

Come crashing through your door

Baby, I can't fight this feeling anymore."

Zzzzzzzzzzzz!

My Own Private Island

Living in the NW, I spent a lot of the changing seasons inside, because it was cold. Ironically, I live in the South now, and I still spend most of my time inside but instead because the outside world is on fire. Living here is sometimes like opposite day for me. Since I spent the majority of my days inside (although I did spend a lot of time outside whenever the weather was permitting), I would make up games or take Sesame Street's suggestion and "use my imagination" to pretend I was outside.

When my mom bought her first house, it looked like a 1960's or 1970's sitcom except worse. The whole house was pale yellow, puke/lime green with formica countertops in a fading nausea, sponge paint everywhere, and shag carpeting. She spent the first fifteen years of my life remodeling the house to make it ours. The last thing to go were the carpets which were in green and orange.

My Barbies tanned on our couches that resembled white beaches. When the Polly Pockets went on treks through the forest or had a picnic outside, they hiked across grass (curtesy of our puke green carpeting). The orange carpet in my bedroom was just carpet--try as we might, my bffs and I couldn't make it anything other than lava--but kids do that anyway. My mom even had a long blanket across her bed that was peach colored. Whenever she was doing laundry and her bed was bare, save for the peach blanket, I would sit on the bed and watch tv. During the commercials, I pretended I was in a desert. I always made sure to have a beverage on her side table as being in the desert and crawling from one side of her bed to the other was tiring. Pepsi was usually my first choice, but occasionally it was milk or water. Then I'd pretend the rest of the room was a mirage, and when I'd army crawl to the water, I'd finally found the drinking hole at the edge of the desert. Just in time, because the vultures were circling.

Now that I'm an adult, there's a similar game that happens, only it's slightly more lazy. Whenever my husband or I go out of town, the one that remains spends the majority of time apart in the bed. Likewise, when I'm sick (I say me, because my husband has an immune system, and I don't), I spread out in the bed and am surrounded by all things comforting. It's like creating a desert island. "What's on the bed" is sort of an inventory taken after the napping, the sipping of beverages and the watching or reading of television takes place. Also, high temperature outside and fever inside makes me hyper-amused by objects.

My husband always marks my absence with books everywhere. He'll even fall asleep cradling a book. He's joked about my return to the nest meaning the eviction of his beloved friends, the literature. If the cops busted in on me though, they'd for all the world think I'm agoraphobic. There would be plates, pillows, technology strewn across the bed and the room. Hey! I do leave the room to go to the bath room, I'm not that gross. I usually begin the journey to the bed with my laptop and several seasons of my favorite television series. I then get thirsty and hungry so eventually I become annoyed at the amount of hand towels and hot plates and microwaved leftovers.

By the time evening has come, I'm lying against pillows, counting things on the bed. How many dvds lie around binged upon, the number of glasses of beverages (water + soda or juice + tea or some wacky combo), and if I have books and my intentions on reading them. When we got married, we both considered whether or not we should get a king bed, but we were penniless (we're still pretty much hobos) and king bed equals danger. My husband was quick to remind me that if we got a bigger bed, I would be elbowing books on his side and he'd be jousting collector editions and popcorn kernels on my side, so we decided to just get end tables instead of declaring ourselves kings of Slob City.

When we're both sick we do surround ourselves with entertainment and the stronger of the two ends up making an emergency sick run. Every time I go, the pharmacists start high fiving each other and greet me by name. There's always a sale on the 'quils or vitamins or cough drops. I stock my drawers high, although last time H was disappointed, because I had forgotten to get the decongestant. I know I'm better when I'm truly, fully disturbed by the high level of mess in the room. Before the house is condemned or Husband divorces me, I try to will myself into good health and shuffle items around like a hamster rearranging its dwelling.

Letters to the Loon

Sean Bean looks eerily like Bon Jovi here...

(My friend is the writer and head of Inquisitive Loon, and I emailed him a response to his recent email referencing his blog and new tv challenge for Game of Thrones)
"______...none of your picture links work. I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume that they are supposed to work...in fact, I'm pretty sure that's their only job.
Oh hey, I'm sick right now. Just like we thought might happen. Didn't help that this one chick at work came down with the flu and gave it to me! it's not even like she was hot 'n foxy and we made out or anything! This isn't me being sarcastic either, she's not hot and we didn't make out.

On the bright side, I'm going to lay in bed for the rest of the day and a half and don't have to do the crazy ride back and forth to Mordor, yes Oklahoma 6 hours from here, since it is 6 hours which roughly equals 2 LotR movies is basically mordor. man i love sean bean. and being loopy.

I tried to fold clothes today on the bed and was so exhausted from staying alive that i just let them lie on top of me all hot from the dryer. And we live in the South so it was already like 80 or 90 degrees in the room. but i had chills all morning and have been suffering on and off with chills/fever and headaches and stomachaches. But by this point it was just too hot and i was too tired to move them.

By my opening statement, I hope I've conveyed my pleasure in you watching the show Game of Thrones. I finished the 1st book like a week ago, and I have to say i like the tv show more. not surprising. I like the book, but I don't like to hear about all war stuff. I am scarlett o'hara, and I'm all "boring, fuck guys, i just wanna dance!" (I should teach kids and be a role model, right!??) I started on the second book last night when my stomach pains and headache were too awful to sleep...

Okay, i'm tired again and need to eat soup and drink iced tea and lay here and watch Lost s2, and now you think i'm REALLY sick b/c i'm watching s2. damn, what would make me watch s6??"

"And in the beginning, man created the social network which became a blessing and a plague"

I am a social network slut. Every once in awhile, some strange compulsion comes over me. It's almost like I wake up and think, "You know, I haven't established a new social networking way to release the unique entity that is me into the world in some time." In Pirates of the Caribbean, someone yells, "RELEASE THE CRACKEN!" and I am beginning to realize that I do the same thing, except with my personality through internet databases. I can't stop. "I apply my personality in a paste."


The earliest I can trace this back to in lineal terms of internet was deciding in the days of AOL, that sharing a screen name with my mom just wasn't cool enough of me and just used a simple formula (favorite letter, number, and color K17blue, bitches!!). I mean, I had reached double digits in age (13!)! From there, I would write out name possibilities. My opendiary became freeopendiary, and then livejournal became another livejournal (although this was due to malfunction more than style), and then I added a myspace. Then I spent hours of dial-up pimping out my page and web stalking while my mom screamed from the other room that she needed the phone (this saddens me, as it was the 21st century by that point). Then I got accepted to Facebook, back when it was "exclusive." Now I have a few other social network accounts, but I don't know how I feel about those. Right now, we're just acquaintances.


Actually, technically, I used to elaborately decorate my name tag in junior high. On one occasion, our seventh grade or eighth grade teacher needed funds from me to go on a field trip. I promised her I would bring the money, Lebowski, but she came to the conclusion that she needed collateral from me (I guess because you can't send teenagers to collection, although detention is sort of like that, and I went there fairly often).


Somehow, someone figured out that since I spent long stretches of time doodling on my desk tag instead of listening to lectures on geography and history (and math and science and basically anything other than English and Art), that she could take my tag while waiting for the fund transfer. Another kid in my class objected that I could always make another, but the distraught look on my face proved that no, this shit just didn't develop overnight, this was a PROCESS! I don't even know if I wanted to go on the field trip as much as I wanted my name tag returned. I may or may not have eventually gotten it laminated (my mom did, actually) to preserve my creative efforts.


So, here we go again.