Tag Archives: winter sucks

Nobody Told Me

ethan_russell_john_lennon_2048x2048

“Time wounds all Heals.” JL

 

There’d be days like these. Also, nobody told me that adults could get mono. I’ve slept for a week straight. A sleep of oblivion. I am the sleeping dead.

This is that Lenten time of year when we are forced to reflect upon ourselves, but how does one reflect through fever-sweat dreams? My Time is my most precious commodity. But what can I do with Time when I’ve lost why that is so precious? My mental capacity. I cannot think. If I cannot think, I am not…I am not myself at any rate.

All of this upsets me more because of the momentum I had built up in my writing. Gone. I have flashes of thoughts that disappear into a drugged fog. People talk at me, I can’t form a response. I can’t even watch movies.

All I can do is sit here with the soundtrack to Barry Lyndon, watch the snow and rain. There’s a cat on my lap. My dog sleeps. And but for a flute, all is silent.


What a Loverly Daze

morrissey_bona drag

And if I seem a little strange, that’s because I am.

What a daze. What a loverly daze. Another snow today. Not the blizzard angry Thor thunder-snow sort, just a stay in and drink tea in jammies with books day. And, if you’re like me, you couldn’t resist some Smiths and writing in your journal. And if you are like me, well, where have you been? And if you’re not, that’s OK too.

Man, is there anything important or useful that can be done on a day such as this? I can’t imagine what or why you’d want to. I was impressed that I cleaned a bit and wrote a bit. Showered.

The journal writing was good. I can be even more personal, random and meaningless there than anywhere. And yet, that’s where I come from. As far as writing is concerned. My first journal was a Tinkerbell notebook from the 1st grade. I always wanted to write. I always wanted and kept a journal. Look in my Mom’s basement. Look in my wooden chest. A whole life in little bound books.  (*Get those back from Mom.)

And it’s not that my journals are going to rival Samuel Pepys’ or Thoreau’s. But they represent an actual thing I have accomplished. But more importantly, that’s where my voice comes from. I can wriggle through every crease in my mind, process it all, write through the thousands of voices I take in and come out sounding something like myself. And that’s gotta be something. For a writer.

Honestly, voice is key. If you can nail you, you can nail anyone. What more is my voice than a grand amalgam of every voice and influence I’ve ever taken in since I was born? That’s a lot of voices. All of those people, characters, movies, books, the poems and songs, the interwebs.  All condensed and focused through the lens of me.

And while, yes, I might fall into your “journal keeping” stereotype. It’s a thing I’d suggest all writers do. It’s the easiest, least pressure way to just write a little, every day every day every day. And journals don’t all have to be the mole-skin or Red Book of Westmarch type of journal. Go to the dollar store. Use a legal pad. Start a new notebook on your computer, on your phone. Just write. It’s not precious or for posterity. It’s for you.

Have a cup of tea. Play your favorite music. Scribble lines in the margins. Keep your favorite quotes in the pages. Write down something you just heard in a movie or on that TV show. Just put some writing on some paper or pixels. You’ll feel better I swear. Even if better means you just want to wallow. Wallow away. No one’s there to judge.

And if you are like me, then remember, I may wear black on the outside ’cause black is how I feel on the inside, but I have a heck of a time doing it. You know, just being me. Go be you, and choose any color you like.

 

 

 

 

 


I Don’t Want to Go Out

david_bowie-Modern Love

Never gonna fall

I want to stay in…get things done.

Bowie understands. As usual. And people who love winter can go do their lumberjack and I’m OK thing. Just leave me be. I don’t want to go out. I’m sick and things aren’t getting done that I want to do. I’ve figured out a few things though.

Firstly, my goal of writing an outline in a week was not attainable. I realized this the other day. Someone asked me what was the best way to refine their writing project. So I gave them the old schpiel. Find a few words that describe the basic themes. Words like Love, Revenge, Ambition, Betrayal, Wonder, Coming of Age — the basic stuff we all get: sex, death and all the stuff in between. Fix a genre with one or two sub-categories (sci-fi action/drama). And explain the plot in one or two sentences (A college-kid must decide whether his Uncle killed his father, and struggles with how to react to that knowledge, while tearing the lives around him apart). It’s Jaws meets Terminator. What have you. Basic stuff.

And then it hit me, that I needed a dose of my own medicine on the writing front. I’ve been looking too carefully at the individual parts and the esoteric stuff that I’d lost perspective on my own story, and I need to go back and do this to my tale again.

So, that’s my new focus for this week. Would i’twere so simple. I just can’t seem to feel well. People want me to do stuff and go outside. And as usual, I’m convinced I have walking pneumonia, and I’m slowly dying. But aside from my hypochondria and feeling less sociable than usual (which is never particularly social), I’m becoming less than pleased.

Last year, I put too much on hold because of “life”– not even my own. That made me feel like a good human being for tic. But when my own health took revenge in a bout of bronchitis, I figured I’d outdid the “others” thing. Then there was the holiday we do not mention. And now I’ve gotten back to work, people still want to do stuff like that’s normal in February because they’re insane and my body is in revolt again.

I think the best thing for me to do is stay in my pajamas until April. Going outside makes me sick. Activity gives me asthma attacks. My sinuses don’t like the dry air. So I’m staying in, getting better and getting some things done for me. I just don’t care about going outside. I don’t care about much that isn’t in my sphere of interests on a good day. So, I’m not over-extending what little brain power I have left. Just let me write and play Battlefront and color and leave me be. Also there’s my violin. Jeez, I have a lot to do. How am I’m supposed to take care of outside stuff. I feed myself and my animals. I walk my dog. What else do you want from me world?!

When the spring comes, I will feel better. Although that’s another bad time for the allergies, but I don’t mind it because it’s nice out. I’ll still find ways to ignore people and stuff. But this is what I’m rocking for now. Don’t believe in modern love or winter.

 


Jess Kicks Her Own Ass Pt 1

Help me finish what I started, burnt husk of a mask.

Help me finish what I started, burnt husk of a mask.

 

Sometimes my self-loathing has consequences for the good. I mean, appeals to my vanity always work. People who say that you should: eat healthy, exercise, or just like take a shower and make your bed because it makes you feel better and not because it’ll make you look better just don’t get me. However, that’s not why I’m hating me now. I’m hating me now because I’ve been so neglectful of my writing that I feel as though I should just resign myself to a life of cleaning up after my animals and my boyfriend (redundant). Ew and like cooking stuff to eat. Yeah, but see now I’ve got a plan to turn that all around. All thanks to my unfailing ability to disappoint myself. I’m going to write 500 words at least on this blog every day, except Saturdays, for two weeks. Not rollin’ on Shabbas.

That’s just the part of the plan. I have other things going on as well, and I will up my game as I go. But this is the goal 1.1 subsection A for now. And I’m going to post this brain drivel on my blog so there’s some sort of accountability to like my thousands of followers, I guess? Whatever. That’s what I’m doing.

So, did anybody see that Star Wars movie? I saw it for the third time this past Friday. It gets better with every view. It’s got a sort of old-school, ET or Close Encounters era Spielberg thing going on. Magical, full of wonder…just an old-fashioned kind of fun movie like you would’ve gone to see on like a Saturday or after school as a kid. I cannot quarrel with or nit-pick this film at all. It’s just too much fun.

I know some folks are nit-picking it, but I just finished rewatching the LOTR Extended Editions — because I can’t watch Force Awakens every day at home yet — and remember the quibbles for those films? Where’s Tom Bombadil? Why is Frodo so young? Why is Arwen’s part bigger? Yeah, see you didn’t remember until I just brought that up because no one cares anymore. Just as no one will be whining that Rey beat Kylo in a saber battle in the future when all is well.  Like Jackson’s Lord of the Rings, all that will be left is just a glorious cinematic legacy to be enjoyed forever. Or until the zombie apocalypse.

Which is another thing I want to happen: I mean the return of The Walking Dead. Winter is bleak enough without having to stumble through without being able to enjoy watching folks suffer and die amid the flesh-eating undead. Besides, this whole season has been a giant cliff-hanger, and I need some resolution. My money is on Carol’s little psychopath in training blowing the whole “we’re totally zombies” cover. No more cookies for you little freak. The monsters are going to come and eat you up and no one will be able to hear you or help you.

Well, there see, I done did it. I could totally take this momentum now and go work on something else, but it’s snowing and maybe I’ll just play Fallout. I don’t know. I’m not even editing this. Because I’m not worth it yet. I still hate me. But gettin’ bettah all the time…

 

PS – is anyone else experiencing lag and glitches on the Xbox One? Is that all the people who got one for Christmas taking up all the “shared processing”? Noobs. 


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