Struggling with the storyboard and the broad strokes of the piece I am working on. Got the ending (I think) and the introductory shot but am uncertain about what I want to say and how I want to make you feel.
I have no doubt of my ability to make pretty pictures, but there should be a there there. No hook as yet. No takeaway. Still cooking.
Manually transferring years of blog posts in an effort to find my monkeys.
I did write daily for four years starting June 03, 2003. Or was it 2004? The timestamp on the entries say one year and the comments say another. I am made aware that the writing is inconsistent. Some of the posts are just stupid. Some are surprisingly good. That’s the whole point of writing every day, isn’t it? By sheer volume, one is bound to make something that nails it.
It’s tempting not to post the subpar bits, but I’ll do it anyhoo. Gah, there’s been a lot of living in a dozen years: an ending of a marriage, a string of lovers, growing children, there was that stroke, there have been losses, and new loves.
I’m reading a story from a point further on. It’d be sweet to be able to tell one’s self that there will be something else beyond the tribulation of that moment. Or maybe it’s good to say hold onto that thing as long as you can.
Sorry I was a disappointment. I loved my dad, but I don’t think we were ever really at ease with one another. Maybe it was just me. I never got the feeling he really approved of where I lived or how things ended with me and Jim. I look at my own kids and it’s easier to be connected with one over another. We are still personalities after all, and some are easier than others. It’s not a matter of love.
Mortality knockin’ hard.
Words: reminiscent, centering, aching
Words: quiet, breathing, rising
Words: content, tired, okay
It was a good day. Peopled out by the end, but it was sunny and lovely…both the day and the people.
This would be the self I recognize – generally chill, imperturbable, at ease. Whew. I now understand temporary insanity and will try to be better at empathizing. In the meantime, happy to be. It means that this person is still there and she’ll be back.
Ragged breathing. Tears streaming. Stupid stupid stupid. And then like some passing storm, there’s this woman I know just for a bit. It’s tiring being on this roller coaster. Today was pretty good. Bought a dyson and have been reclaiming the house. The house had gone to hell. Kim was going to drop off Jordan for me to babysit yesterday, so there was a reason to clean house. Ah, the catharsis of exerting control over one’s environment; the meditative bit of chucking detritus.
That and taking care of Jordan took me out of my head for a bit.
The head monkeys gain power as I talk to them, so anything to bring the focus from inward out is good thing. Well…anything that doesn’t ask for conversation.
I am aware that as I flounder alone I am losing orientation to the world, that locus defined by relationships is loosened as I’ve set myself adrift. Leaving a sign on the port – gone fishing.
When that pocket of contentment, that sunshiny bit burbles from the never never, I gather it, tromp in a circle three times and curl into a ball and stay there trying not to disrupt that precious bit of alrightness.
It was good until the rains came. But that’s just the body. Silly body.
There was no Spring. It was cold, and now it is hot. Heat rises. It is something one notes in an attic bedroom. Refusing air conditioning. Seems like a trick when the heat was a necessity a scant few days ago. Besides, it’s comforting to hear the sound of rain and thunder.
Been thinking of the monkeys in the attic. They’ve been quiet, or maybe there’s just been a changing of the guard. The ape that tells me I will not have love; the capuchin that tells me I am fat – they’ve been quiet. The attic just has boxes of dust covered memory. They don’t even hurt to open. It’s just sad. Sadder still to find myself camped on the floor wiping tears.