I told myself I would stop having mid-week cocktails. I haven’t.
I thought about joining a choir this week that is singing poetry (William Stafford set to song). How cool is that? Then I listened/watched their last performance. I can’t do it. It seemed such a great idea — I am not that talented, but I have some boundaries, thresholds — and theirs are clearly different (they were terrible, at least on the video). I am disappointed, it would have been fantasy fulfilled. I miss singing.
I told myself I would adjust my attitude towards my non-work work. I haven’t. It is sucking buckets (my attitude). I have a low bull-shit quotient, all evidence to the contrary, and I am not buying into the hyper-optimism. That is not a bad thing in and of itself, but I must come to terms with it.
I must delete any Facebook linkage for this particular post. (Not many of my local pals read Stoney Moss in the flesh, but some do read my Facebook links. Not that this confession is earth shattering. There are four things that might be earth shattering, according to Answers, Inc. — 1) our sun could die, 2) we could be hit by the right-sized asteroid or commit, 3) Gilese 710 and the Oort Cloud could fuck with us, or, 4) a hypernova a little too close to our planet could wreck just a little havoc. My shit is not earth shattering. None of ours is, right?)
Hyperbole is overrated and hard to resist.
I have four condolence cards I have not sent. I cried over one yesterday, at lunch, while I was trying to write it, weeks and weeks and weeks after a mother’s death — there are so many. Tabbouleh and tears. What made me ever think I could craft words? The card is only partially ready to mail.
I have gotten some really good advice/questions lately. About all kinds of stuff. I hope I take them/consider them. (“Work hard. ” “Are you happy?”)
The basics: I am clothed, fed, housed, loved.
Art is taking those things not-for-granted.
How are you?
Other confessions, probably less contrary, are to be found, possibly, at January‘s.
Related posts:
this is an incredible set of confessions. it’s hard to come to terms with stuff, like the attitude about non-work work. we try so hard to be/feel certain ways b/c we think it’s what we want. but forcing it takes so much energy.
Yeah. Kind of over the top this week. ;-)
The work stuff was more about my not-paying-right-now-day-job, not my other stuff I love, even when I am struggling.
“Tabbouleh and tears.”
I’d say you can craft words.
Hang in.
Thanks, Sherry. For reading and the attagal. :-)
Sometimes I just feel like shit. I spill and I don’t want advice or comforting. I just need to get it out. That’s how this sounds to me.
Susan, my twin. That is so true.
I read these earlier today but then had to leave my desk before commenting. Your new header photo of the mushrooms is amazing! You have quite a way with the camera.
About the cards. I am so bad at writing pithy messages in birthday cards. Even writing messages to my husband at our anniversary. It all comes off as NOT what I want to say. Sentimental. Trite. But I am sorry you had to write those particular cards.
(o)
The trouble with you real writers is that you realize *after* everyone else that words can’t really say what they mean, & you keep trying long after all the ordinary note-writers have resigned themselves to gesture and convention.
(hugs)
Thanks, Christine, times two. :-)
Ah Dale. Your point is so true. Thanks for that & the hugs.
so when we all meet, we can skip the small talk and go straight to grunting and pointing. :)
Works for me!