n. infantile pattern of suckle-swallow movement in which the tongue is placed between incisor teeth or between alveolar ridges during initial stage of swallowing (if persistent can lead to various dental abnormalities) v. [content removed due to Bush campaign to clean up the internet] n. act of nyah-nyah v. pursuing with relentless abandon the need to masticate and thrust the world into every bodily incarnation in order to transform it, via the act of salivation, into nutritive agency

Sunday, April 04, 2010

I still want to believe in love

Blanchard Hike

I'd be lying if I didn't say:
  • It's been a hard week.
  • It's also been a good week.
  • I'm having trouble feeling The Love these days.
  • But I think I'm still idealistic.
  • Right now, I wish I could erase about 50% of my memories, and thus give the other 50% room to breathe again.
  • I'm feeling paranoid and left behind.
  • I don't know if I'm a real writer.
  • I probably need a counselor more than a blog.

Blanchard Hike
[Content removed by me!] I'm totally weepish today, and I'm supposed to be prepping my syllabi.

That's the idealist still remaining.

(And KX, I suddenly realized that the answer to your question is that I still believe in radical life-changing love, but I don't trust that it comes to everyone. However, I won't betray that belief by committing to less.)

The non-idealist in me just wants to set the past aside, except for the parts of the past that are still in the present. The friends that are here, the friends that were always here, all along, without me wishing to repair things, or make things easier, or change my perceptions to suit their perceptions, or work work work all the time. I just wish that it didn't hurt to let go of things... I wish I had the formula.

Blanchard Hike
Part of the formula is investing in today, enjoying today, living in the Year of J. I'm doing that too. I went hiking with Herald and it was great. Cold has hell, and in fact, I ended the hike a day early because a) Herald spent the whole night shivering next to me in the tent, even with me trying to wrap up next to him so he wouldn't be cold, and b) I'm a wimp, despite my working out at the gym... I was really stiff and sore from the incline. So I guess I have to work my way up to it.

But I liked the quiet. I really liked the quiet. The ravens in the trees. Some wind. And that's it. I felt like I could be tired in that. And I lucked out and found some dry wood in amongst all the wet (underneath a rotted tree, which I dug out) and started a nice hot fire, the snow starting around 8 and drifting down to my hot fire, and N's prayer candle winking behind me near the lake, and the frying pan sizzling with steak and potatoes and onions, and the memory of a similar meal 15 years ago, with songs of monkeys on the back, not a bad memory, and it felt good to be tired and quiet with my dog guarding the parameter of the campsite.

Oh, and when we first got there, and I took the chup's backpack off, he took off and wheeled in circles around the campsite for like 5 minutes and it was the most hilarious thing I've seen in a long time, and I howled with laughter, and the funny thing is that H did it over and over again, each time we scouted out the camp area... he loved it there (until it got cold).

Blanchard Hike
I don't know what to do with the Writing Prompt blog... thought it might take off like wildfire, with quotes and writing notes, and gossip, and bits and pieces... thus taking some of the edge off the artistic lonely I got going on here, but it doesn't look like it, so I think I best just learn how to suck up a life of artistic lonely.

Oh, and by the way, I hate fucking AWP. I've never been there, but I hate it for existing. I'm so jealous I could eat my socks, and yet after Deb took me off N's AWP panel email and replaced me with E and her prof-wife, I haven't been able to think straight about that stupid conference. It makes steam come out of my ears just to think off all those writers converging and self-congratulating and deciding who belongs (them) and who doesn't (me) and celebrating themselves, and celebrating writing, which I want to celebrate too... but don't know how anymore.

Anyhow... yes, I do realize it's irrational and stupid and one day I'm going to have to get over it, and myself, but I want the writing without the pretensions and exclusions.

Blanchard Hike
Other than that. Well, stuff. I'm prepping classes, trying to scale back on what I assign because last quarter involved way way too much reading of student papers. And I think I'm going to have an Art Party in a couple of weeks... wine, art supplies, music, trading... and just see what comes of it. I also ordered a banner for my studio and I'm eager to see how it turned out. And I bought a bunch of work clothes that I think are sassy. And I walked the artwalk this month instead of participating in it, and it was nice to get out and see other people's creations. I got really excited by the recycled artwork at the Allied Arts studio... something about using old material that gets my groove up. And I applied for a writer's conference scholarship thing (that KX told me about), which I doubt I'll get but it got me thinking about wanting to attend a writer thing... but it also got me looking back at my writing, which hasn't grown too much since the Write-A-Thon... but thinking perhaps I should try to finish Theft: A User's Manual as a chapbook this summer. So, you know, some stuff happening, and when I'm not feeling weepish about life and my friendships, well... my local happening present life is pretty damn good.

So there.
There's a lot of sad and a lot of good in this post, and I'd just like to jump up and high-five for all the goods and huge-hug for, well, everything else. Oh, and that last photo is magical.
Thanks Mz Friday.

You know, Sundays are apparently my new day for feeling weepish. Something about them... maybe it's a new meditative practice - feeling weepish and preparing for the week.

I like that picture too. In fact, I'm going to print it out and put it on the inspiration board. Hugs.
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