Today, I just don't want to write. Is that a thing? You just wake up one day and all your spirit for writing is dead? I think it is. I'm gonna go do self-care and work on my spirit. You know? I think these things help when there's little to no work on writing boards and a search of such is quite discouraging.
Good to know that other people struggle, too, and then when you write about how bad you feel, you are writing again, I guess. At least on some platform. When fear assails you, you must withdraw from the cares which will not withdraw from you. That's a hacked quote from someone so don't attribute it to me. I think it involved the world.
What is there, but work to do!?
I'd really appreciate your comments or encouragement.
Tuesday, August 28, 2018
Tuesday, August 14, 2018
Spurt or Practice Writers and Dead Poetry
Really? I just wrote yesterday, says my spurt brain. But practice wins.
I was writing on one of my blogs about whether you're a spurt writer or a practice writer. I've got aspects of both, and desire to be a practice writer coming from a spurt background. I used to write in journals, mostly starting from age 8. Mostly boring stuff, like how I was doing laundry and my dad and sister coming home from vacation.
I started writing poems with slightly sexual overtones in high school, after making up a poem on the spot about the weather after listening to my sister talk about making up poems for her literary magazine.
"Rain beating down on my heart,
Washing away all of my years,
What did I do to deserve sunny days,
When I could have all of these tears."
I was pretty competitive when it came to English, starting my whole reading career wanting to read stories like my sister.
High school, my poetry career blossomed under the brightly lit lamp of a strong AP English department and literary magazine.
<>
Then...I fell of a metaphorical cliff in college. Two years followed by 10 years of being wrung out like a rag. During those 10 years I managed to take several classes at a different college. Literary Criticisms, History of American Literature, Creative Writing, Topics in Rhetoric, and finally, Advanced Poetry Writing were the few. Surprisingly, productive, but in reality, not so productive for my poetry, because after that one poetry class, four years ago, I stopped writing poetry.
Not a single line. My fight with words hit a crescendo and then shrunk to a point.
I kept journaling, because for me it was therapy, but to pull out the emotion required for me to write a poem better than the last one was impossible to achieve. I would have to relearn all over again how to write. Start a new poetic alphabet and I didn't and don't want to waste my time.
Poetry is dead. No one but English teachers and professors read it and people who are going to die. It's a harsh truth, but the future is song lyrics. You aren't going to make money off your poetry, or have it catch on like wildfire and be famous, and in most scenarios you aren't going to even affect anyone with your poetry. In all likelihood you'll end up like the biggest poet of all, the Bard, dead on a street corner. Keep telling yourself that you will become an English professor. Please.
So I write. I blog. I try to ignore that unused instrument in the corner of my mind. Sometimes I close my eyes and think about what it was like to strike the chord that pleased the Lord, but then I remember that I'm living a song lyric and that poetry is dead and so is that part of me.
So this is my spurt or practice writing. I think they can be one and the same. Practice the spurt.
I was writing on one of my blogs about whether you're a spurt writer or a practice writer. I've got aspects of both, and desire to be a practice writer coming from a spurt background. I used to write in journals, mostly starting from age 8. Mostly boring stuff, like how I was doing laundry and my dad and sister coming home from vacation.
I started writing poems with slightly sexual overtones in high school, after making up a poem on the spot about the weather after listening to my sister talk about making up poems for her literary magazine.
"Rain beating down on my heart,
Washing away all of my years,
What did I do to deserve sunny days,
When I could have all of these tears."
I was pretty competitive when it came to English, starting my whole reading career wanting to read stories like my sister.
High school, my poetry career blossomed under the brightly lit lamp of a strong AP English department and literary magazine.
<>
Then...I fell of a metaphorical cliff in college. Two years followed by 10 years of being wrung out like a rag. During those 10 years I managed to take several classes at a different college. Literary Criticisms, History of American Literature, Creative Writing, Topics in Rhetoric, and finally, Advanced Poetry Writing were the few. Surprisingly, productive, but in reality, not so productive for my poetry, because after that one poetry class, four years ago, I stopped writing poetry.
Not a single line. My fight with words hit a crescendo and then shrunk to a point.
I kept journaling, because for me it was therapy, but to pull out the emotion required for me to write a poem better than the last one was impossible to achieve. I would have to relearn all over again how to write. Start a new poetic alphabet and I didn't and don't want to waste my time.
Poetry is dead. No one but English teachers and professors read it and people who are going to die. It's a harsh truth, but the future is song lyrics. You aren't going to make money off your poetry, or have it catch on like wildfire and be famous, and in most scenarios you aren't going to even affect anyone with your poetry. In all likelihood you'll end up like the biggest poet of all, the Bard, dead on a street corner. Keep telling yourself that you will become an English professor. Please.
So I write. I blog. I try to ignore that unused instrument in the corner of my mind. Sometimes I close my eyes and think about what it was like to strike the chord that pleased the Lord, but then I remember that I'm living a song lyric and that poetry is dead and so is that part of me.
So this is my spurt or practice writing. I think they can be one and the same. Practice the spurt.
Monday, August 13, 2018
Afterwork Musings and Counselors
So. Here I am after work, needing to get to bed, but probably, not getting to bed until ten, not really much I want to do or say.
I finally figured out what was making those orange paint chips in my dish rinse water bucket. It was the Whataburger cup orange paint flaking off.
My mom is taking it all for me. I don't deserve her. None of us deserve moms, really.
Seven Minutes in Heaven, by Above Average. It really helps, because sometimes you feel like you're trapped in a closet with someone and you have to kiss them, but you don't really want to, but you do anyway, and then maybe sometime you never see them again. It's nice.
My hair kind of had a life of it's own for a while. Like there was a really beautiful person living in my hair. Weird, huh? I don't really know if she is still there or not or if she's gonna stick around. It's not like anyone else is looking at my hair. I keep it in a bun most of the time.
Tired though. Wish I could talk more with mom, but we mostly have the car ride home and then crash in our respective places. That's why I'm getting back into counseling. I'm just really afraid. Cause things at work were crazy, and I don't know if it's just things settling back to crazy or my commitment to getting help for the crazy. When you're crazy, things have to get more crazy before they stop being as crazy. So I think that's what psychology does. I'm afraid of the regression. But for progress, sometimes we have to regress. I always think of it as the psi, chi. When you're so close to omega, you have to go backwards, from psi to chi, and it's really, really hard to get past that chi seal. You might as well stay at the end of things.
Maybe it is my new therapist. I have to reschedule my appointment though, because it's on a bad day for my mom.
When you come to the end of this alphabet do you go on to another alphabet? Which one?
I prefer the term counseling as opposed to psychology because the term is less invasive and harsh. I just want to get some plan or guidance. I bet that's where the crazy came from, plus my lazy brain being lazy, plus a lot of dogs in the kennel and four of them going home like bananas.
I just need someone in charge, who has good organizational skills. The reason I stopped going to counseling, was because I felt like I was "wasting their time." (and mine.) I didn't want to move any direction. They were going to push me. I didn't really feel like changing. My dad was in the area, I was happish for once.
Now, things have been changing and I don't know how much I want to depend on my dad for things anymore. Things were horrible before but I was learning with the horribleness, and I can pretend that things were good back then and trick myself into using what I've learned.
My mom has changed. She used to be happy and full of light, but now she's being more closed off and senile I'm not taking care of people like I used to do. I can't because I work.
And here I am wasting time writing this when I could be in there reading a book with her. Life's so dumb. Why do I want to write for a living when I just drip like nonsense onto a blog?
I finally figured out what was making those orange paint chips in my dish rinse water bucket. It was the Whataburger cup orange paint flaking off.
My mom is taking it all for me. I don't deserve her. None of us deserve moms, really.
Seven Minutes in Heaven, by Above Average. It really helps, because sometimes you feel like you're trapped in a closet with someone and you have to kiss them, but you don't really want to, but you do anyway, and then maybe sometime you never see them again. It's nice.
My hair kind of had a life of it's own for a while. Like there was a really beautiful person living in my hair. Weird, huh? I don't really know if she is still there or not or if she's gonna stick around. It's not like anyone else is looking at my hair. I keep it in a bun most of the time.
Tired though. Wish I could talk more with mom, but we mostly have the car ride home and then crash in our respective places. That's why I'm getting back into counseling. I'm just really afraid. Cause things at work were crazy, and I don't know if it's just things settling back to crazy or my commitment to getting help for the crazy. When you're crazy, things have to get more crazy before they stop being as crazy. So I think that's what psychology does. I'm afraid of the regression. But for progress, sometimes we have to regress. I always think of it as the psi, chi. When you're so close to omega, you have to go backwards, from psi to chi, and it's really, really hard to get past that chi seal. You might as well stay at the end of things.
Maybe it is my new therapist. I have to reschedule my appointment though, because it's on a bad day for my mom.
When you come to the end of this alphabet do you go on to another alphabet? Which one?
I prefer the term counseling as opposed to psychology because the term is less invasive and harsh. I just want to get some plan or guidance. I bet that's where the crazy came from, plus my lazy brain being lazy, plus a lot of dogs in the kennel and four of them going home like bananas.
I just need someone in charge, who has good organizational skills. The reason I stopped going to counseling, was because I felt like I was "wasting their time." (and mine.) I didn't want to move any direction. They were going to push me. I didn't really feel like changing. My dad was in the area, I was happish for once.
Now, things have been changing and I don't know how much I want to depend on my dad for things anymore. Things were horrible before but I was learning with the horribleness, and I can pretend that things were good back then and trick myself into using what I've learned.
My mom has changed. She used to be happy and full of light, but now she's being more closed off and senile I'm not taking care of people like I used to do. I can't because I work.
And here I am wasting time writing this when I could be in there reading a book with her. Life's so dumb. Why do I want to write for a living when I just drip like nonsense onto a blog?
Sunday, August 12, 2018
Mental Health and Exercise as a Distraction Tool
Do you ever come to the open page with nothing to say? I do. I am coming to the page today with nothing to say.
I wonder if people are doing that thing where they only use one space between sentences. People don't even respect cesuras, rests, pauses anymore!
I am eating a salad. One of those bagged salads, I didn't even check what kind it was. It has sunflowers and this pale gluelike sauce which is sweetish in nature. It's basically coleslaw without the mayo, if I'm being realistic, but it makes two meals for $1.60, it's healthy and vegetarian. I've tried the kale salad mix but it got bad too fast, I think. It's pretty hard to make a lasting mix without a lot of cabbage.
Drinking lime jello, or as people call it, Gatorade. It is mostly delicious, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm drinking jello, as they taste exactly the same.
My voices are telling me that I'm too far gone. There's nothing to save. I don't really know what to think about that. Yes, I hear voices. They are usually voices of people I know and they don't manifest themselves as audible voices, but more like energy fields that can be distilled into thoughts that I recognize as not my own because they are too negative or coming from a weird direction. I usually can't hear or read them when I'm busy doing something because my mind is distracted with action. The best reception is had when I'm lying in bed, astral plane surfing. I guess the mental energy to do with tasking competes with the mental energy to hear thoughts. This could revolutionize things for schizophrenics. Do and be saved. IDK.
Mental Health professionals already tout exercise and hobbies as best buds of a mental patient which can transform lives, even though they have no examples of lives transformed by it and if they do, the patients stability in such a transformation can be called into question.
I personally suck at exercising. One I have no time, as I work pretty much constantly. Two, I suck at sports. My coordination and speed and people skills are terrible. I don't know what it means to work as a team. I fluxuate in and out of consciousness, which is mostly a terrible thing for focus and concentration. And when your teammate is unconscious, you're not winning the ball game. I don't even really try to be good at sports. Or I try too hard and it's embarrassing. I don't really know, but I really am bad. But....Big "but" here. I love riding bikes. I haven't ridden any bikes since I was a kid, but I convinced my mom and dad to fix this old bike we had in the garage by doggedly trying to ride it around with a messed up chain. Convincing my mom and dad about anything was a big deal, especially if it got what we wanted. My sister had a bike, and I was determined to ride with her. Ironically I it was red as the scooter I would get years later to get around town in Arlington.
That scooter got basically appropriated and I will always burn with a hatred at the place that took my bike and turned it into spare parts without fixing it or paying me any consolation. The things you go through as an adult, when no one cares about you. The scooter was awesome to get around and as I had many good scooter experiences, it's early demise at the hands of the repair shop, gets shoved under the rug. I'd love to talk more about this, but I'd get into sensitive moral issues that I'd rather not discuss because they are fragile. I know you want to talk about this more. So leave your questions for me in the comments.
So, I want to get a bike. I think that will motivate me to get exercise in a really healthy my sort of way. I love walking around town, but it takes a lot of time that I do not have. I could probably bike to work if I'm up for the challenge, at least to the animal clinic because it's in such a nice area. I'm really scared though. My mom got a around town bike and the handlebars never stay up. Do I get one of the old timey bikes or the speedy ones with the straight handlebars? How much does a good bike cost? I have so many questions. Plus I have to get my phone fixed, get a haircut, buy virus protection for my computer, probably get a Flexjobs account and buy Microsoft package for my computer before buying a $100-$300 bike. I have a checklist, if you're wondering. This stuff is expensive, $30-$100. I can only get a one big treat each month, considering time constraints and money, but I'm trying to combine the small purchases into one month, if possible, like the haircut and the phone and the virus protection. I'm so grateful for my jobs. If I didn't have them I wouldn't be able to afford the things I need.
So I've found my golden exercise, I just need the equipment, probably getting it next month. I'll keep ya'll updated on the psychological experiment. I just hope it makes me calmer and less stressed. It will suck time wise, but I think leaving thirty minutes early isn't bad and I don't have to stress my mom out by having to drive me there or pick me up. Independence like that is gold to a mental patient which I still am, taking meds every day, babes. Trying to get off the lithium, but I know it will be stressful, because getting off the other lithium tablet was and still is stressful. My body is programmed to have a jolt of creative energy at the end of the day and I don't get it. I will tell you, my sleeping habits have improved 100% after getting off that medication in the evening.
The voices aren't going away anytime soon, but maybe I can distract them a little! And biking fits in perfectly with my eco friendly, vegetarian salad consuming lifestyle. And if you will notice, I always put two spaces between my sentences, so respect the rest! I came to the page with nothing to say but had a lot to say in between. I think I won that blog post pageant! I'd like to thank my readers and Blogger as a platform. I'd also like to thank my parents for inspiring me to answer that question on what I wanted most in the world! World peace!
I wonder if people are doing that thing where they only use one space between sentences. People don't even respect cesuras, rests, pauses anymore!
I am eating a salad. One of those bagged salads, I didn't even check what kind it was. It has sunflowers and this pale gluelike sauce which is sweetish in nature. It's basically coleslaw without the mayo, if I'm being realistic, but it makes two meals for $1.60, it's healthy and vegetarian. I've tried the kale salad mix but it got bad too fast, I think. It's pretty hard to make a lasting mix without a lot of cabbage.
Drinking lime jello, or as people call it, Gatorade. It is mostly delicious, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm drinking jello, as they taste exactly the same.
My voices are telling me that I'm too far gone. There's nothing to save. I don't really know what to think about that. Yes, I hear voices. They are usually voices of people I know and they don't manifest themselves as audible voices, but more like energy fields that can be distilled into thoughts that I recognize as not my own because they are too negative or coming from a weird direction. I usually can't hear or read them when I'm busy doing something because my mind is distracted with action. The best reception is had when I'm lying in bed, astral plane surfing. I guess the mental energy to do with tasking competes with the mental energy to hear thoughts. This could revolutionize things for schizophrenics. Do and be saved. IDK.
Mental Health professionals already tout exercise and hobbies as best buds of a mental patient which can transform lives, even though they have no examples of lives transformed by it and if they do, the patients stability in such a transformation can be called into question.
I personally suck at exercising. One I have no time, as I work pretty much constantly. Two, I suck at sports. My coordination and speed and people skills are terrible. I don't know what it means to work as a team. I fluxuate in and out of consciousness, which is mostly a terrible thing for focus and concentration. And when your teammate is unconscious, you're not winning the ball game. I don't even really try to be good at sports. Or I try too hard and it's embarrassing. I don't really know, but I really am bad. But....Big "but" here. I love riding bikes. I haven't ridden any bikes since I was a kid, but I convinced my mom and dad to fix this old bike we had in the garage by doggedly trying to ride it around with a messed up chain. Convincing my mom and dad about anything was a big deal, especially if it got what we wanted. My sister had a bike, and I was determined to ride with her. Ironically I it was red as the scooter I would get years later to get around town in Arlington.
That scooter got basically appropriated and I will always burn with a hatred at the place that took my bike and turned it into spare parts without fixing it or paying me any consolation. The things you go through as an adult, when no one cares about you. The scooter was awesome to get around and as I had many good scooter experiences, it's early demise at the hands of the repair shop, gets shoved under the rug. I'd love to talk more about this, but I'd get into sensitive moral issues that I'd rather not discuss because they are fragile. I know you want to talk about this more. So leave your questions for me in the comments.
So, I want to get a bike. I think that will motivate me to get exercise in a really healthy my sort of way. I love walking around town, but it takes a lot of time that I do not have. I could probably bike to work if I'm up for the challenge, at least to the animal clinic because it's in such a nice area. I'm really scared though. My mom got a around town bike and the handlebars never stay up. Do I get one of the old timey bikes or the speedy ones with the straight handlebars? How much does a good bike cost? I have so many questions. Plus I have to get my phone fixed, get a haircut, buy virus protection for my computer, probably get a Flexjobs account and buy Microsoft package for my computer before buying a $100-$300 bike. I have a checklist, if you're wondering. This stuff is expensive, $30-$100. I can only get a one big treat each month, considering time constraints and money, but I'm trying to combine the small purchases into one month, if possible, like the haircut and the phone and the virus protection. I'm so grateful for my jobs. If I didn't have them I wouldn't be able to afford the things I need.
So I've found my golden exercise, I just need the equipment, probably getting it next month. I'll keep ya'll updated on the psychological experiment. I just hope it makes me calmer and less stressed. It will suck time wise, but I think leaving thirty minutes early isn't bad and I don't have to stress my mom out by having to drive me there or pick me up. Independence like that is gold to a mental patient which I still am, taking meds every day, babes. Trying to get off the lithium, but I know it will be stressful, because getting off the other lithium tablet was and still is stressful. My body is programmed to have a jolt of creative energy at the end of the day and I don't get it. I will tell you, my sleeping habits have improved 100% after getting off that medication in the evening.
The voices aren't going away anytime soon, but maybe I can distract them a little! And biking fits in perfectly with my eco friendly, vegetarian salad consuming lifestyle. And if you will notice, I always put two spaces between my sentences, so respect the rest! I came to the page with nothing to say but had a lot to say in between. I think I won that blog post pageant! I'd like to thank my readers and Blogger as a platform. I'd also like to thank my parents for inspiring me to answer that question on what I wanted most in the world! World peace!
Tuesday, August 07, 2018
Writing and Doctors.
Hey Bloggerverse! I'm writing again, hopefully consistently. I was going to try to create an upgraded version of this blog on WordPress, when I read a couple of the sample blogs and I realized that I suck too much to be on WordPress and that I need to be in a safe space when I write and that's on Blogger.
I want to write and about things I know and love, but I don't want to write because exposing yourself to the world is hard. Ever read that book about Asher Lev? Yeah, that's one classic you'll not want to miss because when you read it you'll be wrecked for creative pursuits for life.
And I don't want to write because lately, I've just been talking to myself, and this is what writing here feels like, talking to myself. You can tell the difference because when you're talking to someone else, you get feedback from outside, but when you're talking to yourself, you can't really hear anything, like that rushing noise you hear when you press your hands over your ears. I feel like I've introverted myself for and because of my jobs and I don't know that I want to turn inside out yet. It's really hard to turn inside out, sometimes. You have to trust someone and they have to know you.
You've got all this ugliness you didn't want anyone to see and all this gold you've hoarded.
Anyway, some of you might relate. The swirlyness of the above paragraph is making me think too much.
Went to the doctor, today. John Peter Smith Hospital in Arlington, TX on Arkansas Lane. I had a horrible pap smear. First they weren't ready with the materials, and there were three people in the room, a student, the doctor and the nurse, and it was just uncomfortable. I guess most women don't look forward to pap smears. I just wish she had introduced the student to me, and had asked all the questions before putting me into the paper gown and having me be all uncomfortable. It really prepares me to try and make the clients at the Animal Clinic I work at be more comfortable. I want them to think good things when they visit and not be outweighed by the negatives.
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