It's a strange phenomenon that the less time I give myself for writing, the less I have to say, and the less I want to write. But something in me drives me to want to write more, and unblock these obstacles that pile up in front of me. Stephen King, in On Writing, says that we should write every day to keep the instrument limber; you won't write a masterpiece everyday, but you have to show up at the page for the muse to know you mean business. Getting together with Leigh Yung Li always helps, and on one of our recent slumber parties I quickly came up with 7-8 stories I could tell, including how Brad the Clown once flipped a blueberry pie upside down. This is a tale for another day... or best left buried, before the angry demons awake? For now, I am simply showing up.
It was an intensely busy time, but one of the highlights includes this letter that I got from My Little Percy, the most amazing student:... and these shoes from Ashe, which you may remember from an earlier post. The boy outgrew them, and thought I might like them as a parting gift to remember him by. They now reside on my fireplace, and smell only very faintly of his little Indian feet.
My house occupies a largish chunk of my time ... mowing, trying to fix my botched paint job in the yoga room, growing small vegetables and trying to beautify the backyard for gatherings.
Something is dead under my shed; I smell it, I see the flies. I refuse to look. Three baby birds fallen from their nest in the front yard are covered with those same green-bottle flies. I refuse to look. I hear the flies, buzzing. There is a smell.
I joined a gym, finally, a commitment that is long overdue for my out-of-shape body. I felt I needed some physique intervention. It came in the form of Matt, who is 6'4" tall, 1% body fat, and expensive. Twice a week for an hour he kicks my ass, and I come back for more. I am starting to feel muscles in places where I forgot I had places. This is so much better than Curves, where all I learned was whose daughter got accepted to which college. I forgot how good sweating can feel. My favorite part of the gym is the shower. They have the best soaps. I haven't showered in my own house for about two weeks.
Sitting at the computer feels like work. I read email sometimes. Sometimes I make lolcats, like this one from my sister's house:
I know Todd loves these.
In a week I leave for choir camp, but I'll try to post something every day until then. Just showing up at the page; no promises of brilliance, OK? I can't live up to that. I can barely fucking walk.
And in August, well ... am I allowed to say, you guys? Or should I wait until after? I don't want to let the simian out of the bag too early. Let's just say a very exciting blog reunion is brewing.
Oh, and about the blog frolic? I'm working on it. Fuckspot.com refused to "save as draft" even though I am hitting "save now" and "ctrl-D" like they tell me to, but all I get is the silent hourglass and a blank stare.Carry on. See you tomorrow.