In my latest blog post I mentioned it was my last one. My attempt to return to 1996... the tangiblity of pen and paper to the intangibility of cyberspace. I get on tangents like these sometimes... and then I eventually, sometimes swiftly, fall back in step with my everyday patterns. And so it has happened...
Christian Bale as Batman fights crime on the small screen as I spend the last hour I intended to use getting a head start on sleep instead thinking about how I process information. Slowly. In segments. Similiar to how my boyfriend's laptop lags to open a Web page or file...grinding and grinding in its search until it eventually fulfills your request. I am not a "slow" person, I am thoughtful. Introspective. Especially when it's about something that really matters. Something I don't want to lose. I try to be patient - to allow myself to think... I get lost in my thoughts so much that I sometimes miss moments to reply or respond the way I should, in the way the moment calls for. That makes me feel stupid. But I am lost in my thoughts and so I review conversations in my mind and have to go back and ask questions or make points after the fact. Im sure it can be percieved as if I've been obsessing about that one particular point for days, when really it just needed time to cycle around to the front of my mind again, its turn in my tumultuous parade of thoughts...
I ask myself a lot of questions. I try to get to the core of what is in my heart, my gut... And why... Why am I feeling the way I do? I have learned that when you are quick to speak and swift to make judgements, you are often swift to fuck up your life. (And I make more than my share of reactionary comments too, to be certain). But I realize that it's much better to keep your mouth shut and your eyes open and feel things out and see where life takes you... And even if you feel stupid by having to go back and clarify things the next day, or a few days later, it's OK... I tell myself.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Goodbye
This is my last blog post....
I have found an internal time machine and am going back to 1996. I had just started using email then, reluctantly. I did not have a cell phone. I used a land line and somehow managed to live my life not being able to call someone when out and about. I did not text my conversations. I did not have a blog. I wrote in notebooks. I wrote actual letters. Pen to paper and stamp to envelope. I sent emails when required. I did not have MySpace or Facebook.
In this era, our time is most spent in front of a computer instead of faces. Our lives are now filled with "friends" we hardly know, or some we apparently do not know at all. Or those no longer in our lives we wish to peek in on from time to time (completely irksome). We are voyeurs in each others' worlds, these cyber-scrapbooks and online shrines we build to ourselves. We have such a weak sense of identity in this life - this 2008 - that we define ourselves by profiles and interests and surveys. We have no idea who we are anymore...Someone else sparked this thought in me, and I have continued it...
I had a life before all of this. I will have one after it is all gone. If I lose connection when I lose this, it was never real in the first place. This may very well be true.
I am going back to 1996. Join me if you care to.
I have found an internal time machine and am going back to 1996. I had just started using email then, reluctantly. I did not have a cell phone. I used a land line and somehow managed to live my life not being able to call someone when out and about. I did not text my conversations. I did not have a blog. I wrote in notebooks. I wrote actual letters. Pen to paper and stamp to envelope. I sent emails when required. I did not have MySpace or Facebook.
In this era, our time is most spent in front of a computer instead of faces. Our lives are now filled with "friends" we hardly know, or some we apparently do not know at all. Or those no longer in our lives we wish to peek in on from time to time (completely irksome). We are voyeurs in each others' worlds, these cyber-scrapbooks and online shrines we build to ourselves. We have such a weak sense of identity in this life - this 2008 - that we define ourselves by profiles and interests and surveys. We have no idea who we are anymore...Someone else sparked this thought in me, and I have continued it...
I had a life before all of this. I will have one after it is all gone. If I lose connection when I lose this, it was never real in the first place. This may very well be true.
I am going back to 1996. Join me if you care to.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
A new blog i like
this lovely blog features photography that moves my heart...
i want to take photos like this and put them in small frames all over my house...
i want to learn... i dont have a camera... i will look on ebay for one.
i want to take photos like this and put them in small frames all over my house...
i want to learn... i dont have a camera... i will look on ebay for one.
Poetry
I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there ’s a pair of us—don’t tell!
They ’d banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
-Emily Dickinson
if i love You
(thickness means
worlds inhabited by roamingly
stern bright faeries
if you love
me) distance is mind carefully
luminous with innumerable gnomes
Of complete dream
if we love each (shyly)
other, what clouds do or Silently
Flowers resembles beauty
less than our breathing
-ee cummings
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-Robert Frost
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. - Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
-William Wordsworth
Are you nobody, too?
Then there ’s a pair of us—don’t tell!
They ’d banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
-Emily Dickinson
if i love You
(thickness means
worlds inhabited by roamingly
stern bright faeries
if you love
me) distance is mind carefully
luminous with innumerable gnomes
Of complete dream
if we love each (shyly)
other, what clouds do or Silently
Flowers resembles beauty
less than our breathing
-ee cummings
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-Robert Frost
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. - Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
-William Wordsworth
Friday, October 31, 2008
untitled...
I just wrote a post and deleted it. It wasn't because I didn't want you, dear reader, to read what I had to say. But I felt it was truer to myself to commit those thoughts and feelings to my heart.. to take them inside where they can solidify...instead of committing them to paper (or whatever you call this) to be injested visually by others...
Im not a professional writer anymore... or much, these days. I have been pondering tonight what it was that made me so happy about writing for the OC Register. Outside of the challenge to come up with a catchy, well-written lead, I know what fueled me... I helped people. I was able to wield my pen to inform, to inspire, but also to support... and that's what I loved the most. I loved writing about companies (especially female-owned) who offered lovely goods or services and using my power of the press to support their endeavours. Of course their story alone had merit, but it was my way of helping people who had a dream get their chance in the spotlight. Even if it was one small story in the paper for a single day, recycled the next. It truly was my spark.
When my focus had to turn to helping myself more, I lost my spark. When creativity was churned out for dollars more than satisfaction, I lost my spark. I know that's the way of the real world, but it extinguished something inside of me...
Now Im happy to just work for money because I still find a level of satisfaction in simply doing a good job and making a wage that supports me and my boys. Nothing to be ashamed of in that. I will find my spark again one day. I will care about helping people through my words again one day. To inspire. To encourage. To support.
One day. Again.
Im not a professional writer anymore... or much, these days. I have been pondering tonight what it was that made me so happy about writing for the OC Register. Outside of the challenge to come up with a catchy, well-written lead, I know what fueled me... I helped people. I was able to wield my pen to inform, to inspire, but also to support... and that's what I loved the most. I loved writing about companies (especially female-owned) who offered lovely goods or services and using my power of the press to support their endeavours. Of course their story alone had merit, but it was my way of helping people who had a dream get their chance in the spotlight. Even if it was one small story in the paper for a single day, recycled the next. It truly was my spark.
When my focus had to turn to helping myself more, I lost my spark. When creativity was churned out for dollars more than satisfaction, I lost my spark. I know that's the way of the real world, but it extinguished something inside of me...
Now Im happy to just work for money because I still find a level of satisfaction in simply doing a good job and making a wage that supports me and my boys. Nothing to be ashamed of in that. I will find my spark again one day. I will care about helping people through my words again one day. To inspire. To encourage. To support.
One day. Again.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
A "writer" on writing...
I'm pondering if there comes a point in your life where you hit a crossroads and realize that it's simply time for a change... I am perhaps there.
I'm not sure if it's the result of my bouts of emotional and physical exhaustion over a span of months, or perhaps it's the milky froth of reality that settles on top after a stirring...
So much of my identity is wrapped in the fact that I'm a writer. To not do this becomes a question for me not of monetary value, but of my value as a person. It is, after all, what I had wanted to be since I was a child. [That, and an actress. An English teacher. A singer, like Amy Grant. And a mom.]
I have lost my spark. I'm not sure how to regain it. The effort required is simply nowhere to be found in this body, or in this heart. Not anymore. I'm tired.
Far gone are the days of SqueezeOC, where although I had my share of setbacks and weaknesses, I produced well-written, creative stories and brought some good ideas to the table. Despite my lack of "face time" and limited capacities being the Mom on staff who did that full-time job with little to no child care support.
Walked away from my fashion writing gig. Not so great at fiction writing; proven that. Wrapping up and then ceasing to take on anymore freelance writing clients. Fate at the Register is pending.
I know that, ultimately, my identity is not in what I do, but who I am...
So here's to embracing that...
I'm not sure if it's the result of my bouts of emotional and physical exhaustion over a span of months, or perhaps it's the milky froth of reality that settles on top after a stirring...
So much of my identity is wrapped in the fact that I'm a writer. To not do this becomes a question for me not of monetary value, but of my value as a person. It is, after all, what I had wanted to be since I was a child. [That, and an actress. An English teacher. A singer, like Amy Grant. And a mom.]
I have lost my spark. I'm not sure how to regain it. The effort required is simply nowhere to be found in this body, or in this heart. Not anymore. I'm tired.
Far gone are the days of SqueezeOC, where although I had my share of setbacks and weaknesses, I produced well-written, creative stories and brought some good ideas to the table. Despite my lack of "face time" and limited capacities being the Mom on staff who did that full-time job with little to no child care support.
Walked away from my fashion writing gig. Not so great at fiction writing; proven that. Wrapping up and then ceasing to take on anymore freelance writing clients. Fate at the Register is pending.
I know that, ultimately, my identity is not in what I do, but who I am...
So here's to embracing that...
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