More Stuff

On the cue, what do I want to do with my writing:

I've always wanted to be published, and self-publishing is a piece of cake nowadays, if I can put together a reasonable number of pages of stuff I'm willing to share with the world.

I want people to want to read what I've written, to be warmed and moved and amused and inspired by it.

I want a written representation of valuable parts of me to be preserved for posterity.

I want to improve myself--self-discipline, clarity of thought, preservation of memory.

I want to move politicians and citizens to make choices that make life better in this city, state, country, and planet.

I want to be remembered as a capable writer and a spiritual person.

I want, why not, to have an audience for my blog that watches for new entries, hangs on every word, and raves about it to all their friends.

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Writing to the cue, you'll accomplish more later if you have a little fun this weekend.

This is obviously not addressed to retirees, who have room for fun every day of the week. That being said, I do approach Monday in a more positive frame of mind if I have some fun thing from the weekend to report if someone asks.

And being in a positive frame of mind certainly helps me to accomplish more. Feeling hopeful rather than depressed or sad helps me decide to just do what I need to get done. Contrariwise, feeling deprived or sorry for myself makes me want to suck my thumb and disappear into several books of mind candy, and real candy, too, for that matter. But if I've had some fun and am feeling comfortable in the world, I have more confidence in my ability to get stuff done and do it correctly.

As I have heard said, life is short, eat dessert first. I think starting with doing something fun helps me ease into accomplishment better than holding off until I've finished the job to have some fun, or, really, a steady alternation between fun and duty may be best. This is, of course, assuming that we are not in the best of all possible worlds, where I can somehow manage to have fun at the same time as I accomplish what needs doing. Which happens now and then, I'm sure, even if I can't remember many occasions now. I do enjoy doing the oddest things, such as stuffing envelopes at the SPCA.
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Written to a cue to write about a block other than writer's block, such as blocks about exercise or travel, or agoraphobia.

I've had all three types of these suggested blocks, over the years. They come and go. I've moved through each of them for a time, every so often.

I travel at least one week each year, and I try not to go more than a single day without leaving my house. As to exercise, I've joined several different gyms and quit, and started various exercise regimes: XBX, Wii Fit, yoga, tai chi. I can't seem to keep up with any of them for longer than a few weeks. If I have enough different programs that I can tolerate for a while, though, maybe I can cycle through them long enough to be doing something more often than not.

My personal theory of change is that I don't. The thought of adopting any particular practice every day of my life until I die makes me feel trapped and sad. I have no faith in my ability to make any change in myself and maintain it indefinitely.

But I can do a little thing most days, or one of several things most days. Especially if the consequences of not doing that particular thing are, say, painful. I can be motivated for a while to stretch, say, to avoid pain. But not indefinitely. Once I get used to the absence of a particular pain, I'm less motivated to do what kept it at bay, and gradually I forget about the activity, until the pain returns.
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A flicker of motion

on the telephone pole.

My gaze fixes on

a large squirrel,

with an extra-fluffy tail,

climbing down the pole

in defiance of gravity.

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Two eyes glinted at me from atop my bed. Too far apart to be my cat's, and, anyway, it takes only a second to see that they are actually buttons on my pajama top.

I must have blackwatch plaid flannel pjs and bathrobe nowadays. can't remember when, but at some point that plaid became the color scheme of comfort and sleep.

I recently bought a blackwatch flannel shirt, and I'm afraid to wear it most places--either folks will think it a pj top, or I'll be so comfortable in it that I'll nod off behind the wheel.

The eyes looking from atop my pillow are wise and bright. The iridescence arises from their origin as the shells of a sleepy sea creature, attached to the rocks in a tidepool, clinging firmly against the rushing waters.

The eyes speak of tenacity in all circumstances, of knowing your place and clinging to it in the face of all odds, of letting the universe bring all that you need directly to you, because you are so firmly planted where you are, where you need to be, where you belong.
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What does the book say?

"Dust me," or "read me," or "I remember when you put in a pile of books on your dresser and stood on me to change a light bulb," or "This is the third time you reassembled that tacky metal bookcase and crammed me into it. Why can't I go live on a wooden shelf?"

This Week's Crop

another personification piece:

The wall outlet screams in silent shock.

Writings on an outrageous thing I did, first in prose and then as a poem.

The kids who lived in the Berkeley hills rode the same number 7 bus to school each weekday morning. We knew each other, and we got familiar with the back of the driver's head. For no reason we could see, he usually parked the bus on University Avenue and stepped outside of it for a minute or two each morning.

I watched closely as he opened and closed the door for himself, and one day I left my seat after he left the bus, and closed the door behind him.

He yelled at me to open it up again, and told me that if he hadn't set the parking brake before leaving the bus, it would have rolled downhill when I closed the door. So now I know that a separate brake engages when the door is open.

I've occasionally wondered why I did that. I'm usually a goody two-shoes, color inside the lines, kind of gal. Only now, nearly 50 years later, do I have an idea. I've had abandonment issues most of my life. And I think that his leaving us alone in the bus frightened me a little bit and angered me a lot.

Step away from us, will you? OK, we don't need you either, so there.

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Abandonment

The 7 Euclid bus
took us to school each day.
We made it ours.
The driver, not so much.
For some reason,
he stepped out of the bus
for a time
each morning on University Avenue.
This didn't sit
well with me.
I studied the controls, and
one day
I closed the door
behind him.

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Limbs Dance

Trees thrash in the wind,
their green and brown
arms telegraph the speed
of the air moving from
one place to another.
They bend, but any
sound they make is
barred by the window.
Some moments
they don't move at all
and I think maybe
the wind has died.
Then the whole tree
shudders in renewed response,
and I sit inside
cozy and warm
and applaud.

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I write because my mother and brother wrote novels and short stories. It may be a genetic predisposition.

I write because I can - because grammar and syntax and spelling and organization all come easily to me.

I write to cement my memories, so I can be reminded of them when they've faded from my mind.

I write to get down what I'm thinking and how I feel about some sticky situation.

I write to record achievements, accomplishments, and other good things.

I write because reading has given me such pleasure and insight, in the hope that I can do the same for others.

I write to leave something of myself in the world after I am gone.

I write because something may pass unnoticed if I don't write about it - something good I want to remember, or something not so good that I need to confess.

I write because minds live on in the written word, and mine deserves its time in the sun.

I write to encourage my friends to exercise their political power in good causes.

I write so others can recognize themselves in my struggles.

I write to make folks laugh.

I write to fill the many journals that I've bought because their empty innards seduce me with the possibility of filling them to the betterment of myself and the world.