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?"