I have this deal with a friend; no email unsent. I’m glad I don’t have that deal with the Box. Some days I write six or seven half entries, that is three or four pages where whatever passes as a cohesive thought is only half done. Whether anyone believes it or not, most of my reason for keeping an online diary is so that I feel obligated to write. I don’t feel obligated to post, though; it is a bit like running a ten k, and just walking away three feet from the finish line. It’s also a bit like writing a thesis for a class and never turning it in.
It’s a lot like those things. You don’t need to cross the line to know you just ran ten k and turning in your thesis is the least important part of writing it (if you don’t know whether it sucks or not before you turn it in …? It sucks.). You probably don’t get the t-shirt if you don’t finish and you probably won’t get the grade if you don’t turn in the paper, but if your sole mission is to do the work, well, you did the work. The only small piece you’re missing is the proof. I don’t know what flaw of pride has me posting as proof, but that same flaw keeps me from posting, of late, most of what I write.
Another piece of all that is that I think with my fingers. I’ve never lived in a black and world, which is neither here nor there, just that when things aren’t black and white you often need some discourse of some kind to figure out when push comes to shove which side of that gray wall you’ll land on. Most of the entries I post are post-landing. I don’t know if that’s part of the flaw of pride or just to make things readable. When I’m exploring a gray area creatively it’s damn near impossible to read, very abstract. If I’m going to post something like that, I clean it up, not really edit it, not very much, just make enough connections in the blank spaces where the connections were in my head.
To say this journal is for me not for you is all well and good, but it’s not true, it’s not really true when anyone says it. Often that’s a defense for a mean comment. I just mean if this shit was all for me it wouldn’t be public. In the early days of doing this I really wanted feedback. An entry like this? What the fuck am I going to do with feedback?
Aww now I remember why there are so many half written --- this is a few minutes or hours or years later. I forgot where I was going with this and it’s not worth reading it to remember, so I’ll start from my life in progress --- Was going to visit the retirement home, made a few phone calls, I feel like ass. Like slow roasted ass on a rusty spit; you know, half charred half raw ass. I understand ass is just a thing (somewhere betwixt an analogy and euphemism or between them and a metaphor, it ain’t extended enough to be any of them but not literal. To be literal you’d have to differentiate between the inside and the outside and the muscle or the colon --- though I imagine the inside and outside of the colon tastes pretty much the same.) so it being prepared badly is superfluous, but, shit, you know, shit.
I took my tempature; 97.6. Either all the thermometers in the world are broken or I always run low. I took a bunch of quills (day and not not porcupine acupuncture or old school pens) and other assorted shit, and I’m whining to y’all because I don’t want to whine out-loud; it falls under the jinx category; if nothing is wrong it brings wrongsness and if something is wrong it doesn’t help to whine out loud.
I feel more like ass than I do guilty about not visiting. It’s also like ten thousand below zero if you factor in the wind chill. My dad has been unresponsive and his short term memory is literally bad enough where if you said short term memory and he was being responsive he’d ask “what kind of erm memory?” So the visits are honestly about guilt. The only real conversation I have for him involves participation. I tried explaining where he was and why and it was all “Ok,ok,ok,ohhhh, I’m alright”. His wife of sixty five years can’t come up with much more than “How’re you doing? Did you have lunch?” and even so “I’m ok, alright, ohhhh, Ok”
Sorry, I figure those are the updates I’m supposed to be doing. Could be stress that makes me feel like ass and maybe I’m a typo and I mean I feel like an Ass. There’s a reason Freud is dead. Our time is limited. There’s a reason I’m not upset that Freud is dead. Ass. He was one of my favorite science fiction authors though. As paranoid as Dick (pardon the Freudian pun) and as methodical as Asimov (yonic shaped Asimov) and --- oh I could go on by why bother, the pun is the last refuge to which a scoundrel clings.
Other updates would involve continuing my silence on the romantic front, which, I swear to sweet swaddling jesus is not to frustrate y’all though I’m not apologetic it if it does. Pretend I just did a bunch of hashmarks between Shift < and shift > to make a gaping hole. Truth is my --- silence --- makes me extremely --- silent --- overjoyed with --- silence.
I have to do something about the e-cigs. Clean up the sprawl. Mainstream, maybe even keep some sort of record. Ok, clean up I might actually do. Right at the moment it’s easy to think of little tasks to fill my day, I feel like ass and so there is built in procrastination. I might as well put --- Paint God touch Adams Finger on Ceiling; Check Sistine Chapel for ideas. Ass, I feel like ass. I am getting really good at making plans and goals that I have no intention of following through on. Yeah, no, that’s a breakthrough. I’ve pissed folks off throughout my life as I am very often unwilling to suggest I’ll do something unless I intend to.
There really are a lot of things people want you to commit to that are castles in the air but you aren’t playing along if you don’t agree to something that really wasn’t going to happen anyway. I feel like ass so I don’t have a good common example, but, you know, for the sake of argument I’ll never say “I’ll call you” if I plan on losing your number in a very fast river heading very far away. It’s polite to say “I’ll call you” even if, maybe especially if, everyone knows that’s bullshit. I’m sure that’s common. I haven’t been in that situation very many times, if ever (I can’t recall, but there are more important things I can’t recall, so, you know, wtf). Yeah, this paragraph is useless, except it keeps me from whining outloud.
My head has been pretty foggy. My poor thinking with my fingers of late is not a reflection on my fingers so much as the mechanism that does the thinking. I think I liked one of the last ten flashes, I mean I was happy with the way it was written. Um, my own last ten flashes. All of your flashes I find myself liking more than half of them and liking that they exist at all 100 percent. If the flash Friday on the Box is praiseworthy, and I believe it is, the praise goes to G and to the bravery of them what write em, especially the ones on the wrong side of my bell curve. It’s not very brave to post refined flashes when you confident in your ability, it’s the very definition of bravery to show the world a thing you’ve never shown before and are unsure of. Pass that hurdle and the rest is easy, easy begets easy. I’m convinced that the flash is a power exercise; if you can master it you can write anything.
Um, the last paragraph really was just supposed to mean the diary part of this diary is ass, one fifth of the flash part of this diary is less, um, cheeky (last refuge of a scoundrel). Ok, the cool part about un-feverish ass rambling is you can end abruptly.
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