Really annoying thing—
Now and then I have these moments where I suddenly understand something, but I hate them because they always get ruined. Today it was because I was in the shower when I got it, and so had no means of writing it down, and then by the time I could have done that, the understanding that had crystallized while I washed had already been dissolved by intense physical pain, and now I can’t remember what it was I understood.
Another annoying thing—
My sister wanting to show me each and every one of her purchases and tell me a story about how she came to buy them…and then interrupting me every time I might make a comment on her narrative. This is why sometimes people are surprised to suddenly see me wearing a new piece of clothing…because I don’t torture them with seeing every thing I buy when I buy it.
Thing that makes me nervous—
Today I got the script for a film that I agreed to look at for a discussion group. I guess we have to read it and go to the group and talk about what we did and didn’t like about the plot, etc…and I haven’t looked at it, or even mentioned it to my parents yet, but the group meets on the 6th, so I guess I should probably get started on that ASAP.
This is what I get for meeting a student from college who was really serious about going into the film industry when he graduated…
Other thing that makes me nervous—
Job application with a recommendation from a person that’s already working there. I’m nervous about screwing up somehow and not getting the job, or about things going well and actually getting the job. Oh dear…
And yet another thing—
Choosing poems to submit for publication. I ought to have enough…but I don’t know. Maybe I don’t. (I don’t). Maybe the ones I have all suck and will all get rejected (okay, so the former is a ridiculous thought). What am I doing writing poetry, anyway? I never always wanted to be a writer (I wanted to be a zookeeper when I was a kid), but when I did get into writing I thought I would write fiction…but somehow I am writing poetry instead.
…why? What use does anyone have for a poet, these days? (Song lyrics don’t count.)
And a thing I’ve been wondering—
Why, when I admire something (person, idea, story), do I feel a need to assimilate its characteristics? Can I never admire a thing and not try to become it? (Yes. I did that and it’s the one thing I pay and pay and pay for having done. I think my mistake that time was in becoming more its opposite than its likeness.) Oh well.
And hey…Kirtap, Kenda, Jester and Sunny…this is the painting in my poem. This photo isn’t the greatest quality, but it’s the best I could do with my camera phone. I thought you might like to see it.
“Never would the humanities or psychoanalysis have existed if it had been miraculously possible to reduce man to his ‘rational’ behaviours.”