I don’t remember if I mentioned this earlier in the program, but I’ve forsaken my handwritten journal for the month of April. Basically, I wanted to eliminate ‘frivolous writing distractions’ from my goal of staking a flag on top of Mount Blogger in 30 days.
I’m still writing on other things, so this hasn’t overshadowed projects, but I find myself filling up inside with daily thoughts and occurrences that would normally hit the paper pages of a journal. So, for today, I’m pretending this space is pulp and I’m free to navel gaze, scribble, think through pen and keep track of life~~
Dear Rebecca, (yes, when I write in my journal, I write to myself)
Sorry I’ve neglected you for over a week now. Since this is my confessional booth, I’ll just fess up, I’ve traded in the habit of paper and pen for high tech journaling for a month. It’s been frustrating at times, other times, not so bad. I haven’t tried until today meshing the two halves, paper and online journal style of writing, together. I can say, having backspace, delete keys and a spell checker is one step above paper journaling. I appreciate that bonus and keeps things from going down the path of sloven entries which I detest. I do miss the touch and smell of leather bound delights……….
As for life over the last week, things are relatively good considering where I started the beginning of the year off at. As always, I don’t feel like there is enough time in a single day to satisfy all I want to accomplish. I’ve been going to sleep well past 1 a.m and up with the girls at 6 a.m. and it’s starting to catch up. If only I could take naps like the rest of the human population maybe it wouldn’t feel so bad. Perpetually feeling like I’m behind or missing out on something is nagging at me. With the resurgence of Spring my desire to move and get out more is pushing at the gates as well. If I could define this internal emotion it would be…suffocation? Time to plan some out of town adventure before the feeling evolves into one of despair and panic~
I’m still working on the short story collection and haven’t thrown in the towel in disgust. Threading one cohesive piece of meaning through them all is proving to be more of a pain in the ass then the desirable challenge I bargained for.I gave one of the finished stories to Mom for input and editing. She expressed she really loved it (doesn’t she have to because she’s Mom?) and she cleaned up my typical grammar errors and sentence structure mistakes. I think it’s time to overwhelm her and give her 3 more to go over. I’ve twisted and turned, manipulated and pounded them into the ground so much that they are starting to look like blended word mud. Time to step away and leave the stories be. At this point in time it’s just sadistic to keep torturing the poor things with my compulsive obsessive behaviors.
Last night when I was driving home late from work I was half-listening to talk radio. It was some show based on ghosts? Aliens? Dream travel? Super natural I suppose. They had a guest on that evidently was an expert in all those departments because she would fall asleep, dream about Mars and wake up with red dirt on her feet. Anyway, the one thing that really caught my ear (like red dirt wasn’t enough to make me raise two eyebrows) was when she said, “Aliens, they took all my eggs. I’m 50 years old and never had a child”…….who knew! Egg stealing Aliens. Now I’ve heard it all. The strangeness in humanity continues to amaze me, shock me and perplex me. After I heard that, I turned the radio down and really let it sink in. If that woman really, and I mean truly, believes Aliens played thievery on her vital eggs. Then perhaps, I’m so far from the crazy I label myself when I’m feeling out of sorts that I need to haul out the dictionary and find a new word to define my craZy, but clearly not alien egg stealing craZy, thoughts.
Until next time~ Rebecca Anne~