Time to Keep Writing

5/15/2011

Running a bath. I just bought some Sinatra on the recommendation of Jesse who is, at the moment, playing music in St. Johns with Casey and Ezra. I would go if I could drive. Rescheduled Dr. Chad for Tuesday so today is completely free and clear for me to lounge about. Good news. I’m not even telling mom because she is happy gallivanting around her farm with her animals. The stuff that treats dry mouth really seems to be working. Just flossed my teeth. Running a bath. Time to keep writing because it takesforever to fill the tub. Trying to remember to really like myself, not in an “I’m full of myself” sort of way just in a “I’m not a complete asshole” kind of way.

Took a bath and caught a bloody nose. Don’t want to call anyone. Just want to cure it on my own. People get bloody noses. Especially those in cold houses fueled by furnaces that blast hot air onto the sleeping would be beauties. The day is half done. I’ve bathed. Read the paper. Flossed and brushed. Laid on my side. Thought about things I could do to fill my time today. Then I thought maybe I would just pick one thing to do today and that one thing seemed to be to write my child friend who I “sponsor” in Equador. She just sent me a photo but doesn’t look very happy. Sometimes what is good for the soul is just some safe isolation. A quiet place for existing without the influence of others, however well meaning and gracious they are, the attention fashioned upon (in my case) the chronically ill is heartwarming and also sad. I wanted to be someone who made other people feel the joy of life. I wanted to be the one to do good by people. I wonder to myself if, as they are feeling sorry for me, if this is a good thing for them? Does is foster gratitude for them the way it does for me when I see Oprah talk to the woman whose friend’s Ape ate her face off. The bloody nose is still running and it has been about twenty minutes. At an hour, maybe I could call. Please stop bleeding nose. I have lots of things NOT to do today.

Got my nose bleed stopped all my myself. Big smile. Mom stopped by on her way home from an open house with Snookerdoodle cookies and poured me a glass of milk. The upstairs is hot, already. I hereby apologize to the student who I had sleep upstairs when there was NO AC up there. They haven’t asked me host again, small wonder. I’m giving myself until August to launch the new blog including implementing all the edits Leslie gave me and using lots of pretty pictures. I am giving myself until after Thursday to file documents in my computer, get what I need for Marcus, give that to Kathleen to give to Marilyn.

I spent fifteen minutes on Facebook and it sucked me in. Ashton Kutcher is going to replace Charlie Sheen on Two and a half Men. This was a question on Facebook. Interesting. Is anyone on Facebook related to the makers of Two and a Half men because I’m sure that being mentioned more than once during my brief stint means some shinny coins for the TV show. Audiences have been digital and massive and curious. The economy of things has changed.

I have four hours left on my computer battery and love this part where I am not writing anything with the thought of someone reading and what they would think. At the same time, I can take batch of chosen words and post them across the sky of the internet complete with photographs and biographical information. Everyone is famous.

I hear the sound of some sort of motor, a small plane? And the revving up of a truck engine, now a car, the plane is louder and just generally there is a rumbling sound coming in through the glass windows. Even the quietest moments at this time of day during this time of year, on this part of the planet – there is so much sound. For four more days I get to play the before and after game with my eyes. As I’ve said before, blurry on one side, sharp as a knife on the other. It is as though I can see the light because with one of my eyes, today, it isn’t there. The light. But in the other Doctor implanted eye with the clear plastic lens, I can see what the light creates. The color it offers. The texture of the fabric and the details of the shiny and then muted lines and the distinct curves of the letters that spell “Paris.” Speaking of Paris, here is a picture of a picture of a piece of photography come art that I drew on that afternoon in the Louvre. Je vais aller a la restaurant ou on parle francias un peu. Pour quelque person, ce n’est pas possible de apprends une langue etranger quand un n’habite pas avec les personnes qui parler. Moi, je veux parler le meiux francais que je peux. Sans doubt. Je pense que Jesse m’aime. Oui.

Truth be told, in many ways, just writing down what it is I’m thinking helps me to take a deep breath. The more words I see, the more exciting it is. Who’s to say what will come of it and who in the hell cares. Besides my mom but she loves me so unconditionally that, sometimes, she shouldn’t be trusted. Truth, trust, dap dabbidy damn.
She (it) wasn’t beautiful
Wasn’t young
It wasn’t delicate
It isn’t fun