I have a writing problem.
Heres the problem:
I write.
I know this may not sound like a problem. And in fact you are correct, it's kinda ok. But it's also kind of like having a drinking problem. Once I get started, I can't stop myself. I can't just "have one drink." I can't just "write a quick blog/post/email/journal entry." I'm wondering if what we call professional writers are actually kind of the equivalent of alcoholics who've found a way to get paid to drink. Writing is kind of an unhealthy process. To complete a book, writers are locked away, mentally degrading, for months, sometimes years, neglecting food, family, exercise, hunched over a computer/typewriter/paper/clay tablet, scratching out our mad rantings as if the letters were firey brands inside us that we were trying to get out before the burned us to death.
When I write, there is some creature inside a cage inside me, that is scrabbling and gnawing at the bars and yowling, trying to get out, and it won't stop until I've gotten it out or exhausted myself to the point where I don't care about the barking anymore.
I just had a champion afternoon. A champion day. I got up at 4:45 without an alarm, despite going to bed at like 10 the night before (which looks like it's going to happen again tonight.) I did my spiritual workout, physical workout, etc, I did my work, focused throughout the day, took 15 minutes for a walk in the forest and a half hour for dinner, and worked through the evening. This was a...14 hour work day, I think. I'm pumped, I'm ready to do it again. But...
But the only reward I'm getting for working like a dog, is that tomorrow, I can do it again. The reward for the work is just more of the work. This is ok when the work is worthwhile. But some of this work is utter bull-ninny. Some of what I've done benefits no one, and merely uses up my precious precious time here, alive and on earth.
If my reward for being a productivity samurai is just more work, then it must be work worthy of a samurai. Only then is it a reward. Otherwise it's a punishment.
Also, I need to find balance. This routine, though fun, is not maintainable. Rest is important. And enjoyable.
Monday, September 25, 2017
Friday, September 22, 2017
Mortification
I had a horrible nightmare a few nights ago.
It was the tail end of one of a series of very vivid, long-form, intricate dreams I've been having basically every night for the last... I don't know. Week? and a half? Anyways, It was just about time for my graduation or something. Some friends and I had been working hard to put on a play, that I'd done a fair bit of the writing on. I had an important introduction and an even more important grand finale (that did some riff's off Hamlets "to be or not to be" speech) that I had done most of the writing for and it was gonna be great.
Except I hadn't memorized my lines.
There was a huge auditorium of people, who were right next door, about to move over to our auditorium, after seeing the graduation of a younger school level of people, and it was show time.
No matter, undaunted, I looked at my master script, that I'd made to work on my lines, but had never gotten around to. It was beautiful and intricate, made out of leather with special ink, and parts of the leather were cut out to hold the individual words, and there were some sections with extra flaps of written on leather for parts that repeated. I could at least use that as a cheat sheet, to help me through the performance if I lost my place.
But suddenly I found that all the words were gone. many of the leather pieces with words on them were missing, leaving holes in the document, and with the rest, the words had just been washed away or something. The show was starting. As the other performers, who all HAD memorized their lines, like, good, responsible team members, covered for me and just went on without the introduction, I desperately but determinedly looked for a printer to print out a copy of the last draft of the script on google docs. It wouldn't be as good, but it would be something.
The printer wasn't working.
I went over to another room and begged the use of their printer. Finally, I had the paper, tucked away, ran back to the performance. I pulled out the sheet to begin last-minute cramming before my fast approaching epic conclusion.
The paper was dirty, worn thin, as if it was thirty years old, and slightly damp, as if I'd been sweating so much that it had gotten through my pockets onto it, and the words were almost entirely gone. Faded, washed away, I don't know.
I was mortified.
With nothing but a few snatches of the emotional gist and some Hamlet in my head, I strode onto the stage, trying to give it all the passion I could muster. Two teachers/mentors I'm currently working with, Teri and Lynne, both extremely accomplished, hardworking and well-prepared, were there, Teri in the audience, watching, Lynne, my co-operating teacher in real life was, I think, the director of the performance in this dream, looking on from the wings. I stumbled and made up what must have been a pretty horrible improvisation, pouring all my intense frustration into the performance to at least give it emotional power.
I was so frustrated. Frustrated at myself for not being prepared, and frustrated at the universe, that was so utterly, unrealistically screwing me over no matter what I tried to do to get prepared. And of course under that was the intense fear and anxiety and shame of going up in front of a bunch of experts whom I know and respect and giving a horrible performance entirely due to my own laxity in preparation. Something I could easily have avoided if I'd just learned my lines ahead of time like everybody else.
I woke up submerged. I was straining my muscles to burrow myself into my mattress, likely to try and dig a hole I could crawl into and expire. Heart pounding, I felt like I'd just had a bucket of water dumped on me, I was sweating so much.
It's been a long time since I've had a nightmare that intense. Normally I can escape or fight the danger. There was so much anger, in the form of frustration. I was trying so hard, and things were working out so badly at every turn. And underneath that anger was the incredible discomfort of being so publicly, shamefully unprepared.
So, this is all to give you an idea of my waking life, because somehow, what I'm going through these days had produced such a dream.
I feel like I am not working hard enough. I am not preparing sufficiently for my tasks at hand. And I'm worried (terrified perhaps, says my subconscious?) that I will be getting my just desserts for this negligence, ergo something like what happened in my dream. I will be found out, and my gross, ungrateful sloth will be displayed for the whole world to see.
Let me give you some perspective here: things are not that bad. I'm doing fine. External observers would not be terribly worried or offended or find my level of negligence unusual. Probably most wouldn't even think to label it negligence.
But like my exquisite soliloquy, I have the potential to create something so good, if I'd just put in that basic preparation... it feels like a deep wrong to not do so.
Being a bit more compassionate to myself, I've got A LOT of stuff on my plate, I'm doing all right at it, and it is exhausting physically, mentally, and emotionally. I'm isolated, which is hard for me, as I really thrive and depend on my close friends and family for the support and connection and warmth that are so vital to my happiness (and which leads to high levels productivity.)
I need to chill out my expectations for myself to a more reasonable and less perfectionistic level. Challenging, but not demoralizingly impossible.
I'm working on self-compassion. Reading some books, practicing talking to myself and backing myself like I'm a dear friend, rather than some #$%hole whose constantly messing up my life.
It's a work in progress.
But in the meantime, at least I can be entertained by some of it, like these dreams, which are hilarious in their... how to say it. Archetypal, melodramatic, almost cliche clarity. I normally have weird dreams. I've certainly had nightmares, but I think this is the first one that would be at home on some 80's daytime TV sitcom.
Here's to all those moments in life when we feel this way:
And to being able to look back at it and laugh our pants off. What else are you going to do about it? Cry? Hide? Life is messy and imperfect and it's all improv. Be kind to yourself, keep on chuggin', and don't take it too seriously.
😉
-I Out
It was the tail end of one of a series of very vivid, long-form, intricate dreams I've been having basically every night for the last... I don't know. Week? and a half? Anyways, It was just about time for my graduation or something. Some friends and I had been working hard to put on a play, that I'd done a fair bit of the writing on. I had an important introduction and an even more important grand finale (that did some riff's off Hamlets "to be or not to be" speech) that I had done most of the writing for and it was gonna be great.
Except I hadn't memorized my lines.
There was a huge auditorium of people, who were right next door, about to move over to our auditorium, after seeing the graduation of a younger school level of people, and it was show time.
No matter, undaunted, I looked at my master script, that I'd made to work on my lines, but had never gotten around to. It was beautiful and intricate, made out of leather with special ink, and parts of the leather were cut out to hold the individual words, and there were some sections with extra flaps of written on leather for parts that repeated. I could at least use that as a cheat sheet, to help me through the performance if I lost my place.
But suddenly I found that all the words were gone. many of the leather pieces with words on them were missing, leaving holes in the document, and with the rest, the words had just been washed away or something. The show was starting. As the other performers, who all HAD memorized their lines, like, good, responsible team members, covered for me and just went on without the introduction, I desperately but determinedly looked for a printer to print out a copy of the last draft of the script on google docs. It wouldn't be as good, but it would be something.
The printer wasn't working.
I went over to another room and begged the use of their printer. Finally, I had the paper, tucked away, ran back to the performance. I pulled out the sheet to begin last-minute cramming before my fast approaching epic conclusion.
The paper was dirty, worn thin, as if it was thirty years old, and slightly damp, as if I'd been sweating so much that it had gotten through my pockets onto it, and the words were almost entirely gone. Faded, washed away, I don't know.
I was mortified.
With nothing but a few snatches of the emotional gist and some Hamlet in my head, I strode onto the stage, trying to give it all the passion I could muster. Two teachers/mentors I'm currently working with, Teri and Lynne, both extremely accomplished, hardworking and well-prepared, were there, Teri in the audience, watching, Lynne, my co-operating teacher in real life was, I think, the director of the performance in this dream, looking on from the wings. I stumbled and made up what must have been a pretty horrible improvisation, pouring all my intense frustration into the performance to at least give it emotional power.
I was so frustrated. Frustrated at myself for not being prepared, and frustrated at the universe, that was so utterly, unrealistically screwing me over no matter what I tried to do to get prepared. And of course under that was the intense fear and anxiety and shame of going up in front of a bunch of experts whom I know and respect and giving a horrible performance entirely due to my own laxity in preparation. Something I could easily have avoided if I'd just learned my lines ahead of time like everybody else.
I woke up submerged. I was straining my muscles to burrow myself into my mattress, likely to try and dig a hole I could crawl into and expire. Heart pounding, I felt like I'd just had a bucket of water dumped on me, I was sweating so much.
It's been a long time since I've had a nightmare that intense. Normally I can escape or fight the danger. There was so much anger, in the form of frustration. I was trying so hard, and things were working out so badly at every turn. And underneath that anger was the incredible discomfort of being so publicly, shamefully unprepared.
So, this is all to give you an idea of my waking life, because somehow, what I'm going through these days had produced such a dream.
I feel like I am not working hard enough. I am not preparing sufficiently for my tasks at hand. And I'm worried (terrified perhaps, says my subconscious?) that I will be getting my just desserts for this negligence, ergo something like what happened in my dream. I will be found out, and my gross, ungrateful sloth will be displayed for the whole world to see.
Let me give you some perspective here: things are not that bad. I'm doing fine. External observers would not be terribly worried or offended or find my level of negligence unusual. Probably most wouldn't even think to label it negligence.
But like my exquisite soliloquy, I have the potential to create something so good, if I'd just put in that basic preparation... it feels like a deep wrong to not do so.
Being a bit more compassionate to myself, I've got A LOT of stuff on my plate, I'm doing all right at it, and it is exhausting physically, mentally, and emotionally. I'm isolated, which is hard for me, as I really thrive and depend on my close friends and family for the support and connection and warmth that are so vital to my happiness (and which leads to high levels productivity.)
I need to chill out my expectations for myself to a more reasonable and less perfectionistic level. Challenging, but not demoralizingly impossible.
I'm working on self-compassion. Reading some books, practicing talking to myself and backing myself like I'm a dear friend, rather than some #$%hole whose constantly messing up my life.
It's a work in progress.
But in the meantime, at least I can be entertained by some of it, like these dreams, which are hilarious in their... how to say it. Archetypal, melodramatic, almost cliche clarity. I normally have weird dreams. I've certainly had nightmares, but I think this is the first one that would be at home on some 80's daytime TV sitcom.
Here's to all those moments in life when we feel this way:
And to being able to look back at it and laugh our pants off. What else are you going to do about it? Cry? Hide? Life is messy and imperfect and it's all improv. Be kind to yourself, keep on chuggin', and don't take it too seriously.
😉
-I Out
Sunday, September 17, 2017
It's business time. Also, I'm ready to have my weekend now. Wait, tomorrow is Monday?...
This is (I hope) going to be a short one, and here's why: Five hour class yesterday, Five hour class today, and a one-hour class I taught and so spent another couple hours preparing for. And then a deep, long conversation with my spiritual accountability buddy.
The Caterpillar is not dead, in fact, I think the day or two when it was not moving was because it was undergoing a mini-transformation into something twice its previous size. It then kept growing every day until it was swoll and resplendent in its jewel-like, plump cuteness. It got so big it was nomming on the stems of the dill plant like it had been nomming on the fine leaves. Then a bunch of other cool stuff happened (I do have pictures, if I remember and have time I'll post them at some point.) and it is now part-way through the transformation where it will eventually shed its caterpillar skin and become a chrysalis.
I feel that this series of events is symbolically linked to my own transformation, as I undergo uncomfortable but ultimately positive changes. I'm not a hundred percent sure what the changes are, but I don't think the caterpillar knows exactly what it's becoming either.
I think my transformation has to do with self-acceptance. More of it, specifically.
Yup, managed to keep it short. Not that I want to deprive you of my long rambling verbiage, but I'm quite sleepy.
Business hours are over:
https://youtu.be/WGOohBytKTU?t=3m12s
(this link starts the video near the end, which is what I'm referencing with my sign off, but the entire video is quite funny and worth the watch from the beginning if you're so inclined. Flight of the Concords. The lyrics are slightly not safe for work? It's pretty tame; it's a comedy song and uses no bad words, but it is about "business time.")
The Caterpillar is not dead, in fact, I think the day or two when it was not moving was because it was undergoing a mini-transformation into something twice its previous size. It then kept growing every day until it was swoll and resplendent in its jewel-like, plump cuteness. It got so big it was nomming on the stems of the dill plant like it had been nomming on the fine leaves. Then a bunch of other cool stuff happened (I do have pictures, if I remember and have time I'll post them at some point.) and it is now part-way through the transformation where it will eventually shed its caterpillar skin and become a chrysalis.
I feel that this series of events is symbolically linked to my own transformation, as I undergo uncomfortable but ultimately positive changes. I'm not a hundred percent sure what the changes are, but I don't think the caterpillar knows exactly what it's becoming either.
I think my transformation has to do with self-acceptance. More of it, specifically.
Yup, managed to keep it short. Not that I want to deprive you of my long rambling verbiage, but I'm quite sleepy.
Business hours are over:
https://youtu.be/WGOohBytKTU?t=3m12s
(this link starts the video near the end, which is what I'm referencing with my sign off, but the entire video is quite funny and worth the watch from the beginning if you're so inclined. Flight of the Concords. The lyrics are slightly not safe for work? It's pretty tame; it's a comedy song and uses no bad words, but it is about "business time.")
Monday, September 11, 2017
Caterpillar, Choices, Time
I was going to post something Sunday, but life got crazy. I even had it partially composed in my head. But no time, and now the week continues to march ever forward. Suffice to say I went to the farmers market and bought some dill because there was a swallowtail caterpillar on it, and I'm keeping it with some of the fennel by a window. I'm a little worried because when I first got it, it was eating like crazy, all the time, and now, I keep checking, but I'm hardly seeing it eat at all. This brings back memories of the class guinea pig, and my lizards, and my mice, and my sister's rabbit. And there's probably some other creature under my care that I've forgotten about. But the animals were pretty uniformly unhappy with me as their overlord. The mice and rabbit became anti-social, the lizards and guinea pig died. (the guinea pig died when I brought it home for the weekend.)
What will happen to our brave caterpillar friend? I've named it Dilly, because of the dill, but I think it's a male caterpillar, due to the coloration.
In other news: something has reminded me of my young angst/loneliness/self-deprecation. It's interesting revisiting it. It's a stronger negative emotion than I'm used to, and it doesn't seem to be caused by anything specific in my environment, so I can only assume it's something deeper/older than the current goings-on. I'll keep processing it as best as I know how, and lean on friends and family to remind me that I'm not actually alone.
I've got pictures and video's of the caterpillar, but do I have time to upload them? Let's see.
What will happen to our brave caterpillar friend? I've named it Dilly, because of the dill, but I think it's a male caterpillar, due to the coloration.
In other news: something has reminded me of my young angst/loneliness/self-deprecation. It's interesting revisiting it. It's a stronger negative emotion than I'm used to, and it doesn't seem to be caused by anything specific in my environment, so I can only assume it's something deeper/older than the current goings-on. I'll keep processing it as best as I know how, and lean on friends and family to remind me that I'm not actually alone.
I've got pictures and video's of the caterpillar, but do I have time to upload them? Let's see.
Look's like the answer was yes. Enjoy!
See ya next week. I didn't even have time to mention the beautiful gibbous moon or the police officer who picked up a bag of drugs or maybe just someones bagged lunch from the park next door. Ah well. Need to eat and do homework. Or maybe just sleep. That seems to be happening a lot. Having to choose between homework completion and sleep. I choose sleep! Usually. I think this makes me a bad grad student, but a happy person.
-IO
Monday, September 4, 2017
The parts of God we are
"People are the parts of God that aren't fully satisfied."
-Isaac, quoting Malinda, quoting Isaac
This is a short post. School must be starting up again ;-)
Sorry I don't have time for anything longer. I may miss it even more than you. As I write, I often think of you, on the other side, listening, and it feels a bit like I am sitting with a friend. Perhaps that is one of the secrets. I do this so that you can feel close and cozy, but also so I can feel that. Reminds me of my current self-improvement todo list:
-more intimate, nourishing moments of love and connection with people
-less self-criticism and judgment
-instead, more self-compassion and support
-the usual (making my various spiritual weight-lifting exercises throughout the day more frequent)
Love, always love;
-I
-Isaac, quoting Malinda, quoting Isaac
This is a short post. School must be starting up again ;-)
Sorry I don't have time for anything longer. I may miss it even more than you. As I write, I often think of you, on the other side, listening, and it feels a bit like I am sitting with a friend. Perhaps that is one of the secrets. I do this so that you can feel close and cozy, but also so I can feel that. Reminds me of my current self-improvement todo list:
-more intimate, nourishing moments of love and connection with people
-less self-criticism and judgment
-instead, more self-compassion and support
-the usual (making my various spiritual weight-lifting exercises throughout the day more frequent)
Love, always love;
-I
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)