Still Crazy…

Keeping a journal, even a sporadic one, as I do, is humbling. I look at past entries every now and again, read my brave declarations and promises to myself. The promises continue to be unfulfilled. Time is getting short. I’m tempted to say I have wasted the last couple years allowing myself to become domesticated. Let’s say I’ve spent the last couple years allowing myself to become domesticated. Whether it’s been a waste or not isn’t worth pursuing. Mostly, I’ve learned to be more disciplined; well, about certain things anyway, mostly my personal grooming and clutter-filled habits; this thanks to my manager at work, who is a clean-desk man. I became a minimalist the day he threatened to send me home because I was wearing leopard tights (albeit with a black tunic top). Too avant-garde, he said. We work for a financial institution; up till now my work has been in alternative journalism and graphic design, both fields where a certain amount of sartorial rebellion was not only overlooked, it was encouraged. Anyway, I threw away the tights and my scarlet shoes and bought three black blazers, a collection of no-iron shirts, and some grandma heels. Now I actually like my wardrobe; it certainly does not require the expenditure of any creative energy. I’ve learned to manage my mouth, too, and curb my cursing and shouting. The only trouble is, now I feel like a drone; my interior world has grown as colorless and un-expressive as my outer. What I want to say in this blog post is the same thing I said four years ago in my last one: I need to cut back on my web-surfing and commit to writing every day. So I will and I do, driven by the realization that when my new women’s group met today to discuss the nurturing of dreams, every one had a seed they were excited to grow. What I wanted to talk about was how to suck it up at work without internalizing. Sad, but actually I did get some excellent advice, chiefly to think of it as blowing off rather than sucking up, for the sake of my health. I am going to do that, and look forward to my digestive issues improving!

Croaking when I Want to Sing

My gift is writing. I know that. I want to exercise my gift and offer it. So I am staring at this blank screen and waiting. Maybe I should have something to eat. I’ll do that. Today I ate eight leftover Reese’s Christmas bells and half a bag of salt and vinegar chips. This is dangerous food territory and definitely a sign of inner turmoil. I’ll make some juice. Can’t argue with that. Carrot, beet, kale, celery, cucumber, apple, pineapple, parsley, ginger. I’ll throw it all in there. I’ll be right back. Okay, that’s better. I have become aware that two ways I waste time are by surfing the web and eating. They both feel as if I am doing something when I really am not. So. I shall limit both and see what comes of it when I am not quite so busy eating and reading about celebrities and disaster. Hmm. How will I accomplish this? The more I think about it, the more I realize I’m an internet addict. I know spending hours on the internet is lowering my quality of life, but I keep on doing it. That’s the definition of an addict. In the morning I read the news and my blogs and email, glancing anxiously at the digital clock on the corner of my screen, just a few minutes more, just a few minutes more, and a couple hours have passed, and I’m late for work, and I haven’t done my yoga. So, starting tomorrow, I’ll limit myself to half an hour online. But right now, I think I’ll do a little research, look up various diseases and so forth…