Writing. I think I still know how to do this. It’s like riding a bike. Only nothing at all like riding a bike, except for the near-rhyme.
a bike
(That’s me writing ‘a bike’)
This is part 2 in the ‘i might be falling apart series’, a series which I started to write a few weeks ago, but never finished. The inclination to kick myself over this -did- appear, momentarily, but vanished. If you’re falling apart, do you really have the time and organization to finish a series of anything (other than mistakes)? Clearly -something- is working, so your premise doesn’t move me. Anorexia Cookbooks, Dictionaries for Mis-spelled words, etc.
The start of my most recent decay, the mini-decay, was probably October 8th, when I landed in JAX, en route from LGA. And then I landed in Gainesville.
When I’m in Eugene, with my homieloverfriend —
(it’s troublesome, referring to your girl with an R.Kelly song. “What does he mean?” the audience asks, heads, scratching. Is she 16? Is he going to pee on her? The ambiguity makes it fun. The lyrics to homieloverfriend indicate that he basically wants a girl who can “relate to [his] sex drive.” Relate? Robert? Maybe you were looking for a different word. It’s hard to find a girl who will relate to this.)
— I live a much more normal life. I wake up. One of us makes breakfast, then there’s lunch, and there’s dinner. Sometimes there’s a snack. And between 4-8 glasses of water daily. Mi vida de Gainesville esta muy differen-tay.
Today I ate a hotdog, and a couple of hardboiled eggs.
Yesterday I ate a chicken sub from Subway.
The day before that I had 4 hardboiled eggs, and a burger from Checkers.
In lieu of 4-8 glasses of water, I’ve been drinking 4-8 alcoholic beverages. Not daily, but you’d never know that based on how I feel at this exact instant. Sentences. Are. Hard.
The most recent 30 seconds of my life were dedicated to singing along to Owl City. Part of me wants to deny that, but… there it is.
There I was, typing, and there I was trying to figure out why I wasn’t typing, only to discover that my mind had drifted and I was expressing, with heartfelt enthusiasm, that I’d like to make myself believe that planet earth turns sloooowwwlyyyy. Am I even in control of this body that I’m currently abusing, or just hanging out while it does what it wants?
As a self-check, I reviewed Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. This blog will not condescend and tell you what it is. If you don’t know by now it doesn’t matter. Maybe it never did. I checked all the criteria to see how I was doing and the answer was “Not Good.” Out of thirty or so criteria, 27 were “needs serious improvement” as evaluated by myself. I’m kicking ass at “execretion”, which is at the bottom of the pyramid.
Trying to keep this to less than 2 pages. 470 words and I still haven’t said anything.
I guess blogs are for shootin’ the shit.
The long-time announcer for UGA football, Larry Munson, used to do (and perhaps still does) regular visits on the talk show of Neal Boortz. He is one of the most fun to listen to college football commentators ever, patently partisan, probably painfully so for non-UGA fans. People quote him as shorthand to remember big moments in GA football history.
Both have a long history in Atlanta radio, and they were reminiscing about this one day. Boortz asked him how he’d prepared for his career, what his schooling had been like. Munson said he had a professor once who made them stand up and speak as long as they could without being repetitive or resorting to “um … um” about some random object in the classroom. He spoke for 11 minutes about the clock.
Exercising in whatever fashion you can is good, if it keeps you moving forward.
Blogs are for whatever you want them to be. Somehow, even when you think you’re saying nothing, you still manage to convey such a detailed picture of how that nothing is happening to you it is kind of hypnotic. It’s like peeking into the workings of a fantastical Mousetrap machine, and thinking “Oh! THAT’S what makes the Owl City marble roll over and bump the R Kelly lever!”