I started writing a Christmas post, and then it wasn't Christmas anymore. I started compiling a list of 12 things about 2012, and then it was the end of January. These unfinished posts sit in my blog folder with dozens of other in-progress entries I have never bothered to finish and "publish", or whatever. Usually I look back through them and see they are all terrible, or the moment has passed, or I have no idea what I am talking about (often), so there is no point in re-investing in them. They just sit there, like little tiny failures, looking at me every time I sign in. Like little tater tots making up a side dish on a plate of everything I don't follow through with.
Which just reminds me that I don't really write enough. It's a hugely important part of my life and it gets more neglected than anything else. Hell, I even floss more than I write and that's terrifying (sorry, dentist). I was telling a writer friend just yesterday that writing is something I don't know what to do with. I have never been good at writing without deadlines and accountability. And that's what my life with writing is right now: no deadlines, no accountability. It's kind of lame, really. I have three screenplays, two plays, and one novel that have all been started and just gnaw at the edge of my conscience every couple of days like dirty laundry that I really want to wear but have no energy to wash. Writing + clothes. Way to bring all the interests together.
Tonight at dinner I told the Giraffe that I haven't instagramed anything in four days. "Oh my god. What's wrong?" He shared my concern. Hi. Have you met me? I am on Instagram all the time. Arguably too much. I love that Instagram. Love that Instagram very hard. It's a thing I love to do that doesn't really matter but makes each day more enjoyable. It's not like me to neglect my 'grams. I guess other kinds of life are just happening instead. And that can't be a bad thing. Right?
I mean the point is that I haven't written in too long and that's fine because other kinds of life have been happening but I feel like I have to do it now, so here are some things that don't really matter that you can read if you want.
+ I really admire people who seem like they tirelessly work towards what they want, or manage to fit like 30 things into each day and I feel like I want to be one of them but I'm not sure that I am. I get really tired. I get really sluggish. I have to watch tv and take baths and play at least 90 minutes of solitaire or mah jong every day. I get tired just thinking about all the things some people do every day. I have a lot of energy and a strong work ethic but my energy has a daily expiration date and if I don't pace myself my work ethic gets extremely unfocused. I want to be a machine the way I see other people being glorious, productive, well oiled machines. But I'm starting to think with increasing certainty that I am the tortoise and if I am going to get "there", wherever there is, it's going to be slow and steady or nothing at all. Slow and steady is way less glamorous.
+ the terrariums I made six months ago have completely died and are now just bowls elegantly layered with rocks and dirt and moss and succulent corpses. I keep looking at them thinking I should throw them away or try again but they feel somehow permanent. Like I can't let them know they're dead. Maybe I'll just leave them alone, call them "desert terrariums" and create a new cool trend. The dried up, sparse landscape is like, a metaphor for the struggles of the modern man. Or something.
+ I have pretty much stopped showering and moved exclusively to baths. Sometimes this makes me feel like I'm living a really luxurious lifestyle and that I'm getting better at practicing relaxing (it's best purpose). Other times it makes me concerned I'm reverting, becoming some adult baby, only moments away from needing help into my jammies and drinking from a cup with a lid on it.
+ the other day I started wondering if I could put my therapist on the list of my best friends. I mean, I know I pay her, but she's like, a REALLY good listener you guys. It's like she really cares. And sometimes we high five and sometimes we both cry and sometimes we laugh so hard. We have a real time together. Make some real memories. Just kidding. Boundaries, am I right? But seriously, if I get married someday is it appropriate to invite her to the wedding? She's just so lovely.
+ there are times when I don't want to watch "good" movies or plays or read "the best" books because it makes me feel frustrated at my own progress, afraid of my own future, and depressed at my current station in life. Gross honest truth. One of my biggest fears is being an old woman who never did the things she set out to do, sitting on a pile of past-due bills, in 30 yr old sweat pants with the crotch blown out, with kids that never call, eating turkey chili from the can because fuck it it's just cold chili, wearing foundation that's three shades too dark, watching television and just weeping at movie trailers, shouting "IT COULDA BEEN MEEEEE!". I feel like watching good films should inspire me, and it does, sometimes, but I have to be honest that it is not all the time. Sometimes you just have to watch "bridezillas season 7" on Netflix watch instantly again and again.
+ the "Golden Girls" theme song lowers my heart rate. One of my goals for 2013 is to get better at relaxing and this show might be my gateway. As soon as the opening credits start and that song comes on my face cracks into a smile and my bones turn to jelly and everything gets all warm and cozy and I know that it's all going to be ok. I am fairly certain this is a universal feeling and am surprised I never learned about the healing properties of Blanche, Dorothy, Sophia, and Rose in any of my college studies.
+ when you don't want to decorate your home in a way that is too "on trend" and in danger of needing to be redecorated in a year or two, your best bet is to go with swans. Swans are timeless.
+ one of the greatest mysteries in life is what dogs are thinking. Do you know what I mean? I spend so much time talking with my dogs, and petting them, inferring that we are having some sort of meaningful interaction. But what goes on in there? Can they hear you? Is it like that Simpsons episode where it's all "blah blah blah"? Are they like stroke victims where they can understand what you're saying they just can't communicate back? I don't know. We have no idea. So I just keep saying supportive and communicative things like "you are a really important guy" "thank you for doing such a good job showing love and kindness" and "have I told you lately that you are the best? You are excellent at being you" because, well, better safe than sorry.
EDIT: this has sat in my drafts pile for two weeks. Would Alanis Morrisette categorize that as ironic? I'm publishing it now, because, well, follow through.
