I'm going to head out to try to write for maybe an hour while some heavy airplane flies low over my house and CAN plays on Spotify.
Hey you...you're losing, you're losing, you're losing, you're losing your Vitamin C.
I can't type fast enough to fastwrite and I keep stopping, looking for typos which I make a lot of. Edit another time. Go! And now I've put pressure on myself and I'm overthinking it.
Tarantino just killed off a bunch of people using an acid tripping stunt man, a TV western bounty hunter, his Italian starlet spouse, and a well trained pitbull. But, you know, he saved the neighbors.
I never realized the heiress to the Folger fortune was a social worker too. A sister.
Overall, I'm not sure it was time well spent. I liked Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction, but something about Tarantino movies since then makes me feel sort of soul-grimy. Yeah, I know, he's a genius and all, but I don't like his face and I think it signifies evil or some kind of dickishness in reality. But I do like the music he picks for his soundtracks.
I gave myself anxiety today thinking about getting disciplined, doing hard work, managing time, productivity, and taking my writing seriously. That resulted in pissing an entire day away just kind of spinning. I accomplished nothing I set out to do, but I'm doing this writing exercise now, so that counts.
I did manage to cross a line, and exercise poor judgment, by sending someone who doesn't know me like that a message through social media without an invitation to do so. I also texted a lady I went on several dates with some months back, but I was all twisted up and conflicted so, you know, I didn't make any moves.
Now, I'm thinking I feel better. My head is straighter and I'm feeling a little more like a live human being so I reached out to her asking her if the wonderful offer she made me once still stood, if the window hadn't closed, the door hadn't shut, that ship hadn't sailed, but it pretty much has.
She's met a nice man - which is good for her. I'm not jealous. You'd like her, I think. She's smart, funny, hard working, earnest but with a keen sense of the absurd, emotionally honest, pretty and sexy too. She'll let me know if the new guy doesn't pan out, she said. I laughed, feeling happy. Pretty happy.
The other message had to do with maybe trying to make friends with people I normally wouldn't reach out to, which is pretty much all of them. It's a good idea to do that kind of thing. I stopped doing that maybe in graduate school. Maybe 25 years ago. Making friends.
I noticed when I was in Texas that I don't like men. Well, actually that's not exactly true. I listened to quite a few men that I liked well enough, but they were telling me their stories or their troubles. Apparently West Texas doesn't have a lot of good listeners. But what I mean about not liking men was an observation I made at the little going away party. There were five women and four men. Four of the women were my co workers and the other was a friend of one of them. Three of the men were husbands and one was maybe a cousin or some overly familiar friend of one of my coworkers. They were on one end of the long table cursing a lot, talking about sports, making those overly patterned barroom laughs that irritate the shit out of me.
The women were focused on me, partly because I was leaving and they were throwing me a going away party, and partly because I had spent a couple of months living as the New Kid in Town, like the dude in the Eagles song from back in the 70's.
I got a lot of attention from those ladies, but of course it was a deadly minefield, so I did little more than smile and joke in kind. They did a lot of touching of my arms and shoulders that night, looking for the muscles they would have found a few years ago, but I decided some time ago to take them off the payroll. They gave me a stuffed gerbil and a mock rape whistle as a going away present.
The gerbil was because they said I looked like Richard Gere and they imagined I was more of a sportsman than I am. The rape whistle was to save me from them. One of the ladies phoned in from work and told one of the others to say goodbye to his sexy ass for her. So those were pretty heady times, but I didn't really get along with the men.
And I found myself thinking that it's because they at least have the appearance of not having developed as human beings from about the time they graduated high school. I'm sure this is just a mask and somewhere inside they are more individuated. But sitting there, when the volume of their conversation overwhelmed that of the increasingly drunk ladies around me, I felt like I could write their dialogue word for word before they said it. One guy was good and drunk and feeling a little scrappy. We jousted a bit, and it ended with him telling me I didn't know how lucky I was getting to leave that fucking town. I tried to stick up for it, but he told me to leave and not to come back, and he said it with such drunken pathos that I think he actually meant it for my own good. I could see him for a minute, stuck inside a hamster wheel, warning me away.
Anyway, those people were nice to do that for me, but the whole situation got louder and messier than it needed to, and I left as the wheels were coming off. Some other stuff happened later and that part was good.
When you feel like you're a ghost, or a dead man, or old, or fading away, and someone suddenly thinks you're funny or interesting or smart or good looking or sexy - man, that's medicinal. I don't get a lot of that so I made sure to soak it up.
They will never forget you til somebody new comes along.
Yeah, well, it still happened.
Now I'm back to anonymous here at home, but that's alright because I'm better returning than I was leaving. Some strangers offered me friendship in a small town and that helped get me better.
Hey you...you're losing, you're losing, you're losing, you're losing your Vitamin C.
I can't type fast enough to fastwrite and I keep stopping, looking for typos which I make a lot of. Edit another time. Go! And now I've put pressure on myself and I'm overthinking it.
Tarantino just killed off a bunch of people using an acid tripping stunt man, a TV western bounty hunter, his Italian starlet spouse, and a well trained pitbull. But, you know, he saved the neighbors.
I never realized the heiress to the Folger fortune was a social worker too. A sister.
Overall, I'm not sure it was time well spent. I liked Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction, but something about Tarantino movies since then makes me feel sort of soul-grimy. Yeah, I know, he's a genius and all, but I don't like his face and I think it signifies evil or some kind of dickishness in reality. But I do like the music he picks for his soundtracks.
I gave myself anxiety today thinking about getting disciplined, doing hard work, managing time, productivity, and taking my writing seriously. That resulted in pissing an entire day away just kind of spinning. I accomplished nothing I set out to do, but I'm doing this writing exercise now, so that counts.
I did manage to cross a line, and exercise poor judgment, by sending someone who doesn't know me like that a message through social media without an invitation to do so. I also texted a lady I went on several dates with some months back, but I was all twisted up and conflicted so, you know, I didn't make any moves.
Now, I'm thinking I feel better. My head is straighter and I'm feeling a little more like a live human being so I reached out to her asking her if the wonderful offer she made me once still stood, if the window hadn't closed, the door hadn't shut, that ship hadn't sailed, but it pretty much has.
She's met a nice man - which is good for her. I'm not jealous. You'd like her, I think. She's smart, funny, hard working, earnest but with a keen sense of the absurd, emotionally honest, pretty and sexy too. She'll let me know if the new guy doesn't pan out, she said. I laughed, feeling happy. Pretty happy.
The other message had to do with maybe trying to make friends with people I normally wouldn't reach out to, which is pretty much all of them. It's a good idea to do that kind of thing. I stopped doing that maybe in graduate school. Maybe 25 years ago. Making friends.
I noticed when I was in Texas that I don't like men. Well, actually that's not exactly true. I listened to quite a few men that I liked well enough, but they were telling me their stories or their troubles. Apparently West Texas doesn't have a lot of good listeners. But what I mean about not liking men was an observation I made at the little going away party. There were five women and four men. Four of the women were my co workers and the other was a friend of one of them. Three of the men were husbands and one was maybe a cousin or some overly familiar friend of one of my coworkers. They were on one end of the long table cursing a lot, talking about sports, making those overly patterned barroom laughs that irritate the shit out of me.
The women were focused on me, partly because I was leaving and they were throwing me a going away party, and partly because I had spent a couple of months living as the New Kid in Town, like the dude in the Eagles song from back in the 70's.
I got a lot of attention from those ladies, but of course it was a deadly minefield, so I did little more than smile and joke in kind. They did a lot of touching of my arms and shoulders that night, looking for the muscles they would have found a few years ago, but I decided some time ago to take them off the payroll. They gave me a stuffed gerbil and a mock rape whistle as a going away present.
The gerbil was because they said I looked like Richard Gere and they imagined I was more of a sportsman than I am. The rape whistle was to save me from them. One of the ladies phoned in from work and told one of the others to say goodbye to his sexy ass for her. So those were pretty heady times, but I didn't really get along with the men.
And I found myself thinking that it's because they at least have the appearance of not having developed as human beings from about the time they graduated high school. I'm sure this is just a mask and somewhere inside they are more individuated. But sitting there, when the volume of their conversation overwhelmed that of the increasingly drunk ladies around me, I felt like I could write their dialogue word for word before they said it. One guy was good and drunk and feeling a little scrappy. We jousted a bit, and it ended with him telling me I didn't know how lucky I was getting to leave that fucking town. I tried to stick up for it, but he told me to leave and not to come back, and he said it with such drunken pathos that I think he actually meant it for my own good. I could see him for a minute, stuck inside a hamster wheel, warning me away.
Anyway, those people were nice to do that for me, but the whole situation got louder and messier than it needed to, and I left as the wheels were coming off. Some other stuff happened later and that part was good.
When you feel like you're a ghost, or a dead man, or old, or fading away, and someone suddenly thinks you're funny or interesting or smart or good looking or sexy - man, that's medicinal. I don't get a lot of that so I made sure to soak it up.
They will never forget you til somebody new comes along.
Yeah, well, it still happened.
Now I'm back to anonymous here at home, but that's alright because I'm better returning than I was leaving. Some strangers offered me friendship in a small town and that helped get me better.
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