Something's gone wrong with KZE's online playlist today, so I can't look up songs, but there was a wonderful one at around 4:20, a young woman singing what could have been the story of much of this blog, erotic obsession and jealousy whose object doesn't pay her no mind, humorous and dead-on accurate. Ah well, I'd love to know who that was. I went through an extended period of questionable mental health last winter when it seemed that every song (or nearly so) on KZE spoke to me. That was bad. My mind was totally projecting patterns all over the place - the top of my head was feeling blown off, to paraphrase E.D. That was an odd winter and I don't care for a repeat.
A couple of songs ago was some dance number and I just wanted to get up and dance. This morning first thing I said to D - blurted out, really - was that I plan to go the writers colony reading Saturday afternoon by myself so that I have a chance to mingle, maybe chat with a person or three. If I'm just with D I'll never break out. Also, on Sunday I'm looking forward to attending a writing workshop to be held outdoors on the grounds of Olana, the Frederic Church estate. I attended last year and was very inspired by the guided writing exercises, one of which involved selecting a Tarot card. I pulled the Five of Cups and the black-cloaked figure reminded me of E.D. Days afterward I started this blog - its almost one-year anniversary.
If I can just keep moving - dancing, writing, seeking out groups of literate people - I'll be okay. But not a regular workshop such as one I took at a community college a year and a half ago. There was something about that format that made me feel self-censoring and constrained - I suppose because at least two of the five people in the class I instantly sized up as provincial, rigid, and small-minded. Obviously I'm a bit of a boundary buster but I don't need skeptical disapproval - grief, in other words - laid on it. That just seizes me up and makes me contrary. (John Lennon in the midst of John Birchers.) I like to feel free to write what I like without fear of ignorant knee-jerk disapproval and misunderstanding. So, no more writing workshops unless of a handpicked sort - the Olana annual one-off definitely qualifies.
I fantasize about how I'd respond if someone in a congenial social setting asks what I "do." I'm a writer. I might answer the inevitable follow up by saying that I have a blog. What kind of blog? If he's really cute - oh until lately it's been mostly about an unrequited erotic obsession. (Come to think of it, perhaps that's a nonstarter with a cute guy. Must rethink.) I know how narcissistic it sounds to glance at myself in the mirror while musing about how I might respond, but as I rinsed my hands this afternoon I cracked myself up rehearsing that - an antic grin broke out. It'd be nice if someone besides myself and a few regulars liked my sense of humor - and found me cute too.
A fine romance - with no kisses... sings Billie Holiday...
Oh enough of that already. By the way - one final footnote on the whole "needy" thing. When one has purposely and successfully set up one's life to be able to be topped off at will at any and all times in the lower 48 with sex & gasoline, thus freeing other aspects to draft at full steam whole books - then of course one isn't "needy." There's never any need - all the needy needs are serenely met. Nothing but clear blue skies and vast horizons. Oh blessed oblivious -- driven one.
Things I never learned in - never mind kindergarten. New Haven - which I didn't attend - seems to specialize in it.
XOXO
No comments:
Post a Comment