Saturday, April 28, 2012
This week was crazy, early mornings every day (had to be at work 7:30) and early evenings. It was finals week and the semester is over now. One week off starting today, then back to the new summer semester.
Since August, I've struggled with getting to sleep and staying to sleep, to the point of getting medication to help me sleep, and then two weeks ago, BAM! I can't get enough sleep. I nap after work and still sleep a full night and feel so tired the next morning and throughout the day.
What is this? Is it Spring? Depression? What is up with my body?
Mom is coming tomorrow for a week. We're going to paint the bathroom and maybe the boys' rooms. I cleaned my room today, like really got into the corners behind/underneath dusted and vacuumed CLEANED. Feels amazing. But I'm super exhausted and I've still got to mop the kitchen, vacuum the living room, and clean the bathroom. Tomorrow.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
That is artistry. Or one form of it at least.
There are a few that are written so well that I can't predict what happens next, yet I don't feel that the events come out of left field either, and I go back to those breadcrumbs and say, "yeah, right, okay they *did* set this up." And there are always those that do come out of nowhere, and I usually stop watching those. You have to give me some honesty in the character and story-- they can't act out suddenly contrary to the circumstances and their own beliefs, things you've written up to this point.
Maybe that's why I liked Buffy so much. Even though I knew who would live or die, the "monster of the week" way it was written kept me guessing, and who in the world knew that Buffy was "The Gift" or that it was all set up episodes ago? Or that Buffy would actually have to kill Angel, the real-for-real Angel just as he was healed in Season 2?
Oh, Joss. Come back to TV and do something great. I miss you. I miss not knowing what's coming and that delicious moment when it all comes together.
For me, I think it was a combination of all of the simple things above but mostly that last idea; I didn't want to give up. I hadn't read much Shakespeare at all when I arrived a freshman in college, and I felt horribly behind as an English major. So, I took myself to the college library when I had breaks in homework, and I read. Usually right there in the stacks on the floor, one tragedy after another, a comedy here and there to break things up. The weird thing is, the words that I'd never heard of before began to make sense after sort of skipping over them at first, but only when I'd been reading for a good bit.
Of course, the biggest reason is context, and you have to read for a while before that context can take shape and allow you to begin to interpret the old English in the text. Soon, you're filling in the blanks, and that beautiful rhythm helps you along too. Maybe it's the high school English teacher in me, but I think anyone can read it with a little dedication, focus, and time.
It has been a very long time since I've read any of his plays, but I'm thinking it may be time to give the Bard another go.
Monday, April 16, 2012
I keep remembering my life isn't over and that no one can decide anything for me. That doesn't mean that I don't take my kids and my husband into account, but dang it all if they don't pretty much support me 100% in my choices. Mostly because, while my hopes for the future may be a bit off the expected path, they won't bankrupt us or embarrass the family name. Anymore than usual... After all, I just want to write. The possibility of publishing is nil. But the practice of writing is healing and may be enough to be my thing, my inspiration, my doing what I should be doing.
And at 11:00 at night it seems so easy. When it's dark out, it's easy to believe that all one needs is a plan and a list, and they are armed to start their lives in a completely new direction.
This is the time of night for "what ifs" and "why nots."
This was written in the full throes of Ambien. Will it still make sense to me in the morning?
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
And sometimes I think about the Quiet. No more groans or flare-ups, no shrugging of the shoulders or the nearly audible rolling of the eyes. Floors will be cleaner, clothes hung, no more messes made and left. No computers or headphones, tinny guitars and thumping drums through their tiny speakers. No more footsteps late at night or fights over which chair, which computer, which game, or which TV is used by whom.
And far less laughter. No keyboards playing or chasing of the cats, no late night snacks with refrigerators opening. Just two heartbeats, not four. Just two plates set at a small table.
I think about that Quiet and run into the sound of your laughter, your frustrations, your light. My sons, all love and Sound, sweet Sound.