Posts
Market days
6 days ago
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Magnetic Poetry...
If you're lucky enough to own a Mac, check out the free app called "Desktop Poems." Check me out.
Blow them up. It's magnetic poetry for my desktop! LOVE IT! Last night it gave me the word "bosom" five times.
Out
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Inspiration...
Have you ever had something that you kept working on only because no one knew about it, like a surprise scrapbook or a story or something? And when someone finds out about it before you're ready, doesn't it take all the wind out of your sails? Inspiration dies. You falter. And now? Now you don't even want to work on it anymore.
Yeah.
I'm kind of feeling like that today. I didn't have any secrets planned, nothing really in the works, but I found something out yesterday that made me really want to stop writing. It pissed me right off, firstly, and, as a side effect, it made me not want to write anything else.
Invasion of privacy is a scary thing...at least to me. It makes me feel things I don't want to feel. It makes me consider big questions.
Let me tell you a story.
Please?
Too bad. I'm going to tell it anyway.
When my brother and I were younger, one day we awoke to a thick blanket of snow on everything. Our first thought, in sync with every other student in the county, was "MAYBE THERE WON'T BE SCHOOL!" So we turned on the clock radio in the kitchen, and we sat on the table in the dining room looking out the picture windows at the snow that was still falling down.
"Sandwich schools are closed." We smiled.
"Plano school are closed." We smiled.
Somonauk schools are closed." We started bouncing up and down. They were getting closer.
Finally, "Lee, Rollo, Waterman, and Shabbona district 425 are closed." We bounced up and down in joy, anticipating the possibilities of the blank canvas set out in front of us.
Then?
"SNAP!" The table we were bouncing on broke in half. The supports snapped. A leg bent. And we were deposited on the dining room floor, which carried a few deep gouges.
We stood up and looked, our bright white day becoming instantly tarnished as we thought about what would happen when Mom came home. That broken table stood as a bleak reminder all day long about the payment exacted for having such good news. It was Illinois weather all over again...never a beautiful day without a tornado warning. Never a snow day without a broken table.
And when Mom got home from work, she walked in the front door, kicked snow off her boots, took one look into the dining room, where my brother Jake and I were both standing with our best apologetic faces on, and walked upstairs.
I turned to look at Jake. "Maybe she wasn't mad..."
My brother knew differently.
Years and years later, my mom told us the story from her perspective. She said she was so mad she couldn't say anything. She was scared of what might come out if she started yelling, so she went to her room.
Why am I telling you this, and what does it have to do with the rest of this post?
Sometimes the quietest response conceals an amazing amount of hurt and anger.
Out
Yeah.
I'm kind of feeling like that today. I didn't have any secrets planned, nothing really in the works, but I found something out yesterday that made me really want to stop writing. It pissed me right off, firstly, and, as a side effect, it made me not want to write anything else.
Invasion of privacy is a scary thing...at least to me. It makes me feel things I don't want to feel. It makes me consider big questions.
Let me tell you a story.
Please?
Too bad. I'm going to tell it anyway.
When my brother and I were younger, one day we awoke to a thick blanket of snow on everything. Our first thought, in sync with every other student in the county, was "MAYBE THERE WON'T BE SCHOOL!" So we turned on the clock radio in the kitchen, and we sat on the table in the dining room looking out the picture windows at the snow that was still falling down.
"Sandwich schools are closed." We smiled.
"Plano school are closed." We smiled.
Somonauk schools are closed." We started bouncing up and down. They were getting closer.
Finally, "Lee, Rollo, Waterman, and Shabbona district 425 are closed." We bounced up and down in joy, anticipating the possibilities of the blank canvas set out in front of us.
Then?
"SNAP!" The table we were bouncing on broke in half. The supports snapped. A leg bent. And we were deposited on the dining room floor, which carried a few deep gouges.
We stood up and looked, our bright white day becoming instantly tarnished as we thought about what would happen when Mom came home. That broken table stood as a bleak reminder all day long about the payment exacted for having such good news. It was Illinois weather all over again...never a beautiful day without a tornado warning. Never a snow day without a broken table.
And when Mom got home from work, she walked in the front door, kicked snow off her boots, took one look into the dining room, where my brother Jake and I were both standing with our best apologetic faces on, and walked upstairs.
I turned to look at Jake. "Maybe she wasn't mad..."
My brother knew differently.
Years and years later, my mom told us the story from her perspective. She said she was so mad she couldn't say anything. She was scared of what might come out if she started yelling, so she went to her room.
Why am I telling you this, and what does it have to do with the rest of this post?
Sometimes the quietest response conceals an amazing amount of hurt and anger.
Out
Monday, February 14, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Dating Myself...
There's a fairly common phenomenon wherein people who spend a lot of time together start to adopt each other's mannerisms, tell each other's jokes, and, god forbid, even look alike.
There's a fairly common phenomenon wherein people who spend a lot of time together start to get sick of each other, get annoyed, grow apart.
Do you think there's a correlation?
Is it possible that in losing our identities inside of relationships and becoming the person we're dating, we inevitably end up dating ourselves. And what could be more boring than dating yourself?
Just a random thought this morning.
I guess that's why it's so important to have our own hobbies, interests, and things we do that give us time to be our own person, to be apart from our partners. You can't share everything. That's a recipe for suicide.
Out
There's a fairly common phenomenon wherein people who spend a lot of time together start to get sick of each other, get annoyed, grow apart.
Do you think there's a correlation?
Is it possible that in losing our identities inside of relationships and becoming the person we're dating, we inevitably end up dating ourselves. And what could be more boring than dating yourself?
Just a random thought this morning.
I guess that's why it's so important to have our own hobbies, interests, and things we do that give us time to be our own person, to be apart from our partners. You can't share everything. That's a recipe for suicide.
Out
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