well, i first started this blog to turn my grievous surplus of email indulgence into a daily writing discipline, which will grant me membership (in some capacity or another) to the literary stream of modern-day writers.
(or, conversely, to the cyber-geek basement mixture of Untold Geniuses, closet sickos and downright wienies)
so anything i find pithy or even remotely eloquent now finds itself pasted into some multitude of trivial blog entries while the rest of the world (ah yes, always the rest of the world) produces produces Produces. so is This actually productive?
a moment to step back and evaluate...i have to say it's ten shades of Fun. Fun Fun Fun. where else can i write a short ditty about stylish poo and feel no remorse? my email time of late has been downsized by two thirds or more, my tendency to actually Edit (extraneous wordiness is my nemesis) is flourishing. (relatively speaking, of course). i'm on the eighth edit of a one page story, which i Tenaciously refuse to abandon, now that i have a clear recognition of the very moment when the self-doubt sets in. this "one page wonder,nary the epic" philosophy makes me feel dismally insufficient on some days, on others like i'm one step closer to the entire universe.
this is SO COOL.
i have little moments of nostalgia for the time before 2002, when i wrote ALWAYS AND CONSTANTLY. and nigglings of the return to that mind-set.
einstein said this: "There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle."
EVERYTHING is a miracle.
my GODS. i think i have just heard the strains of the "coronation street" theme song coming up through my floor. This from my downstairs neighbours, whom i can (CLEARLY) hear snoring at night, as well as farting,cursing, playing video games and watching jeopardy.
there may not be a god, but there is at least one anglophile living in hell.