Morning Pages
The following text is taken from an ongoing assignment given to me by my therapist. The goal is to write down three pages of whatever is on the top of my head in a sort of stream of conciousnes free flowing format. The idea is you do this first thing when you get up in the morning. Of course, I usually ended up writing them in the evening before meetings. I don't think I ever managed to write what he asked, but I did make some mildly interesting pages in the attempt.
I've posted them here in blog format, with the oldest pages at the bottom, so new stuff is at the top. If you want to read from the beginning (maybe a massochistic streak? I don't know!) start at the bottom.
April 9, 2007
I havn't written in years, but something happened today that I had to write about.
So today I was shopping in Best Buy, and I saw a woman who looked like she might well be my first girlfriend from high school and into college. She might not have been, I have not seen or heard of her since 1991, she's probably living in another state and married with 7 children, on the other hand, it may well have been her. I wasn't about to atempt to start a conversation. In fact, my first impulse on seeing her was to immediately turn down another isle and pretend I didn't see her. My heart was racing. It then occured to me that I was terrified of just seeing this woman. Terrified. I thought how absurd it was I should feel anything but pleased to see her. How hard does someone have to hurt you to make you freak out in the middle of Best Buy?
So I went and got the tax software I was shopping for, and headed back toward the checkout counter. There she was again! I smiled at her. A politician couldn't have done it better. I went to purchase my software. Inside I was reeling. Wounds I thought long healed were torn open. Every inadiquicy I'd felt in the last 17-18 years came pouring into my head. She'd been embarassed to have me as a boyfriend. I was good enough to fuck, but not good enough to date. Not good enough to hang out with her friends. Definitely not good enough to meet her family. But I was past that, wasn't I? I've dated women who thought the world of me. OK, maybe not all of them. But some of them introduced me to their parents. Some of them were delighted to see me wether or not there was going to be sex involved. But not all of them. Oh no. There's still something wrong, something some of these women couldn't get past. Some reason I wasn't good enough. Or only good for one thing.
"I can help you over here!" brought the world back into focus. I payed for my software, I went to leave, there she was, on the other side of the store, looking my way. Bitch. Bitch, bitch, bitch. I left to go to my car. That bitch. How dare she. Trample all over a young guy like that. That's right, twist the knife, bitch. Key. Door. Ignition. Gas. Bitch. Fast food next. Bitch. Parking lot. Bitch bitch. All these years and just seeing her and I'm a wreck. Bitch.
"Have some compassion" comes from somewhere. I think about it a bit. What was she so afraid of? Why did she devalue me like that? What the hell was going through her head? Bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch! Right, compassion. She was frightened. Self absorbed enough not to see what she was doing to me, but mostly just frightened. Have some compassion. (bitch) Compassion! Bitch! Compassion! Fuck that! I don't want to have compassion! I just want her to love me.
Oh.
Now where did that come from? Talk about your unresolved business! The better part of 20 years later and it's the need to be desired that shakes me to my foundations? Why couldn't I want something simple, like lots of money or sex or something. I don't know, but I suddenly feel the need to talk about it. Or type. Or whatever.
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September 27, 2004
It's been a long time since I've written one of these. I barely know where to start. A couple sessions ago one of the guys was asked "What are you pretending not to know?" Great question! But I am not so sure I have a good answer. I know. I know I know. And knowing I know I know, I go ahead and do nothing anyway. It's the difference between intelligence and wisdom. Anyone with any intelligence knows that going out in the sun without protection will eventually burn you. And how many people go out and get burned any way? I know all about a whole laundry list of bad habbits and character flaws that keep me from achieving more in life. I know, for instance, that studying up on a few relevant technologies would hugely increase my odds of getting a dream job in the computer gaming industry. Do I do it? No! sometimes I am fine with doing nothing, and other times I really beat myself up over it. But I never ever actually sit down and work on it. The power lines win again. Sometimes I think I've had it too easy, I've never had to work hard at anything, so the thought off working to better my position is alien to me in some way. But I can't pretend I don't know better. I'm perfectly capeable of working hard, it's the bettering my position part that brings out my self-defeating side. The easiest way to keep things from getting better is to procrastinate away all opportunities. Doing nothing is the perfect strategy. Best of all, it's easy to do! Girlfriend getting too close? Just stop returning her calls. It's easy, it's fun, and best off all, the power lines do all the work. Laziness is an art form and I am the master! And it would be so easy to get off my butt and fix all the surface problems with my life, get a better job, let a relationship flourish, eat healthier and get some excersize, all in all not so difficult. But underneath it all, some very powerful part of me does not want all that. It wants me to fail. It is waiting for me to lose my job. It gives me powerful images of drowning myself in the swimming pool. I tried to give a voice to that part of me. Being a creative kind of guy I thought it would be easy. So I invoked the Beast, but changed it into my repressed anger. Then I tried to cut to the heart and give Oblivion a voice, but she's just an archetype of a merciful end, an excuse rather than a cause. Maybe in this I am too clever for my own good. These manifestations have personality and motivation. They make for good storytelling, but in the end they are just characters. It may be that I am pretending not to know exactly where this pervasive self-loathing comes from. But if so I'm pretending so well that I fool even myself. And I know that I can fight the symptoms of this even while the disease eludes me, I'm just unwilling to do anything about it.
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March 9, 2004
Two days ago it was my birthday. Yay me! I am now 32 years old, and there's a little voice inside that tells me I'm washed up. A has-been. Half the man I used to be. It seems natural to compare my life now to there I was a few years ago. I used to be a successful software developer, highly respected in the electrical power industry for my ability to understand the complex deregulated marketplace and meet imposible deadlines. Now, I'm a temporary data entry punk and half-assed multi-level marketer. This month marks the first time in two years I've been in the black financially. But my job will end in less than a month. Back then I used to date just about anyone who came along. The receptionist at work, or my friend's 20 year old cousin. Now days relationships seem like more work than they are worth. Who needs em? I used to have periods of severe depression and off-my-nut manic phases when my judgement would go all to hell. The good news is that thanks to modern medicine, I don't have these mood swings anymore. The bad news is that no matter how much trouble the manic phases got me in, I really miss them. They were just too much fun! I view them with a similar nostalgic reverance I also give to my college drinking binges. I wouldn't want to repeat them, but I'm perversely proud of them. The depresion, on the other hand, I really don't miss. About the only good thing I can say about depression is that it inspired me to write a bit of poetry. I havn't written a single verse since I started the medication, over a year ago. I miss the creative outlet, but I don't seem to have the same drive to write. I wonder if writing these pages takes it out of me. This thought makes me a little sad. "Cheer up." I tell myself. "You are just too busy excersising your newfound enjoyment of life to worry about poetry" And there's the thing. Of al the changes I've gone through, this is by far the most profound. Free of moods determined more by brain chemistry than my surroundings, I've found I can enjoy nearly anything. The feeling of acceleration as I merge on the freeeway each morning. The cool refreshment of the glass of water when I'm taking my pills. Even the feeling of mastery as I enter the day's data quickly and accurately. The fact is, while I can wish for a return to prosperity and to regain some of the things I've lost, I'm honestly happy, even in a less-than-ideal situation. I think of things I could be doing go get where I'd like to be, and I realize I don't care enough to do them. And that's a scarry thought! Has my newfound happiness sapped away all of my ambition? Am I now content to be a washed-up has-been? Should I just give up now and look for that nice real-estate under the overpass? Is this a good thing or a bad thing? What the hell am I thinking, anyway? But it's all relitive, I guess. The fact is, I have it pretty good outside of the financial thing. I'm in better health than I've ever been in. None of my immediate family members are dead, and I have some wonderful friends who care about me. Things are good! No wonder I'm happy! Keep up the good work!
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Febuary 10, 2004
It feels like it's been forever since I've written one of these. I didn't want to do it. I think to myself, "Why bother? It's a big waste of time. It dosn't accomplish anything." But here I am writing away like I mean it. What the hell, it couldn't hurt. My job situation is getting to me. I don't like sitting around feeling useless. I've been getting some temp work, which is good, and working on my MLM business, which is also good, but without steady work I feel like I'm just waitnig for real life to resume. And the temp agency keeps teasing me. "Oh, we have got a job for you, come in and sign a confidentiality agreement." "Oh, sorry, they are postponing a decision, but we'll keep trying." I spend a lot of time sitting by the phone. Of course, this is a perfect excuse to spend a lot of time surfing the net. I keep thinking of things I should be doing. cleaning up the kitchen, taking out the trash and recycling that have been piling up for way too long. Or even, heaven forbid, sending out some resumes and trying to get a good computer job. It's funny, thought, if I think about doing these things oh, say, sometime next week, then I think to myself "Yeah, great idea! I should do that!" But if I think of doing these things right now, I completely balk. Not gonna happen! No way, no how! There's even programming tools I could be studying to make myself more marketable. My books for this are lying on the floor, with dust settling on them. I keep thinking there should be a way to beat this procrastination. Some way to instill myself with newfound discepline. Or some epiphany that will make me understand deep in my heart that I can improve my situation. But any time someone gives me practical advice on how to beat it, I freak out about it as iif they'd offered advice on how to amputate all my limbs. No matter how crappy things are, and no matter how much I wish I had back the life I used to lead, and no matter how much I think things can't go on as they have, actually doing something about it scares the living crap out of me. And the more I think about it, the more I think that even if I knew why it scares me so much I'd still be helpless to change it.
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December 16, 2003
I plugged in the christmas lights in my window. At night they shine in my dark living room. I look at them and feel a little more peaceful and calm. I don't know why this faint, multicolord glow should affect me the way that it does, but I sure like the results. My mother is coming up from LA to visit this holiday. It makes me wonder why I isolate myself from my family so much. I never think to call or write. I'm always happy to see or hear from them, but somehow the thought of making contact myself never enters my head. This seems to fit the pattern I've made for my life. The good things have to come to me, I can't go get them for myself. I wonder what this says about me. Am I just miss-wired? Am I so selfless that doing something for myself dosn't occur to me? More likely it's an expresion of overwealming lazyness. But even that seems like an unsatisfactory answer. If I'm so lazy, why do I keep making things harder for myself? I feel like there should be an easy answer, some epiphany waiting for me that will make everything clear, and pave the way for me to improve myself. Even in this, I'm waiting for it to come. And waiting, I've noticed, isn't particularly effective when it comes to getting what I want. You would think, that being a rational creature, I would shift strategies when the one I'm using fails. But here I am, doing the same old thing in the same old way with the same old results, or lack thereof. And I wonder, what sort of catastrophy would it take to get me in a productive mindset? How bad does it have to get to get me going? Am I even asking the right questions? I don't know, but I'm still waiting for a good answer.
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December 2, 2003
This last week has flown by. The holliday was actually very nice. Once again my sister's in-laws took in two grumpy bachelors (me and my father) for thanksgiving. It was especially nice to get to see my small niece and not-quite-so-small nephew. They are always so happy to see me. It makes me feel very good. Makeing me feel not-so-good is my job situation. The bi-weekly data entry job isn't so bad, but there's just not enough work there. The help desk job I was starting to get my hopes up about looks like it won't happen after all. I keep telling myself that the dissapointment should spur me into some serious job-searching. Maybe tomorrow. Increasingly, I look to my fledgling multi-level marketing position as a viable career. As much as it pains me to sell stuff to people, it's starting to look like a worthwhile time investment. Plus, overcoming my resistance to selling is almost certainly good practice. If I keep telling myself that I might start believeing it. Part of me things my problems are simple to solve: get off my butt and go to work. A simple solution to a simple problem. And yet here I am, another two weeks gone and I'm in almost the same place I was before. And I can't convince myself to get out of it. Somehow this paralysis has taken on a life of it's own. It's grown from simple proctrastination into a tremendous monster that won't be defeated. It's hyjacked my stubborn streak and refuses to give in. And it just dosn't make any sense! What on earth is so bad about getting a good job that I won't let myself try? They say the economy is recovering, what better time to look for a job? And I tell myself: sure, why not? I'll start tomorrow.
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November 11, 2003
I feel like I have writer's block and I havn't even got started. Here I am, in the same old place, with the same old thoughts doing the same old dance in my head. Stagnation. Part of me is optamistic. Every day is one day closer to the day I get a job and get on with my life. Getting on with life, there's a strange thought. While part of me yearns to "get on with life", or maybe even "rejoin the real world", I have a difficult time defining these concepts. I want to turn back the clock to 1999, when I had everything, before I threw it away. It's amazing when I think of it just how much a guy is defined by his career. And here's me, having given up on returning to software. I'm a drifter, a bum, just one step away form the cardboard box under the overpass. Trying to get a crappy job that won't pay the bills just to feel like I'm doing something. So I wonder, why is it I won't let myself work toward a new software development job? My excuse is that it seems hopeless. But with the economy supposedly turning around, you'd think my chances would be better than ever. With nothing to lose, I should be trying everything to get to where I want to be. Instead, I do nothing. When I have a job, I can get up at 6, I can get to work on time, and I can even be industrious for eight hours. Longer, in a pinch. But I can't do the same in a job search. I think of all these things I could be doing, and then I don't do them. I try to thing about this paralysis. I try to figure out what this balkng part of me is trying to accomplish. The obvious answer, self destruction, dosn't seem to fit. Destroying my career and living like a hermit might suck, but it's a long way from putting my life in peril. Maybe it just wants me to suffer, but that dosn't seem right either. I still have fun. I havn't lost my sense of humor. When I'm not brooding over my lack of employment I'm even in a good mood. Hurray for medication! This line of thoguht tosn't seem to get me anywhere. Here I am, in the same old place.
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October 28, 2003
It is hard to put into words exactly how much being unemployed sucks. Being unemployed makes me depressed. Being depressed makes me unproductive. Being unproductive means I'm floundering in my job search. Floundering in my job search keeps me unemployed. This process sucks all around. When I was young and foolish, I believed I would always hae as much energy as I need. Right now I have all the energy of a box of rocks. I keep telling myself that I will embark on an energetic and effective job searching campaign... tomorrow. Not today. "Why not today?" I ask the slothful, innefective part of myself. "Never mind why, just not today. Besides, the day is practically over." Over, in this case, means 4:00, which is the earliest I alow myself to eat dinner and go online. Time before 4:00 is made up of reading the news, catching up on messages, and stalking about my appartment growling at myself for not doing something more productive. This, as you might imagine, does not help with the depression. But that unhelpful part of me isn't done. "Let's go get some booze! A little rum would make us feel sooooo much better!" Always there with the bright ideas. But not this time. Self control is easiest when the better path involves the least effort. Sometimes I think that's the only reason I'm still alive. Eek, there's a scarry thought. But I'm still here, and I havn't given up on myself entierly or I wouldn't be writing this. "Go ahead and write," says the Bad Dan, "that's not going to get you a job. No skin off my nose." Oh, so helpful. So I can write! Yippee for me! But a page later I don't feel I've delved into anything new for me. "See?" Bad Dan again. "I told you it wouldn't help!" I wonder if it's a bad sign when a fragment of your personality gloats. So yes, moving on, I talked today with one of the temp agencies I've applied with. I might be able to get a job as a manual laborer for the princely rate of $8.60 an hour. Maybe. If I manage to call at the right time, presumably determined by the phase of the moon and alignment of the stars. Scary thing is, if they offer it, I'll take it. I'm that desperate. Even though it's not evnough to pay my mortgage. My mortgage, another scarry thought. With the recent second assessment and the resultant drop in property values, it's quite possible that I now owe more on my condo than I could get by selling it. This thought, as you can imagine, does not help with the depression. Somehow, while I yearn for a triumphant return to solvency, I seem mostly unwilling to work for it. It's like I'm waiting for good things to come to me, I can't go to them. It's scarry to think that this is more or less how I've lived my whole life. And bizzare to think how well I've done by it until I threw it away. How's this for weird, I was interrupted by a phone call from the temp agency. They probably have a job for me. Filing, which is sorta a pain, but it beats manual labor. This is too good. Let's hear it for waiting for good things to happen.
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September 30, 2003
Ok, it's official: being unemployed again sucks. The utter futility of my job search is a continual source of despair and frustration. My mind balks at writing about this. Why should it be so hard? I am as paralysed about writing about my situation as I am paralysed about doing something about it. So much to do, but my main goal each day is to kill time to make it to the next day. This beats the alternative of not making it to the next day, but it sin't getting me anywhere.
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September 11, 2003
Another day, another page. Or a few, we'll see. It's funny, as I write the date at the top of the page, I am reminded that this is not just another day. To this day, I can not see an airplane in the sky without thinking of it as a potential weapon. It's a somber note to start with, but it is in my thoughts. I don't dwell on the bad things, for the most part. I wonder that I don't feel more anger. Or really any anger. Do I repress my feelings so much I can't work up a smolder directed at human excrement who would do such things? Shock and resentment, yes. And a little bit of fear that it's not over yet. But nothing like rage. Not even a little seething. I wonder if there is a hole in my soul where the rage belongs. I wonder if it's the same hole into which my gumption flees most of the time. A friend of mine recently asked me why I don't find a new job if I hate the one I have so much. She's got a point. My only real answer is that I just don't have the gumption right now. It's been over a year since I've proactively sought employment. It's so much easier to just muddle on where I am. The part of me that does not want to change tells me it's good for me to have a job I dislike, as it's just enough torture to keep myself from finding other ways to harm myself. I sorta hope it's true. My "evil twin" mostly goes for destruction through procrastination. I do not like it when it gets proactive. It's difficult to write today. I'm distracted by everything. My heart isn't in it and I am giving out early.
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August 27, 2003
This is it! Ok, no more fooling around. I am a writing machine, and these three pages are about to be history, finished, kaput. Gone, with or without the wind. Yeah, here's me writing, and don't you forget it. What do I have to say? I'm happy with the way things are progressing. My diet, which I'm mostly sticking to. Yeah, only mostly, but I'm just trying to lose weight, not drive myself into the ground. My job still stinks, but at least I'm learning some new things. This makes it a little less mind-numbingly boring. I'm doing a little studying on game programming. The book I got on the subject is starting slowly, but it promises to cover a lot of good juicy topics. Meanwhile, the design in my head is becoming a little more solid. I've come up with a very basic design that I can expand and embelish easily. Woah, got destracted there for a moment. That won't do, I'm on a mission to write here. Yeah, things are looking up for my hobby/future career. Speaking of hobbies, my online kingdom is flourishing. Some people who left long ago are coming back, which just makes my day when they do. It's good to see old friends, and better when it looks like they will stick around. What else? Oh yeah, to treat myself I went and bought the new Lord of the Rings DVD. Oh, the decadence. It's amazing how something so simple can make you feel great. A part of me is dreadfully worried that feeling good like this is meerly an expression of the old mania coming back. To tell you the truth, the meer thought of this cools my jets to some degree. It's scarry stuff. But as of yet I havn't made any major life decisions, incurred any debt, or slept with anyone I shouldn't have, so maybe my better judgement is holding up after all. Man, I hope so at any rate. Hmm, looks like my week in a nutshell is only half as long as it ought to be here. No news is good news, I can hope. If more things were bothering me I'd have more to write about, right? Sure, just like the last few months of this. Oh well, I am a writing machine today and I'll find more to write on if it kills me. Though I have to admit some sceptacism toward writer's block related deaths. Somehow, I just don't think that will be my fate. So what will be my fate? The question begs a flip answer. But I will refrain this time. Besides, nobody has been burned at the stake in ages. Oops, well, so much for refraining. I'm petering out. Running out of steam. This writing machine is in dire need of a fill-up. At least this is already longer than most of my pathetic efforts as of late. The spector of mania looms. I -so- do not want to be back in that place. I want to maintain control over my life. I want to make choices that will benefit me in the long haul. Of course, the flip side of the coin is if I'm a little manic now, then the depression is right around the corner. Depression is no fun, but it's the manic phases that are dangerous. I used to really look forward to them. But now the thought just scares me. I worked hard to find the right meds to rid myself of these phases. Part of me worries that I'm in denial about the severity of my current good mood. Another part of mesays I have all sorts of good reasons to be happy. I shouldn't worry. Life isn't so bad now I should enjoy it. The other side reminds myself that this is more or less exactly how I would feel in a genuine manic state. Urgh! I can't win. Oh well. Not much page left, anyway. I am a writing machine, and I can't be stopped! Just look at me go, on and on even after mining out that last topic. OK, so maybe I can be stopped after all.
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August 19, 2003
So here's me, pencil in hand, wondering what on earth I'm going to write about. I suppose I can write about my job, which is such a dull routine I hardly notice it any more. I asked the new manager about hiering me on full time instead of benig a temp. She said she had to look into it. A straight answer on this topic is a rare commodity indeed. A part of me insists that this whole job is a waste of time, and that I should be devoting my time and energy to getting back into the software field. But instead I surf the net or play online. I just never seem to have the gumption to work towards my future. At least I don't seem to be doing anything actually destructive. I'm mostly sticking to my diet, I'm swimming most nights, I'm taking my meds like I should, I'm just not trying to get a decent job. It could be a lot worse, I guess. Apathy is a big killer. Is it trivial to note that there is a part of me that dosn't care about my apathy? Probably, but it struck me as funny. Every day I remind myself to enjoy the good things. The woods I drive thorugh on my daily commute. The cool fizzyness of a diet coke. The friends I hang out with online. Each little thing something perfect in it's own way. This is the good stuff! Morning pages, on the other hand, must be wrested onto the page and man-handled into submission. It seems weird to me that a guy who can write a long-winded essay on the technical details of a software application or a detailed walkthrough of an online quest or a poem in heroic couplets about how life sucks can't throw down a few pages of meaningful discourse about how I feel.
You think a metered rhyme would help me out?
I do not know except I have a doubt.
I will say this sometimes it makes my day
if I find I have something I can say.
Ok, ok, enough today,
why can't this rhyming go away?
As an aside, Dr Suess is truly one of my heros. Shakesphere's got nothing on the guy. But now it's back to stinky old prose and me wondering what on earth to write about next. And fidgeting. And drawing a blank. And getting nowhere.
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August 5, 2003
Evening pages. Work has been slow. Abysmally slow. I keep running out of things to do. It's horribly boring. I hope things pick up soon, I feel like so much extra baggage when there's nothing to do. I'm trying to learn other people's jobs, just so I have something to do. I am hoping that doing so will make me a more valuable employee. With the software market in such a downturn, a career in banking shines like a lighthouse on a foggy night. It may not be my original goal, but it sure looks inviting. I have no focus tonight. I keep drifting. I think of lighthouses, of old books I've read. I sat down last night to write the multiple point of view thing. I never got started. How I was treated as a child is a difficult topic, one I seldom let myself think on. I know I'm not the only guy who was picked on growing up, but at the time I felt singled out for special treatment. Truth is, I was an easy target. I was very small for my age, and so introverted that I found it very nearly impossible to make friends. You would think that the other nerds would have been my natural allies. But this was not so. All of us wanted desperately to be not as bad as the others. It wasn't until later that I discovered my knack for leadership. I had a circle of friends and I found that by being nice to people I could make more. It didn't happen overnight, but I like to think I grew up a bit. My newfound self esteem was still very fragile, though. Even today, while I am mostly at peace with myself, I still bend over backward to earn praise. It makes me somewhat competitive. Somehow, "winning", whatever that means in a given situation, makes me feel as if I'm good at something. I don't think I've really thought of it before, but it is a little strange how I went from introverted and friendless in Jr. high to pied piper of nerds in high school to being a big man around campus, at least among the nerdy set. As much as I enjoy the results, the process baffles me somewhat. I guess I grew into it. Heh, notice how I slid off the original topic. Maybe I should drag myself back to it, scratching and clawing all the way. Yeah, I got picked on a lot when I was young. Sometimes it was simple humiliation, other times physical assault. My older sister and semi-step brother did not help in this regard. The occasional mean thing they did was magnified by my oversensitivity to anything vaguely critical. That's not to say we didn't have a lot of good times, but I did take a lot of crap. It is hard to write of these things. I keep losing focus. I want this to be over.
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July 22, 2003
Morning Pages, the nighttime edition. so here I am with time and a pencil in my hand and a couple blank sheets of paper. The burning question: will I make all three pages? Enquiering minds want to know! I try to think of where I've been this last week. Work has settled down into a new routine. At least the stuff I'm doing now is somethat more interesting than the drudge work the new temps are doing. Occasionally, I get to learn something new about loans, so it dosn't feel like I'm stagnating. It certainly keeps me busy. I ran into the father of a childhood friend the other day. I was so surprised by this I didn't think to ask how my old friend was doing. Oh well. Half a page and I'm already losing focus. The details of my mechanical pencil are suddenly absorbing. I take a moment to itch my scalp. Ahh, much better. It's hot in my dining room. The big window that dominates my living room faces west and the appartment heats up on sunny afternoons. Even though it is dark out now it's still very warm. I got up and got myself a drink. This has provided a great destraction. A diet coke. No rum in it, it's a work night. Come to think of it, I'm out of rum anyway. Temperace is easier when you are too lazy to buy booze. Even when I'm fully stocked I don't drink like I did when I was younger. Maybe it means I'm older and wiser now. Maybe just older. Although I do like to think I'm wiser. I know the hard times I've had have certainly taught me a thing or two about taking things for granted. This sheet of paper is 8 1/2 by 11 inches, which is exactly the same width as the legal sized pad underneath it. I see a lot of legal sized paper in my job, it no longer seems an unnatural size for paper to be. Ug, I'm sweating in my chair, it's still that warm. Well, one down, two to go. It feels like I'll never get to three. Surely one and a half would be fine. Yeah, right. Keep writing. A bug just landed on my other sheet of paper. I callously murdered the hapless insect and flicked it off my table. I'm just cruel like that. It reminds me of some relationships I've been in. Squished, just like a bug. The relationships, that is, not my ex-girlfriends. Balancing a roll of scotch tape on its end can be a fascinating activity. It certainly beats dwelling on the ghosts of dead relationships. I imagine a pale, nebulous figure, looking somewhat like a child with a white sheed draped over him, sneaking up behind me and going "BOO!" Only it isn't cute. I balanced the roll of scotch tape on it's other end now. In the other room, a song is playing called "Spirits in the Material World". It seems appropriate. I wonder why I'm so gunshy about getting into a new relationship? I mean, I make excuses, like how I don't want my life to get that complicated, or that I'm afraid if things go too well I'll start to self-destruct. But really, these things wouldn't stop me if I didn't want them to. Maybe I'm just waiting for it to be easy. Althought that doesn't explain how I turned away the last one. Of course, she had some seerious issues, and dealing with both her issues and mine seemed a bit much. At least that's what I tell myselt. Bleah. "BOO!" indeed. Hmm, a couple more topics and I might have my three pages. But I'm losing focus again. I play with the books on my table. One of these days, I'm going to clean this joint up. One of these days. Obviously, it dosn't bother me enough to do anything about it. Cleaning is an activity easily abandoned for other persuits. Sorta like Morning Pages. Heh. Well, that's two, and I haven't falen asleep or gone to do something else. Yet. I think about my online friends. I have to say, it's tremendously gratifying to my ego to be their official leader. I mean, I've always considred myself a leader, but it's another thing entierly when it's official. I'd say that gratification leads me to spend too much time online, but truth be told, I've been an online junky since I was about 13, and I didn't need recognition to devote a large amount of time to it. Wow, I don't think I've ever put it in those terms before, that is a lot of years in front of a computer. And still I come back for more. And more. And more. I'm losing focus again. I'm starting to get tired. I've been at this for almost an hour and a half. The fact that I keep drifting off does not help. The blank space at the bottom of this page shrinks slowly. But shrink it does. It's still beastly warm in here. I keep trying to tell myself that two and a half pages is certianly enough. Maybe it is. Keep writing. I am getting tired. My eyelids are getting heavy. It's past my bedtime. Just a few more lines, I tell myself. What a slave driver. I wonder what a slave would write in their morning pages. Now I know I'm losing it. Bye bye, so long, nice seing you, good night! Yeah, I like the sound of that last one. Good night.
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June 14, 2003
OK, this time I have an hour and a half to work with. Maybe three pages is doable after all. I'll give it a go. So, what's on my mind? I spend a lot of time thinking about getting back into software. I want them to have enough work for me that I can quit my lousy bank job. Part of me would miss the people I work with, but the road to being financially stable is far shorter if I have steady software work. what's more likely to be in store for me, however, is a grueling schedule working both jobs until one or the other gives out. This won't be so much fun, but I'll take the money over fun, at least for now. My bank job isn't all bad. I have my niche and some level of mastery over it. My co-workers are fun to work with, even if I sometimes feel like the old man around. My mind wanders and I think about brokers and account manageres and underwriters and other interesting intrusions into my daily tasks. It's too bad most of my day is mind-numbingly boring work. At least with software I enjoy my primary task. I make myself promises, about how I'm going to work harder, goof off less, write better code and generally make myself so usful that they keep me around. I wonder what I was thinking, to take such a good job and throw it away? Of course, I wasn't thinking at all. I made myself a bum for no good reason. Oh, I was sick of the job, I didn't care about the customers anymore, I wanted to try something different, I felt like I was getting no respect from management (different management now, so that won't be a hinderance) It all seems very dumb to me. Of course, my attitude about money has changed dramaticaly due to not having enough. Before, I spent freely. And why not? I made more than I needed. It was no sweat to spend a lot taking my friends out to a newyears eve party or to blow my stash in Vegas. What else was I going to spend it on? Now I can't wait to save up several months worth of mortgage payments so I can not worry so much. Of course, I can only do that if this software work pans out. We'll see about that soon enough, I guess. Now I'm starting to draw a blank. I always start itching when I do that. A bathrobe is very convenient to scratch what itches. Right now, that would be my belly button. And my ear. And my leg. And my lower lip. Arg. Hmm, so write about physical sensations, huh? About how I can feel the edges of the table on my elbows, or the weight of my right leg on my left ankle, or how I can feel the constriction where my bathrobe is tied around my waist? It doesn't seem to get me much further down the page. Now my fingers itch. I keep thinking of a song I heard on the radio, I can't understand most of the words, but the guitar work is excellent. I like it. But there isn't much to write about it. Now I'm just fidgeting. Removing dirt from under my fingernails. I should be writing, not cleaning my fingernails. Blarg, blarg, blarg. My wrists and ankle itch now. Scratch, scratch, scratch. There is a pile of discarded junk mail on my table. It's about a foot high, and looks like it might fall over. I should probably do something about that before too long. House cleaning has never been high on my list of priorities. Now I'm inspecting random items on my table. A receipt from christmas shopping. Three (count em, three) rolls off scotch tape. Some little candles I got as a gift. Several phone books. Gaming paraphenailia. And a whole lot of garbage. The mechanical pencil I'm using has a clear casing, and I find myself examining it's inner workings. It's hard to keep my attention on writing. I keep asking myself if I can give up yet. But I'm not even done with page two! OK, what was difficult to write in all this? The only time I was having trouble was keeping my attention whilee writing useless stuff about what itches (my scalp right now) or what's on my table. What has it got in it's pockets? gollum! gollum! I look at myself in one of the mirrors on the wall. I really need a hair cut. Yet another thing I've been putting off. At least I finally applied to refinance my condo. If it works out It'll save me a chunk of cash. That would be nice. But clean off my table? Forget it! My mind drifts again. I have some friends who are expecting a baby in a couple months. I am excited to see the final product. It's strange that I can hear my biological clock ticking, but not a thing from my "settle-down-and-get-married" clock. Not that a child would even vaguely fit in with my current lifestyle, but I can feel a twinge when I talk to my friends, and that's a new thing for me. Well, that was an hour and a half of attempting to write. At least I made it on to page three this time. I only hope that this will get easier with practice. Now it's time to get ready for the world.
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June 2, 2003
So here it is, monday morning, not even six yet. and now I have to come up with stuff to write. My brain has not started yet. I'm yawning even thought I wasn't up all that late. Oh well. Make the best of it I guess. I can hear my upstairs neighbor walking around, so it must not be all that early. Ug, I'm tired, though. I find myself drifting off. I can't do that, I need to write this stuff and get ready for work. Speaking of work, my second job is coming along. I put up my ad last night. I hope my online friends are not offended by it. It was hard to do for fear of that. But I did. I updated my web site and added the ad. Time will tell if it pays off. I still have some treepidation as to how I will handle my first few contacts. I don't really know how to handle them - yet. I'll learn, though, if I want to be successful at this. There is a roll of scotch tape on my table and I find myself playing with it. Anything to destract myself, I guess. Although I suppose it is a fascinating object. Clear plastic with a hole in the middle, good stuff! My scalp itches. I think I should get a haircut. When I get around to it I guess. Ug. I am still tired. I have work today. It's weird. I like having something to do with my day, but it is a mind-numbingly boring job. Print stuff and stick it in folders. I never would have guessed I would end up a paper-shuffler at a bank. But it is a job, and when I think of how long it took me to get this job it makes me want to hold on to it with both hands. Oh well. I've learned my lesson. Don't quit a job without lining up the next one first. A rule to live by. Yay for me, I learned something. Now if I could only write two more pages, I'd be set. Or something. Urg, wake up! (me, not you) I keep half dozing off. That won't do.
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June 1, 2003
Three pages a day, huh? That's a lot of writing, even for stream-of-consciousness BS. My attention drifts. I don't want to do this. It's boring and I can only imagine the pile of 21 pages of useless thorughts I'll have compiled by the end of the week. Assuming my discaplin holds out that long. I'm hungry and I want breakfast. Mmmm, eggs. I'll probably have to get a new pencil before the week is out. Three pages? This is going to take a while. Blarg. We'll see, I guess. Kinda like my new business. Sure, it could pay off. I could recruit the right people and become solvent. It could happen, I just don't feel optamistic this morning. But we'll see. I have to come up with a way to advertize among my online friends without turning them off. My mind wanders as I think about web design, advertizing, and the company's marketing plan. It's going to take a lot of work and luck. but who knows, maybe I'll get a little. Stranger things have happened. If I can do that and manage to keep my temp job, or get hired full time, then I wil be good to go. And wouldn't that be nice? Keep dreaming, eh? This is going to take a lot of writing. Here's about 1/4 of the way done. Did I mention that I'm hungry? I'm sure I did. It's very tempting to put off writing while I fix breakfast, but that's not how we play the game. So what in all this so far was hard to write? Not much. I suppose my insecurity reguarding my future comes as close as anything. It is scarry. I really don't want to go back to wandering the strip malls looking for jobs that don't exist. It's no fun and hard on my brain. I don't know what else to do if I lose my job, though. And without a full time position, it's quite scarry when I think about it. Soon the office is moving two offices into one, so my nich will be redundant. So much for job security. I can only hope my manager meant it when she extended my contract to october. Even then, what happens in october? We'll see, I guess. That's becoming a theme here. It's not very comforting. Only starting page 2 and I 'm coming up with excuses to stop soon. Maybe he meant double spaced? Who cares if it's exactly three pages anyhow? This excersize strikes me as a big fishing expedition and there's no real way to know what's going to bite, but there's no reason to think I'll catch something that isn't too small and has to be thrown back. We'll see. Heh. Ugh, I slept in this morning and I'm still tired. And I gotta get up early tomorrow to write my three pages. Three pages! Good grief. It canna be done! A little more and I'll have one and a half, and it will just have to do. I'm hungry, dammit! My little finger itches. Ug, itches spread, now my leg itches. I hate that. No fun. I need to wake up. I don't want to go to work tomorrow. We'll see.
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