Daydreams

I spent a lot of this morning thinking about random things that I should do, like part time jobs that I needed or think that I should pick up, or how well would I do if I were a fill-in-the-blank? This morning my fill-in-the-blank was a gym worker of one of those mega-gyms, like Lifestyle, or whatever, who worked in the reception area part-time, but was already up to date with CPR and was certified to be a personal trainer, because really, all I had to do was pay for some test, and bam, I was certified. And then, I did such a great job motivating the clients that came in the gym, that they became my clients. The manager liked my work so much that he offered me a full time job there, which was the same as my salary with at my full time job, considering that I kept my clients (kinda like base plus commission). At this point, I had so much time, since I only really had to work for 6 hours, the other two were my lunch and workout, that I didn’t consider that work. So, I was able to get in shape, had enough desk time that I also was able to work on my novel and other writing pursuits in between clients and other jobs, and then had a lot of time to be at home. The trifecta! Value at work, satisfaction with my physical self, and the pursuit of my dreams. What a lovely little day dream that was.

Finding happiness in my happy place

Recently, I was so concerned about being a plagiarizer and also protecting myself from being discouraged in reading ideas or themes or symbolism in another person's work that I've been thinking about, that I cut myself off from reading. Since reading is basically half of my "living" I succussfully cut myself off from living a full life. Or, better stated, I began to live a half life. In doing so, I also cut in half my resources for creativity.

Really, this is all so silly, because it's not that I'm even afraid of plagiarism, as I'm not even tempted to splice huge passages of novels and claim them as my own. It's more like I feel the need to have an original and unique story, that despite what other writers have said about how a writer's life experiences and perspectives automatically create a unique perspective on a theme or story, I still feel that mine should be utterly unique. That my terms and worlds need to stand alone, and cannot be referential in any way. Stupid, I know, but that's just my crazy brain thinking crazy things.

I know that themes have been done before. Heck, look at the plethora of vampire/werewolf/faerie tales that have been created, each with their own particular twist of the respective lore. And, as a reader, I never feel like I'm being gypped rereading a similar experience because the stories are always different. (Kind of like work gossip, which usually involves the same people and circumstances, but never gets boring.)

I realize that I'm being hard on myself but what I stupid thing to punish myself over. If reading makes me happy, I ought to be reading. That is my first love (in the literary sense). The writing is just an extension of that, and the one in which most people would recognize as a "paying" occupation. But, oh what I wouldn't give for a world that recognized worth in paying citizens to read. What a wonderful world that would be.

Procrastinating

I spent the last hour waiting to think about what to write, breaking a cardinal rule of mine: don't wait to be inspired to write, but start writing so I can get inspired. Clearly, I was just staring off into space and wasting time, rather than kicking my butt into gear and focus on the pen and paper in front of me to get something down on writing. Today, I just didn't feel like writing, and was instead feeling inadequate, tired, lazy, whatever, but I definitely didn't feel like being productive, and so I just chalk it up to not setting myself up for success to allow a better set of circumstance so that I could write. I didn't get a good night's rest, I didn't set the coffeemaker in advance, I slept in...whatever the cause, I knew better than to break my routine, and so sabotaged any morning productivity I could have had.

As I was conscious of my own procrastination, I kept encountering all these ad campaigns that perpetuate the idea of "not having time" to do anything and continue to sell a miracle product that allows you to do whatever-it-is effectively in 5 minutes, 4 minutes, 90 seconds, whatever. I couldn't help thinking of the irony; that here I was wasting a perfectly good hour, and knowing that I am pointedly ignoring my pen and paper, and here were all these gadgets, pills, systems, and workout techniques that will help me in my overburdened, no time to spare lifestyle. No one ever talks about not having a routine or ritual built in to one's life, and instead of putting the blame and responsibility where it belongs (on the person choosing not to improve his or her life), people would instead prefer to hide behind this "Time" culprit. "Time" has become this magical super-enemy out to sabotage every good intention a person would like to achieve. "Time" along with some of its other minions, like, "Slow Metabolism" and "Getting older" like to spread mischief, discord, and chaos in a person's otherwise neat and orderly plans. Really? Does the current modern population not have enough time, or are we just too embarrassed or deluded to acknowledge that we are either incapable of or refuse to create action plans in our life that will help us reach our goals? Are we so "unselfish" that we "put others before ourselves" and let our bodies, goals, dreams fall by the wayside so that "others" can succeed? Who really deep down believes that? Because what I see day to day, both in the general public (to which I am unfortunate enough to encounter each and every day) and in the media, are people who allow life to happen to them, rather than be in control of their own life choices. It's like all this talk about "Time" is more like a symptom and not the real root cause that may hinder a person from achieving their goals.

I'm gonna be honest, the way the current "healthcare" system is with the FDA and the pharmaceutical companies turning doctors into prescription Pez dispensers, it's obvious that this society is used to being medicated for its symptoms and hiding or ignoring the true root cause of a person's dis-ease/illness/problem. However, this topic is a whole blog on its own, and there are several "natural health" sites that rant about this everyday.

Now, the root cause that has allowed someone from fulfilling their goals may be numerous, from fear of failure or too much pride to ask somoeone for help. But, the bottom line that seems to address many of these problems seems to be to write down goals, and then an action plan to achieve those goals. Keep writing and revising those goals until they are very simple and actionable and can be a priority, actionable item that one can do each day. That's the basic principle behind all of those organizational gurus out there. They simplify one's life and streamline all the essential things into an actionable to-do list. Because really, how can anyone achieve one's goals when one don't even know what it is one wants to do with one's life?

Ben Franklin used to carry his mission statement and philosophy with him wherever he went, which he kept in a little notebook that also contained various to-do lists that would help him achieve his goals. Of course, in the modern context, his system is what we call the Franklin system, and is best known through the Franklin Covey company. (By the way, I really like their mission statement: "We enable greatness.") Now, this is the point in which most people drop off, because again, they would be foiled by that "Time" nemesis, as in, "I don't have time to write down my goals, wonk wonk." But really, what is more important than prioritizing one's life? What could possibly be more important than that? And really, it doesn't take long. Even as little as five minutes of sitting down and scribbling on an index card or restaurant napkin will help to focus one's thoughts. And yes, writing things down is critical. I don't just say that because it's my preference, or that I'm a writer, or that I have a freakishly photographic memory that is helped when I add kinesthetic memory to it. When a person writes things down, it's like they own a piece of it, and this sense of ownership might just tip the balance of motivating him to achieve his goals. And, if he writes down his goals on an index card that he can carry with him and which becomes a constant reminder of those goals, then maybe, just maybe, he'll have a realistic timeline of one day achieving those goals.

Speaking of Franklin Covey, I think it's marvelous that I spent like $200+ investing in a system that I don't even use anymore. However, I understood the value of that daily system, and have since replaced it with a zip up portfolio from Levenger which I use as both a wallet and an agenda. I kind of rigged it up myself buying random accessories, but I knew what kinds would be useful and practical for me because of my experience with my Franklin planner.

Knowing

There are times when my curiosity is too great, that I have to pick at something until I know what I want to know. That's how it is with everything that I've become interested in, whether it's the health sites to which I'm addicted or natural makeup or writing and book review sites. Unfortunately, I also have that curiosity about people in general, and though I'm not surprised about the information that I found, it nevertheless has affected my views and feelings about the person. Oh well. I can't really do anything about that, though, since I can't unknow what I've discovered, and God has decided to gift me with an incredible memory, especially visually. When I see something, it's forever burned into my brain for my inner eye to see over and over again.
There are times when I wish I were that guy on the movie Memento who manipulated his own short term memory disorder so that he allowed himself to believe a lie rather than confront the truth that he had already avenged his wife's death. Sometimes, a lie is preferable. But only in the short term. Because I know that if I know the truth of a thing, wouldn't I become better because of the knowing? I hope so. I can't see myself ever being satisfied with an ending that is without resolution, and that's what knowing the truth of a situation is for me. Finding a resolution. Because I can't see anything being resolved when lies are allowed to perpetuate.

Excuses, Excuses

I know that "no excuses" is one of my life mantras, but I have to be honest, I have not been able to motivate myself to write to save my life. I've bribed myself, bartered, berated, but nothing seems to be working. It's like I have a white noise-fog in my mind; a block where normally I should be able to work around it. I know that I've been thinking of other stories, and it could be that I've just lost interest, but that's not it. Whatever the reason, I just know that I'm not working on it. Almost how I feel now with my body and exercising. I know what I have to do to get the body that I want. At this point, I don't really care. Maybe it's this weird apathy thing that's been plaguing the area recently. I noticed that in some of my customers. Or maybe I just need a vacation and rest from conflict. I get so much of conflict at work, that I don't want to go through the effort of fixing my imaginary character's issues and conflict. Maybe that story isn't the story I should be focusing on, but one I had to get out of my head to be able to write my real story. I don't know. What this all boils down to is a big pile of excuses and pity-partying. I'm not quite at the suck it up and move on phase, but knowing me, I'll get sick of myself in not too long, and be able to bust out a consistent few pages a day again.

09 June 2009--A Series' End

So, I just finished City of Glass, the last book of the Mortal Instruments Trilogy. I loved reading it, don't get me wrong, but I hate knowing that a story has ended. I need something to look forward to. I'm glad there was a resolution, etcetcetc, but I hate knowing that it's ended. Like Harry Potter. I had a strange feeling of not-quite-disappointment. Maybe, anticlimactic. I'm getting spoiled by Charlaine Harris's books or Laurell K Hamilton's books, where there's no real end in sight. And I'm also thinking about my own stories, and how I may want them drawn out. (And a slight bummer seeing a name of a character that I am using in my own story, although spelled differently, but whatever. It didn't make me feel too bummed, because I finished the book, after all.)
Even though I know the writer needs to have closure or have a different vision of the world, I forget that as a reader I never want that world to end. I was happy about the epilogue though, and delighted that Clare really went out of her way to tie up all the little loose ends.

08 June 2009--Samsara

waking. closing my eyes because I don't want to be awake. visualizing my day. wishing to be in bed while still in bed. slipping back in that in between stage where I'm dreaming but conscious about it. liking my dreams. Getting up frustrated because those dreams are no where near my reality. i can't even write about them. turn off the coffeemaker. eat breakfast. congratulate myself that I'm eating my food. berate myself because my lunch will probably be processed inedible swill. not thinking about not exercising. eat the food. drink the good coffee. using the notebook and the computer not to write. read. not enjoying the reading because it makes me feel guilty about not writing. feeling not unique. not creative. exercise. realize that i need a few more weeks of exercise before i see any improvement. work. hope not to be called names. hope not to be called out on conference call for something i forgot to do. back home. where there is no progress to the house. no progress towards paying down debt. read. swallow my pride and lack of creativity. read till my eyes can no longer see, and i don't feel too guilty that i don't write. sleep. close my eyes and dream of far off worlds. know that my dreams will fuel another day of muted frustration. not caring.