Thoughts for the day:
I took a full week off all phone, texting, emailing, blog-writing, IM-ing, facebooking, twittering and going down a swirling black vortex of internet surfing. Okay that's a full and complete lie; I didn't stop any of those things; even for a pretend second, in fact all of those things may have even taken up 65% of my waking time and that's a lot because I also visited new schools, worked, had a few fights, had my car break down twice, went to the gym every day, stole a pair of sneakers from the lost and found, fixed a clogged sink, replaced a light bulb standing on top of a chair on top of a table, went to basketball practice and did about 25 piles of laundry. But I didn't post last week and just wanted you to think that it was for noble reasons. It wasn't. I swirled down the black vortex. I lived and I swirled.
When I was home over the holidays my mom watched me texting on my phone and said "You're like a teenager on that thing", to which I responded "Psshh. Sorry. This is for work." though what I should have said was Yes I am like a teenager. I am fully, completely and in every avenue of my life right now, like a teenager. I'm stuck here in this weird place that is real and virtually real and imaginarily real and well, not real.
You know, I have to say something, I really hate reading the diary-entry style of blog post. I can't help feeling like I'm stuck in some strangers house, where the host goes on and on about what she had for dinner and the various digestive situations that followed. Really. I try to make this a little more than just that; I mean I started writing a blog basically as an exercise to make myself write every day, something with a beginning, middle, and end that's complete once I hit post, something that's the opposite of writing a script. I didn't want it to be a diary. But of course it is. Usually I try to keep up the fourth wall; I show you what I want you to see, but sometimes that's not possible.
My best friend would argue that it's never possible. She says I have a problem with showing my hand/saying inappropriate things/saying the wrong thing which she refers to as shitting the bed. I always thought she was referring specifically to my behavior in meetings where we try to get people to give us money, and I've always sort of secretly known this was a compliment: Even I don't know what I'm going to say! It might be stupid and wrong and inappropriate, but it could just as likely be fantastic and charming and golden. That's a beautiful thing. Isn't it?
So after this week I decided I'm trying to figure out a way to exercise a little more self control and work on my bed-shitting, in life as in this blog: I'm not going to write a diary style entry just to fill space. I'm not going to write about the internet or how confusing/distracting/like a bump of a drug it is to live with one hand on my iphone. Or I mean, I'm only going to do it on Sundays.