Voodoo and Baseball on Hispaniola
Oh, don't read this. It's totally boring. Remember, though, I was a very young man when I wrote this, a fool...
Sept. 6
Oh, man, I've got to go to bed. For the second night in a row, I am writing these pages that are supposed to have been written in the morning. Isn't that remarkable? I don't think so either. It's okay, right, as long as I write three pages a day?
I seem to be getting to bed an hour later these days without getting anything more done, esp. in regards to finishing any stores. I want to work on a new story about baseball and voodoo on Hispaniola. - A hurricane, too.- but I keep jumping ship between these five different stories I'm working on. I enjoy working on whichever one of them as the mood strikes, but I need to pick one and finish it. It's hard to dedicate thought to one thing exclusively. I need to train my Creator. Whoa--blasphemy! Odd that I resisted any suggestion of systemizing as stultifying, an affront to my creative freedom. Clearly though, creation requires organization. I need to plan a strategy, break my hours down into pre-ordained assignments. Yes, this might be an immense help.
My lids keep closing over my vision. My mind keeps screaming like a first-time marathoner, to stop, give up, lie down. But I've still got a ways to go. This would be easier if my thoughts were not always dueling each other.~~~~~~My old man always drummed into me that a body needs ei8ght hours of sleep each night, and that I was not meeting my obligation to my employer if I didn't get a"proper" night's sleep before work. Yeah, The Man even owns my dreams.
Ripken broke Gehrig's record tonight. A stirring display of fanaticism followed; it did give chills and goosebumps. I remembered crying as a kid when I first saw "Pride of the Yankees". Dodgers lost and are now tied for first with Colorado.
The chest hair on my neck under my adam's apple tickles my chin. I've got to find some effing scissors. ~~~~~Today was picture day at school. I flustered at the kids (I know I'm not using that word right, but that's what I did) to line up from shortest to tallest. When we got to the photographer, he rearranged them all. ~~~I think I hear my mom crying~She's fifty miles from here.~~I lost an important letter--Don't remember what it was now.~~Danny may be suspended tomorrow.~The phone is ringing. Dread. 'Twas 'Chelle. Told her I was in bed. She accepted it graciously enough. I loaned? Gave? her $200 today because someone robbed (Yeah, right) the house where she worked as a nanny and she was fired. She needs the money for headshots to begin a career in modeling (Yeah, right). The Town Creditor, that's me. Low interest rates, cash on demand, pay at your own pace.
Tomorrow I start a garden at school: poppies :) and carrots.
Sept. 6
Oh, man, I've got to go to bed. For the second night in a row, I am writing these pages that are supposed to have been written in the morning. Isn't that remarkable? I don't think so either. It's okay, right, as long as I write three pages a day?
I seem to be getting to bed an hour later these days without getting anything more done, esp. in regards to finishing any stores. I want to work on a new story about baseball and voodoo on Hispaniola. - A hurricane, too.- but I keep jumping ship between these five different stories I'm working on. I enjoy working on whichever one of them as the mood strikes, but I need to pick one and finish it. It's hard to dedicate thought to one thing exclusively. I need to train my Creator. Whoa--blasphemy! Odd that I resisted any suggestion of systemizing as stultifying, an affront to my creative freedom. Clearly though, creation requires organization. I need to plan a strategy, break my hours down into pre-ordained assignments. Yes, this might be an immense help.
My lids keep closing over my vision. My mind keeps screaming like a first-time marathoner, to stop, give up, lie down. But I've still got a ways to go. This would be easier if my thoughts were not always dueling each other.~~~~~~My old man always drummed into me that a body needs ei8ght hours of sleep each night, and that I was not meeting my obligation to my employer if I didn't get a"proper" night's sleep before work. Yeah, The Man even owns my dreams.
Ripken broke Gehrig's record tonight. A stirring display of fanaticism followed; it did give chills and goosebumps. I remembered crying as a kid when I first saw "Pride of the Yankees". Dodgers lost and are now tied for first with Colorado.
The chest hair on my neck under my adam's apple tickles my chin. I've got to find some effing scissors. ~~~~~Today was picture day at school. I flustered at the kids (I know I'm not using that word right, but that's what I did) to line up from shortest to tallest. When we got to the photographer, he rearranged them all. ~~~I think I hear my mom crying~She's fifty miles from here.~~I lost an important letter--Don't remember what it was now.~~Danny may be suspended tomorrow.~The phone is ringing. Dread. 'Twas 'Chelle. Told her I was in bed. She accepted it graciously enough. I loaned? Gave? her $200 today because someone robbed (Yeah, right) the house where she worked as a nanny and she was fired. She needs the money for headshots to begin a career in modeling (Yeah, right). The Town Creditor, that's me. Low interest rates, cash on demand, pay at your own pace.
Tomorrow I start a garden at school: poppies :) and carrots.
posted by johnz at 3:55 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home